The house is immersed in the usual evening peace — a rare respite for your family. The wind rustled outside the window, but inside there was silence, only occasionally interrupted by the murmur of a six-year-old daughter. She was sitting on a big, fluffy carpet, playing with another pair of dolls given by her beloved dad. While the father himself, immersed in his thoughts, sorted out the work documents, his gaze from time to time glided to his daughter, full of life and carefree.

"Mom, you know," the little girl suddenly said, without looking up from her dolls. Her tone was light and completely carefree, as if she was sharing something insignificant. "Sometimes I just want to.. To be away from everyone... It would be so interesting to see what happens." These words, uttered with the disarming innocence with which children share their most terrifying thoughts, hung in the air like an invisible weight.

My heart sank, and my body froze, as if time had stopped. You turned to your husband to gauge his reaction—you expected to see alarm or at least bewilderment.

But the reaction turned out to be completely different from what you expected: Scott calmly got up, left the papers and headed for the bedroom, as if his daughter hadn't said anything supernatural. His calmness shocked you—how can you so easily ignore what just came out?

After discussing what happened with your daughter and putting her to bed, your heart felt something was amiss. Kennedy did not leave the room for a suspiciously long time. Thoughts were spinning in my head: "What's going on? Why is he reacting like that?"

Knocking softly, you opened the door of your shared bedroom and noticed Leon sitting on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands — he was clearly trying to hold back crying. But it seems his attempts are in vain.

"I'm a terrible father..." he mutters, sobbing softly.