Viktor woke to a calm late spring morning and the cold nudge of a wet nose against his face. He rolled over, but Rusty was persistent, growling softly, tail thumping, muzzle burrowing under his chin. It had been their ritual for years. He glanced at the bedside clock. Almost seven. He was, as usual, on time.

  “All right, all right, I’m getting up,” he muttered.

  From the kitchen came familiar sounds: the younger two Carrie and Alex arguing over the red mug with a car on it. Bracing for the usual chaos he went downstairs. The open?plan space was modern and calm in layered grays, with a low charcoal sofa, pale cabinetry, and a generous island built for a large family.

  Alex needed help with everything. Carrie was ready while her little brother had his clothes inside out. He dressed him and brushed the boy’s teeth, earning fresh stains on his old video-game pajamas. They had seen better days.

  The older boys, despite being teens, weren't much more independent. They still needed reminders for everything. The dog was always in the thick of it. In doorways, he always planted himself like a furry blockade, hence the affectionate nickname “master of getting in the way.”

  After seeing everyone off, Viktor took a quick shower. In the mirror, he saw a man in his forties, tall, thick brown hair, and a slight belly that had appeared lately, a reminder to finally use the home gym. With a grin, he turned away. The workout can wait.

  He was lookin forward to his wake-up drink. At the kitchen island, he set out heart medication and vitamins; the pillbox still showed Saturday and Sunday untouched. For my age, that's quite a collection. The handful went down with a gulp of water, then moved to the coffee machine. The 'Best Dad' mug filled; he added milk and savored his grown-up cocoa, then retreated to an office lined with collectible game memorabilia.

  After his first sip, he joined a video call. His “state-of-the-art” headphones didn't work. One reboot later, he was in. It was a typical meeting: people complained about their workload, and the assistant handed out assignments.

  He reminded everyone, “Hang in there, it’s Friday. Soon we’ll have a two-day break from our suffering!” His team of managers was experienced and nearly ran itself, so he could afford to trust more and manage less.

  At the second meeting, he froze. Everyone had cameras on while he was still in pajamas, a smear of kids’ toothpaste was on his chest. He yanked on a clean T-shirt. Only the top half mattered anyway.

  This conference was less relaxed. His boss announced that the company was struggling and would be letting people go, up to twenty percent.

  Friday news, poured neat: I’m going to need a drink to wash this down, something really potent.

  He hated how, in his company, people turned into numbers, himself included.

  “Maybe chores will cool me off,” he sighed.

  When he saw the state the kids had left the living room in, he nearly fainted. He reset the room in one sweep; the dog mopped the crumbs with a happy tongue.

  “We really need to hire a cleaner,” he muttered.

  After this “relaxing activity,” he returned to the spreadsheet. The temporary contracts were easy cuts. When he reached the production teams, a tightness gripped his chest. He looked away from the tab and pushed the decision to the weekend. The tightness ebbed as quickly as it came.

  The rest of the day was quiet. He waited for the house to fill with life again, and soon it did. The younger kids burst in first, Carrie’s red hair bouncing, green eyes bright; Alex was a half?step behind, beaming. The golden retriever added a slobbery welcome.

  Meanwhile, Viktor greeted his wife, Sara, a tall, slim architect with red hair pulled back and a bag over her shoulder. Tired but composed, she nodded toward the car. “Will you boys help me carry these?”

  He took the porter’s role and hauled the weekend groceries while the boys “helped.” In reality, he carried every bag himself. He sighed. “I’ll scold them another time.” Rain spattered the hood, so he hurried. The terrace tiles darkened as the drops soaked them, and the hedges caught the water. Beyond the fence, new houses stood in a row. Unloaded at last, they sat to trade the day’s stories.

  “Can you believe it? We’re supposed to lay off twenty percent. They told us this morning, right before the weekend...” Viktor muttered.

  Sara shrugged. “Does that surprise you? With decisions they have made this year? My client just upended everything: bathrooms, second-floor layout. Total restart.” She shifted back to her own work.

  “You’ll handle it,” Viktor said.

  She waved it off. “Our neighbors are coming tonight.”

  Perfect. Neighbors, drinks, and a chance to relax after a week like this. Just what I need.

  The older boys drifted in mid-argument. “Can we go on the PCs?” Tom asked, already halfway to his room.

  “Look! It’s almost sunny again. Let’s go outside first,” Sam said, tossing a ball from hand to hand.

  “Go outside now,” Viktor ruled. “When you’re back, you can use the PCs.”

  “It’s Friday,” Tom protested.

