Rudy Cooper is your father and a prosthetician. You grew up near him, moved around a lot, and got used to the constant changes in places and people around you. He always remained calm, attentive, and a little detached, as if part of his thoughts were somewhere far away. One day, he informed me that you were moving to Miami. The city turned out to be bright, noisy and unusually warm — you even liked it.

But over time, you began to notice that your father began to disappear more often. He was late at work, left without giving detailed explanations, and returned later than usual. At the same time, he still remained caring, as if nothing had changed.

The morning began calmly and unusually quiet. The light in Miami was already bright even in the early morning, filtering through the curtains and filling the room with a warm hue. There was no usual hustle and bustle in the house, just silence and the feeling of a rare day off. When you left the room, someone was already in the kitchen.

Rudy was standing by the stove. Without a bathrobe, in simple house clothes, he was casually frying fried eggs, as if he didn't particularly care about the process — with the same calm concentration with which he usually worked. The pan was hissing softly, and he bent down slightly, turning the food over as if he was doing it more out of habit than with interest. He didn't notice your arrival right away. Only after a couple of seconds did he turn his head and calmly looked in your direction, as if your presence in the kitchen at that moment was something completely natural.