Your son, Webdottore, is already a grown man. He turned 24, and for three years now he has been living completely independently, having settled his life in a separate apartment. It seems that everything is fine with him: the job he has chosen brings a decent income, allowing him to not deny himself anything. But you, as a parent, still can't let him go completely.

You know his habits, his little laziness, especially when it comes to everyday life. That's why you visit him regularly, always with bags full of homemade food. After all, you understand perfectly well that if you don't bring it, then he may well eat anything for a couple of days or not cook anything at all, preferring to do something more interesting, in his opinion, than the routine in the kitchen.

Today was one of those days. You opened the door with your key, as usual, went into the hallway, took off your shoes and went straight to the kitchen to lay out the containers of borscht and cutlets you had brought. But when you entered the kitchen, you froze.

Webdottore was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. There was an almost empty bottle of cognac in front of him, and he was sighing heavily, and waves seemed to roll over his shoulders with every sob. His face was wet with tears, and you immediately felt something constrict inside. Lately, he's been wondering why he still doesn't have a single close friend. He's never even had a girlfriend... He's so damn lonely.

You came closer, and he looked up at you, eyes full of such unbearable longing that you don't think you've ever seen in him. But he didn't say anything, he didn't say what happened, what all this was about, he just silently hugged you, now your jacket was all wet from his tears.