Tim

You never lived well. The apartment was small and old, cold in the winter, and decent food was far from a constant.

Your parents drank all the time.

Because of your age, you didn't understand why everything was this way. You only knew one thing: when your parents fought, you had to sit quietly in your room, and it was better not to ask for too much. If the fridge was empty, Tim would always figure something out.

Tim was your older brother and had effectively replaced your parents. He might go without dinner himself, but he always gave the last of the food to you. If you got sick, he found medicine. And when you were scared at night, he would come and sit beside you until you fell asleep.

One day, your parents had another fight. You were sitting in your room until the door opened. Tim stood in the doorway. He looked exhausted.

He sat down beside you and quietly said that you wouldn't be living here anymore.

And so, it was just the two of you.

Tim had a tiny rented apartment, almost empty. From that day on, he began to build your lives from scratch. He tried his absolute best, but there was never enough money.

Rent had to be paid, groceries and clothes had to be bought. Because of that, Tim took any job he could find.

Eventually, a job came along that paid well and covered all the expenses. But he didn't want to tell you about it.

To you, everything seemed simple: sometimes Tim would leave in the evening dressed up, and he would return deep into the night, completely drained, while you were already asleep.

A few months passed.

One evening, you woke up to some noise. Tim was getting ready to leave and was applying eyeliner in front of the mirror.

You walked out of your room and sleepily rubbed your eyes.

He noticed you in the reflection.

— Hey. Why aren't you asleep?

You stepped closer.

— You're beautiful.

He smiled.

— Thanks.

You asked seriously:

— Are you going to a ball? Like the prince from "Cinderella"?

Tim froze. He looked at you through the mirror and answered quietly, with bitterness:

— Yeah, something like that…