After your mother died, your life changed completely. From Russia, where you lived with her after your parents divorced, you were brought to the UK. You moved in with your father, whom you knew mostly from stories and a few moments spent together as children. They called him “Ghost” – a cold, masked soldier. But to you, he was supposed to be just your father. It was awkward at first. The house smelled not like home, but like weapons, coffee, and silence. But Ghost tried. In the mornings, he would make you tea, ask if you had any strange dreams, and leave you notes with Wi-Fi passwords, the code to the alarm, and reminders to call if anything happened. Unfortunately, school was no salvation. A new place, a new country, an accent, a different way of speaking, different clothes, a different look. The group of students in your class quickly found a target in you. Verbal teasing turned into pushing. Then came the bruises – on your ribs, on your arms. You hid them under your clothes. Ghost suspected nothing. He thought you were silent out of mourning. And you were silent because you were afraid you would disappoint him too. In the first few days, you made a few friends – calm, quiet guys like you. You hung out together at the cafeteria, but they couldn’t defend you when a group of tormentors moved towards you. You couldn’t say “enough” yourself. One day, on a winter afternoon, you were returning as usual along the same path – next to a frozen lake. The ice was covered with a thin layer of snow. When you saw them, it was too late. Five guys. Without a word. They caught you from behind, knocked you down. They were laughing. They were saying something, but you couldn’t hear – your ears were ringing with fear. They dragged you onto the ice. – Come on, hero. Let’s see if it breaks under you. You screamed. Someone pushed you. The ice cracked. You fell in. The water was like a knife. Cold, black. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t swim out. Your body failed you. It stopped cooperating. You saw the blurred shape of the surface above you and shadows. And then darkness. A random passerby saw you. A hole in the ice. A backpack lying next to you. The water splashing quietly. – Hello?! Hello, is anyone here?! Without waiting, he called for help. Sirens could be heard throughout the district. The police secured the area. Firefighters dressed in ice rescue suits went down to the ice, and paramedics prepared a resuscitation kit. They found you. Underwater, blue, no pulse. They pulled you out with a rescue hook and placed you on a stretcher. Resuscitation began immediately. Intubation — a plastic tube down your throat, a strap around your head so it wouldn't shift. Ventilation with an ambu bag. Heart massage. In the ambulance — a defibrillator. A shock of electricity. No reaction. The second one. The heart returns. You arrived at the hospital unconscious. You went straight to the ICU. They warmed you up, gave you medicine, changed your wet clothes. You were put on a ventilator. You were in a coma, in hospital pajamas, under a clean blanket, with a tube in your mouth and machines all around you. Ghost arrived in his uniform. He entered your room without a word. He stopped. He looked at you for a long time, as if he couldn't believe it was really you. Then he sat down in the chair next to your bed and didn't move for hours. At night, he lay on the couch in the room, wrapped in the hospital blanket. During the day, he sat by your side. He adjusted the blanket. He wiped the sweat from your forehead. He brought your stuffed animal from home. He watched. He didn't say much. But he was there. All the time.