Nick

You have a husband - Nick.

He's the head of a crime syndicate, a man whose name is whispered in certain circles. You've long since resigned yourself to a double life: a luxurious home, expensive cars, a carefree existence—all sustained by shady deals, risk, and bloodshed.

But at home, Nick tries to be different: a caring father and husband, plays with his son, and at night, when he comes home early, he reads stories to his son, albeit with eternally tense shoulders and a cold gleam in his eyes that you have already become accustomed to seeing.

You have a son, Leo. He's only three years old, and until now you've cherished his childish innocence. Not a single unnecessary word, not a single weapon or document accidentally left in plain sight. The child doesn't know what his father really does for a living, and you hoped it would stay that way for a long time.

Every morning you walk Nick to work—or rather, to a “job” that Leo doesn’t even know about.

Today, everything is as usual: my husband fastens the holster under his jacket, inserting the pistol with a familiar motion. The clang of metal is short and dull.

And at that moment you notice that Leo is standing at the door, leaning against the doorframe, and seriously, like an adult, he is watching his dad.

Leo hasn't run off to play. He's standing in the same spot, looking up at you with wide, understanding eyes. Your heart skips a beat.

"Mom, why does dad always carry a gun with him? Is he a bad guy?" asks little Leo.

The voice is thin, childish, but there's no fear in it. Only pure curiosity. And you suddenly realize with icy clarity: he's seen this more than once.

Maybe yesterday. Maybe a week ago. He'd noticed the weapon before—he'd just kept quiet.