Mom, don’t drink from that glass! The new dad PUT SOMETHING IN IT. Mary was in shock hearing these words from her daughter and decided to SWITCH the glasses. What she saw made her hair STAND ON END…..

«You’ll manage alone?» Mary asked, checking her purse contents. «Tickets, keys, lipstick.» «Of course, Mom, I’m not five,» Sophie rolled her eyes…

«I’ll do homework, then watch the cartoon you allowed, and go to bed.» No later than ten, she quoted her mother’s instruction with slight irony. «And don’t open the door to anyone,» Mary added.

Even if Santa comes with a sack of gifts, Sophie nodded with a sigh. Victor watched this exchange with a slight smile. «You have a wonderful daughter,» he said when they stepped onto the landing.

«Thanks,» Mary smiled, feeling that special pride that arises when someone praises your child. «She’s very observant.» «And vigilant,» Victor added without a hint of offense.

«That’s good. It means someone cares for you besides me.» His words sounded so natural that Mary didn’t immediately grasp their meaning.

«Besides me.» As if he had already taken a place in her life, become part of her world. And strangely.

This thought didn’t provoke protest. The play was magnificent. Mary hadn’t been to the theater in probably four years, since Alex was gone.

He didn’t particularly like theater, preferring movies or concerts, but always agreed to accompany her. Victor, however, seemed to truly enjoy the production, whispering comments on particularly successful directorial choices, quoting whole passages from the play by heart. After the play, they stopped at a small restaurant near the theater.

Tables covered with red-and-white checkered tablecloths, dim light, soft music. Everything reminiscent of those times when going to a restaurant was an event prepared for in advance. «You know what struck me about you from the first meeting?» Victor asked when their order was brought.

«Steak for him, and fried chicken for her, just like in old American diners. Your smile. It’s so.

Genuine. Nowadays you rarely meet people who smile sincerely, without falseness. I think you’re exaggerating,» Mary blushed.

«I’m an ordinary woman, like millions.» «No,» he firmly objected. «You’re special.

And it’s not about appearance, though you’re very beautiful. It’s about your inner strength. You raise your daughter alone, work in school…

And that’s the hardest labor, keep the house in order. And you don’t complain, don’t whine like many. That’s worthy of respect.»

Mary felt warmth rush to her cheeks. From the wine, of course, not from Victor’s words. «Tell me about your late wife,» she asked, wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Victor’s face darkened for a moment. «We were together fifteen years,» he began. «Met in college.»

Alice was an artist, very talented. Her works were even exhibited in small galleries. And then? Then the illness happened.

It all went so fast we didn’t even have time to realize. Six months of fighting, and that was it. He spoke calmly, but Mary saw his fingers tense, gripping the fork.

«Sorry for making you remember,» she said quietly. «It’s nothing,» he shook his head. «It’s part of my life I don’t renounce.»

«I loved Alice, and the time spent with her was happy. But life goes on, and we must move forward. You understand that too, right?» Mary nodded.

Yes, she understood. For three years she lived as if in a cocoon, focused only on work and her daughter. But people aren’t made for loneliness, no matter how clichéd that sounds.

Victor escorted her home by taxi, though Mary insisted she could take public transport. «No way,» he objected. «It’s late, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.»

At the entrance, he kissed her. Lightly, almost weightlessly, as if afraid to scare her off. «I’ll call tomorrow, okay.»

Climbing the stairs, the elevator in their old apartment building wasn’t working again, Mary caught herself feeling like a girl after her first date. Music from the play echoed in her head, and her lips still held the warmth of the kiss. Sophie was indeed already asleep, curled up under the blanket, with her palm under her cheek.

Just like Alex always slept. Mary quietly adjusted the blanket and left the room, trying not to creak the floorboards. The following weeks flew by like in a fog.

Victor called every day, invited her to movies, restaurants, or just walks. Brought flowers. Not standard roses, but special bouquets arranged with taste and imagination.

Once, learning that Mary had a particularly tough day at work, he brought bags of groceries to her home and cooked dinner himself. Real chili from his grandma’s recipe and apple pie. Sophie watched the relationship develop with wary interest…

She no longer asked direct questions, but Mary noticed how attentively her daughter followed every gesture, every word of Victor’s, as if trying to solve a puzzle. «Don’t you like him?» Mary asked once when she and her daughter were washing dishes after a dinner Victor attended. «I don’t know,» Sophie answered honestly.

«He’s kind of. Too perfect, like he’s playing a role. Not everyone has such a complex character as you or Dad,» Mary smiled…