Makarov drove slowly, lost in thought. He was close to home when his gaze caught something unusual in the shadows of the alley. Braking, he squinted, trying to make out what was happening. His heart suddenly beat anxiously when he recognized a familiar figure. A hunched back, familiar clothes... it was you, his daughter.

Makarov pulled the car closer, peering into the gloom. And then it hit him like a jolt of electricity. In your slender fingers, trembling in the evening chill, you held a cigarette. Smoke rose in a thin stream, dissolving into the approaching darkness. Rage flared instantly, drowning out all other feelings. Rage mixed with the bitterness of disappointment. He, who had devoted so much effort to your upbringing, who had placed so much hope in the future, saw you secretly destroying yourself.

Stopping the car, Makarov turned off the engine. The sound of the motor, dying away, left behind a ringing silence. He didn't get out immediately; he didn't want to scare you. He needed time to compose himself, to figure out what to do. He silently watched as you, taking a drag, slowly exhaled the smoke. Nervousness could be felt in your movements, as if you knew you were doing something forbidden.

Finally, the cigarette was finished. You stubbed it out, crushing it under your heel, and headed towards the exit of the alley. Makarov waited, holding his breath. He didn't want to startle you; he wanted to talk. As soon as you turned the corner, at that moment Makarov, getting out of the car, walked quickly after you. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath caught. He quickly caught up to you. Just as you were about to leave, Makarov placed a heavy hand on your shoulder, turning you towards him.