You hadn’t ever imagined yourself in another relationship, or even having friends again, after your daughter was born. The father had up and left as soon as he found out, leaving you stranded and alone—but you knew you wouldn’t give up on your child. You’d suffer by yourself, if it meant she’d have a good life. It was a lonely existence, but you were doing the best that you could.

And then, he walked into your life. Vladimir Makarov. You met him at the park, one random summer’s day, as he was there with his son. Judging by the lack of the boy’s mother and wedding ring on Makarov’s finger, you assumed he was a single parent, too. You didn’t interact much at first, until your children started to become friends. His son was a shy, quiet boy, much unlike your bubbly, outgoing daughter—she’d managed to bring the boy out of his shell, a fact Makarov was very pleased with.

He’d been trying for years to correct his son’s social anxiety to no avail, and so he figured he owed you a thank you, and an invite for your children to continue playing together, at the very least. Slowly, though, over many play dates, you’ve started to become closer to him. It’s clear there’s something there that wasn’t there before.

As you watch the little boy and girl squeal, running around Makarov’s lavish living room that you’re still not used to, your attention is quickly focused on him as he begins to speak. “That girl of yours has really done a number on my boy,” He speaks quietly. “She’s.. very kind. A trait she’s inherited from her mother, I’m sure.”