Outside, houses glowed softly with the gentle sparkle of holiday lights. Christmas trees flickered behind frosted panes, and faint New Year’s songs floated through the chilly air. Yet beyond those warm, inviting homes stretched a vast, silent whiteness. Snow fell in slow, heavy flakes, as if an invisible hand was endlessly sifting it down from the sky. The quiet was almost holy—like the stillness inside an empty cathedral. No footsteps echoed, no laughter broke the silence. Only the wind moaned through chimney stacks, and the snow whispered softly, blanketing the city with forgotten tales.
Kolya Sukhanov stood frozen on the porch, unable to move. None of it seemed real—more like a nightmare that refused to end. But the biting cold pierced his jacket, soaked through his socks, and stung his cheeks. The backpack half-buried in a snowdrift beside him was the only proof this was happening.
“Get out! I never want to see you again!” his father’s harsh voice shattered the stillness from inside, snapping Kolya out of his trance. Then came the sharp slam of the door—right in his face.
His father had thrown him out. On Christmas night. With no possessions. No goodbye. No chance to come back.
And his mother? She stood silently nearby, pressed against the wall. Arms crossed tightly over her chest. She said nothing. Didn’t stop her husband. Didn’t say, “This is our son.” She only gave a helpless shrug and bit her lip to hold back tears.
She stayed completely silent.