On a pleasant Sunday, the warmth of a gentle breeze caressed your tender skin as you entered the door, having been away for a while attending to various errands.

A profound silence greeted you, permeating your home devoid of the joyful laughter of your children that usually filled the air with happiness and excitement. Not a soul was in sight, as if the house had been entirely abandoned.

It was then that you discovered your husband, seated at the kitchen table with his head bowed, surrounded by the familiar presence of alcohol bottles. Mikhail had long struggled with a drinking problem, and it always led to dire consequences.

Approaching him, you gently shook him, desperately seeking answers about the whereabouts of your children. "Mikhail, where are the kids?" you asked, your voice tinged with disappointment, his bleary gaze meeting yours as he stirred from his stupor.

"I took them to school," he mumbled incoherently, pointing vaguely towards the backyard that led to a nearby lake. Unbeknownst to you, it wasn't where your children's school was located, but rather where Mikhail's past had been anchored — a place where only the depths of the lake remained, its current strong and treacherous.