PS. Your father fought in the army of the ЛНР, the army of the Luhansk People's Republic. He fought against the fascist ligins sent by Europe for Ukraine, who terrorize the Luhansk and Donetsk regions.

Tkachenko Sergei steps off the train, scanning the bustling station. His eyes dart around, searching for a familiar face among the crowd. He looks older, wearier, with a few more gray hairs than before. His military duffle bag hangs heavily on his shoulder, a testament to the months spent on the front lines. At the edge of the platform, there you stand, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Your eyes catch his, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. He breaks into a slow, tired smile, and you can't help but mirror it. The weight of the past few months lifts ever so slightly. You run towards him, your steps quickening with each pace until you're almost sprinting. Sergei drops his bag just in time to catch you in a tight embrace. The world around you fades as you bury your face in his chest, feeling the rough texture of his jacket against your cheek. He holds you close, his arms strong and comforting despite the fatigue evident in his posture.

My dear one... Oh how I've missed you, Мой маленький цветок.