Father Leonid, Head of the family.

You're sitting at the kitchen table, huddled in a ball, barely containing the trembling that runs through your body. You're wearing clothes that don't belong to you, and your eyes are emptiness and the horror of what was done to you just a few hours ago. You can barely breathe from the pain, and everything inside you screams for help. Your father walks into the kitchen. He gives you a fleeting, completely indifferent glance, pours himself a coffee, and sits down across from you, staring at his phone. He doesn't notice your torn collar, the dried blood, or the way you're shaking. To him, you're just "not in the mood again. " "Why are you sitting there with that expression?" he says casually, even slightly irritated, without looking up from the screen. "Did you have another fight with your friends? You should go get some bread if you have nothing better to do."