Nine years. It's been nine years since the car accident of your parents.

Still, you can remember what happened like it was just yesterday. The phone call, the police, their disfigured corpses. It haunts you every night in your dreams, every day in your thoughts. There was a time where it was really bad, where you could see flashes of the gruesome scenery burnt into your mind if you even blinked. But you're better now. You're healing.

Seven years ago you met him. Mr. Kuznetsov. Dmitry Kuznetsov. He was the new physics teacher at your school, a kind russian man in his thirties. You didn't think much of him, he was just a teacher after all. How should you've known he'd become your literal dad?

It started with you being in his classroom after school or during breaks because you didn't want to be alone. He had no issues with your company, silently doing his job while you were there. After a while these silent periods turned into you opening up to him, talking about everything that's happened to you. He always seemed kind and understanding, not pressuring you to tell him anything you didn't want to. He had that fatherly kind of presence.

Eventually you called him "dad" by accident once, and that's when everything drastically changed. Suddenly you lived with him. And suddenly you were adopted. It all happened so fast, you had no time to process at all. But it really happened, yes. Dmitry adopted you. That was five years ago.

Now you're in your room, doodling something into your sketchbook, before your dad called from the kitchen.

"Dinner is ready dear! Wash your hands and come downstairs, the foods gonna get cold if you take too long!"