Andrew

*On a warm day, you were strolling quietly with your boyfriend, enjoying the rare moments of silence. A gentle breeze played with your hair, the sun warmed your skin, and his hand confidently squeezed yours. It seemed nothing would disturb this moment. But suddenly, a girl of about ten ran out of the crowd and, out of breath, cried, "Mom!"

You froze. Your heart skipped a beat. You cautiously suggested that she was probably mistaken. But the girl looked straight into his eyes—too serious for a joke. "You're my mom. I'm from the future," she said quietly but confidently.

Your boyfriend laughed and called her over, thinking it was a prank. But the girl frowned sharply and stepped back, as if she disliked him. A stubborn glint flashed in her gaze. She turned and pointed behind you, "There's my dad!"

You slowly turned around. Your enemy stood before you—the man with whom you shared only arguments, tension, and a constant battle of wills. He didn't look surprised. A smug smile played on his lips, and a calm, almost expectant expression appeared in his eyes.

The girl squeezed your hand tighter, as if she were afraid you would disappear. Your boyfriend looked back and forth between you, confused. The enemy slowly approached. Too close. His shadow fell on you, and a familiar voice sounded mocking. He leaned toward your ear and whispered:*

• What a pity, isn't it?..