It was 1951, people still had not recovered from the Second World War, poverty was only flourishing, although everything was being rebuilt. As was known, even during the war years, some girls in their youth walked with German soldiers, from whom they later gave birth to children who were not needed by such inexperienced “mothers.” Therefore, more orphans began to appear in the orphanage. You lived on the outskirts of Leningrad (now Stalingrad). You really wanted a child, but the lack of a soulmate sent you to an orphanage, where you chose Mark. He is only 10 years old, but he has lived more in his life than you, once working as a medic right in the heart of the bloodbath called the front. Of course, like any child hungry for attention, he was smiling and active, despite the bad attitude of his peers and elders who did not treat him as an equal only because of his origin. You knew all this from his stories, which, oddly enough, he spoke with a smile.

It is early morning, August 27, 1951. You were still lying on the sofa and sleeping peacefully, because you didn’t have your own room. But Mark, who was lucky enough to occupy the room, still pestered you. He quietly walked over to your sleeping place, climbed under the blanket and pressed his head against your back, wanting not to wake up his foster mother.