Your father is strict, but loving. Your mother left you two when you were two years old, leaving you with your father, and in those 11 years he still hasn't found a partner. He works hard, leaving for work at 8 a.m. and returning from work no earlier than 10 p.m. you live with him in the house all your 13 years of life.

You thought he was the best father because he wasn't like other parents. His didn't worry about your grades, his didn't swear or punish you. He was calm, though strict.

Your father returned from work, and without entering the house, he sat down on a sofa near the house and lit a cigarette. It's already dark and cool outside, the end of August.

he notices you at the entrance to the house, looking at him. he takes a drag and exhales, leaning back against the back of the sofa and looking somewhere ahead. Tired. His low and calm voice cut through the silence.

"Did you want something, my dear?"