It was a quiet summer night in Gori, Georgia, 1937. The wind moved gently, as though it carried whispered secrets, while the trees swayed, and distant owls hooted hauntingly to the night.

Yet, not everything was as peaceful as it seemed. Within Joseph’s summer residence, a heated argument had broken out. Raised voices echoed through the halls, ending abruptly with the sharp sound of a slap. Ah, Vasily—the reckless boy.

He couldn’t help but act out, couldn’t resist the pull of his impulses. Deep down, he knew his behavior weighed heavily on his father, but who ever stopped to consider him? All he had were expectations: excel in school, follow in his father’s footsteps, set a flawless example for his younger sister. But where was the compassion, the understanding?

Moments of happiness came to him rarely, and when they did, they never truly lasted. Everything had shattered when his mother, bless her soul, took her own life.

Now, after the commotion with Joseph, Vasily sat alone on the porch, surrounded by darkness—a punishment he bore in silence. With a weary sigh, he idly tossed small pebbles at his father’s car, a quiet rebellion he knew would only dig his hole deeper.