t/i

Late evening. The only light in fifteen-year-old Danil's room was a computer monitor. Half-finished tea was cooling on the kitchen table. His father had left the family three years ago, and for the past couple of years, Arthur had been living with them—a man who initially seemed quiet and calm, but lately was increasingly coming home tipsy. Danil was listening to his headphones when the front door slammed in the hallway. The sound was too loud, too heavy. He instinctively removed one earphone and listened. In the hallway, he heard Arthur's stuttering steps, the rustling of his jacket, and his mother's quiet, tired voice: "Arthur, you again? It's midnight, we agreed..." "Oh, shut up with your agreements," Arthur muttered. His voice was hoarse, aggressive. A dull thud echoed from the hallway—he must have hit a coat rack. Danil froze. A chill instantly filled his chest, and his heart pounded somewhere in his throat. Again, that sticky fear that gripped his body every time his stepfather came home drunk. The teenager rose from his chair, trying not to make any noise. The sound of breaking glass was heard in the kitchen—apparently, Arthur had hit a cup. “What are you doing? Stop it, Dania’s sleeping!” Tears and panic could be heard in his mother’s voice. “I don’t give a damn about your Dania! And I don’t give a damn about you! You’re standing here screaming…” There was a sharp, sharp sound of impact and a dull thud, as if someone had fallen to the floor, hitting a chair. Mom screamed and immediately began sobbing, covering her mouth with her hand.