​"Take her back? Why?" Max protested, his voice thick with irritation. "Let her take a cab or something."

​Johann leaned in, his warm breath grazing Max’s skin as he whispered, "Max, she’s your fiancée. If something happens to her because of your negligence, your father will never forgive you, will he?"

​Max took a sharp breath, glaring at Maria, who had slumped over the table, surrendered to sleep. He sighed heavily. "Fine. I’ll take her."

​He hauled her up, leaning her dead weight against his body. As he struggled toward the exit, he could hear Johann’s laughter echoing behind him, joined by the rest of the group. It was as if Max’s departure was the highlight of their night. He managed to get her into the car, propping her in the passenger seat before starting the engine.

​The only sounds were the distant hum of Berlin traffic and the steady thrum of the motor. Max couldn't deny the exhaustion or the slight dizziness swirling in his head. Suddenly, a hand gripped his arm. It was Maria—drunk, bitter, and delirious.

​"Arthur, you bastard! Why did you leave me?" she slurred. "You know I love you..."

​"Maria, what are you talking about? It’s Max! Who the hell is Arthur?"

​"Arthur... did you really say I was ugly? I’m more beautiful than your face, you treacherous son of a bitch!"

​"Is Arthur your lover?!" Max shouted, trying to stay on the road.

​Suddenly, she began hitting him. "You idiot! How could you leave me like that? I’m smarter and better than you! You don't deserve me!"

​"Stop it! Maria! Stop! We’re in the middle of the road!"

​She was beyond reason. Max slammed on the brakes, the sudden jolt sending Maria forward. Her head struck the dashboard with a sickening thud, and she went limp. Terror seized Max. Was she dead? No, no... just a head injury. She’s just sleeping, right?

​"Maria... Maria? You’re okay, right? I know you’re just trying to annoy me. Stop it."

​The silence was deafening. Max moved her slightly, and his eyes went wide. She was bleeding. A deep, crimson river was carving its way across her forehead, stark against her pale skin like a wound on the Siberian tundra. Max floored it, racing toward the nearest hospital.

​When they arrived, the doctors assured him it was a superficial wound, nothing life-threatening. Max finally let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He sat in the waiting area, his leg bouncing nervously. Was she really that broken over her ex? Or was she just playing the victim?

​He stood up and began to pace the sterile corridors, watching the patients and nurses as if he were in another dimension—a world of abstract, untouchable thoughts. He stopped in front of the rooms, watching elderly patients being visited by their children. Would he ever visit his father if he fell ill? Could their relationship ever be repaired?

​"That would require a miracle," he muttered coldly. "And the age of miracles ended centuries ago."

​Accepting the grim reality of his life, he continued walking until he reached a room that made his blood freeze. There, lying in a bed, was a woman ravaged by cancer, her hair completely gone. It wasn't just any woman.

​It was his mother!!

​To be continued...