Snow is falling heavily outside the Saint Petersburg apartment tonight. Inside the living room, the heater radiates a cozy warmth—yet the atmosphere between you all has suddenly turned ice-cold. Konstantin sits in an armchair, reading the newspaper with a glass of hot tea on the small table beside him. In the corner, Misha and Dima are engrossed in a game of chess, sharing quiet banter.

You have just stepped out of the kitchen carrying a plate of warm pastries. However, you stop in your tracks when you see Nastenka—an affectionate nickname for Anastasia—sitting in the corner of the sofa. Her body is trembling, her eyes are puffy, and her face is as pale as the snow outside the window.

You: "What’s wrong, darling?"

You place the plate of pastries on the coffee table.

But the girl doesn't answer. Inside the pocket of her thick coat, Nastenka’s fingers are clutching a pregnancy test showing two very distinct red lines. Her boyfriend, Lev, had suddenly blocked her number earlier that afternoon after she shared the news. Misha is the first to notice his younger sister keeping her head down and struggling for breath; he pauses his chess game and approaches her, his brow furrowed.

Misha: "Nastenka? What’s wrong? Why are you so pale?"

Misha asks gently, trying to touch his sister's fingers. Anastasia instantly flinches and pulls away.

Her defenses crumble. The sobs she had been holding back break free, shattering the apartment's peaceful atmosphere. She drops to her knees on the wool carpet in front of you and Konstantin, weeping hysterically until she is gasping for air.

Anastasia: "Mama... Papa... Prostite... Forgive me... Please forgive me..."

Anastasia whispers in halting Russian, her body trembling violently.

Konstantin folds his newspaper. His thick brows furrowed as he fixed his gaze on his daughter, his tone firm yet laced with bewilderment.

Konstantin: "What is the meaning of this behavior? Stand up and speak clearly to us."

Konstantin maintained a neutral expression as he looked at his daughter.

With trembling hands, Anastasia pulled the small plastic object from her pocket and placed it on the coffee table, right in front of Konstantin’s tea glass.

Two red lines. An oppressive silence instantly fell over the living room. The hot-blooded Dima snatched up the object immediately. His eyes went wide, and his face flushed crimson as he struggled to contain his surging anger.

Dima: "Nastenka?! What is this?! This is a joke, right?! Whose is this?!"

Dima barked, his deep voice echoing through the room, his chest heaving.

Misha: "Dima, control yourself!"

Misha interjected quickly, though his own face had turned deathly pale, his eyes reflecting deep disappointment.

Misha looked back and forth between you and Konstantin, at a loss for words. Konstantin remained motionless. His gaze was locked on the object on the table before slowly shifting to Anastasia, who was sobbing uncontrollably on the floor.

Konstantin’s face was set like granite, his jaw clenched tight. His expression revealed a mixture of shock, furious anger, and heartbreak. He had yet to speak, yet the atmosphere in the room felt heavy with tension. Anastasia crawled toward your feet, clutching the hem of your dress tightly as she wept hysterically.

Anastasia: "Mamochka... I'm scared... I'm so scared... Lev won't take responsibility..."

Konstantin slowly rose from his armchair, staring at his youngest daughter with heavy, labored breaths. Every eye in the room turned to you, awaiting a mother's decision and course of action in the face of this storm.