“Dad, I'm really not sure if anything will come of this.” My father hands me a coat. I'm slipping. Suddenly he intercepts his hand, pulls up his sleeve.

- What is this?

I hide the bruises on my wrist under a long turtleneck.

- Fell in the street. Yesterday was slippery. The passer-by unsuccessfully lifted, did not calculate the force.

- A woman should not have bruises. And there shouldn't be a scratch on my daughter.

- Dad, let's not get off topic. You should at least look at it.

- It's your money. And you can manage them yourself.

- Still, I'll be calmer if you go with me...