  “Exactly,” Viktor said. “Enjoy the weather while it lasts. Homework’s due by Sunday night, and after you’re home, screens are fine.”

  Sam bumped Tom’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s play.”

  Dinner came briskly, with sausages, eggs, rolls, and a heap of vegetables, then hygiene, pajamas, and escorting the younger children to their rooms.

  Before the guests arrived, Viktor asked them not to ring the bell. The little ones were asleep, and the older boys had retreated upstairs. Greetings were quick. Radka’s husband was a short, muscular guy. Radka, a brunette shorter than Sara, wore leggings and a loose hoodie; their son stayed home to game with Viktor’s boys. He wasn’t big on in?person hangouts.

  “What would you like to drink?” Viktor asked.

  Her husband grinned. “We’re not wasting time, are we? Is wine okay?”

  “After a day like this, it calls for at least fifty percent,” Viktor said, pulling out homemade slivovica (plum brandy), his batch stronger than the usual store-bought.

  “It’s not wine, but oh well... Cheers,” her husband said. He raised a full shot glass.

  Sara broke the silence: “How’s work?”

  “Don’t ask. Been chasing goods since morning. Client’s calling, everyone’s on edge. If they don’t deliver, we’ll demand penalties.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Viktor said, raising his glass. The aroma was so strong it burned his nose.

  They started with business, Radka on logistics and her husband on the tech side; they shifted to the kids, and by the fourth round, they reached the “joys” of world events. Words blurred; the bottle emptied and another appeared. “I’m not making it home tonight,” her husband said, heading for the guest room. Sara called it a night and went to bed. Radka lingered; she and Viktor toasted partners, frustrations, and anything else their tipsy state suggested.

  The next morning, he woke with lingering guilt. The bedroom reeked of plum brandy; he opened the window wide. Only hazy fragments of last night returned. Ugh, my head... He shuffled to the living room, skipped coffee and took painkillers.

  From the couch, Sara watched TV and smiled with mock sympathy.

  “Headache?” she asked.

  “Not at all!”

  “When did they leave?”

  “Twenty minutes ago,” she chirped. “It’s the weekend, but unwinding yesterday doesn’t mean the kids spend all day at home. I’ll wash linens; the garden’s yours.”

  He stepped onto the terrace to steal a minute of silence. The sun was climbing, the breeze gentle. The lawn still needed cutting. A robotic mower would be nice. The peace didn’t last; Carrie and Alex found him and bounced around until he joined their play. “Daddy, where are we going?”

  “Mom and I thought we’d try the new rides at the fair. It’s a beautiful day,” he said.

  The older boys came downstairs, smirking.

  “Fairground rides? When will we go somewhere interesting for us?” they asked.

  “We adapt to younger siblings. You’ll survive, as always. If not, you know you’ll be grounded,” He said, mimicking their usual complaints.

  “That’s not fair,” they scoffed, but started getting ready.

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  “Will you dress Carrie and Alex?” Sara called from the kitchen, already packing water and snacks.

  “Sure,” he said.

  “And take something on top if it gets windy!” she shouted to the boys.

  Dressing Carrie was easy. With Alex it turned into a chase from clean shirt to bare-bottom sprint. Five minutes later he was finally clothed.

  They piled into the car. He hadn’t fastened his seat belt before turning around.

  “Where are your hoodies?” he asked. Sam sprinted to fetch them. Sara drove; Viktor just hoped to survive the day and waited for the painkillers to finally kick in.

  The short drive had its usual swearing at a near miss, a driver failing to yield, but Sara kept it smooth.

  “Great. Nowhere to park,” she muttered, circling.

  “Look, that one’s leaving,” Viktor said, pointing. They slipped in.

  Barely out of the car, a man with a card reader approached.

  “Five euros, please.”

  “Five euros? Soon parking will cost more than the rides,” she grumbled, digging for coins.

  They joined a short ticket line with a student selling wristbands.

  Before they even entered, Alex and Carrie sprinted to the mini carousel. Viktor sat and watched their excitement. The older boys found Tom’s classmates; Sam was waved in despite being two years younger.

  The smell of lango? (garlic flatbread) cut through the fairground air. “Can we have lango??” the kids pleaded. “Of course. Tom, line up, please,” Viktor said, tipping his chin at the food stall with the laminated menu board.

  When the order was ready, Sam hurried over to help Tom carry the stack back.

  “I only ordered one for Carrie and Alex to share; at these prices it’s enough,” Sara said. Minutes later, oil slicked everyone’s fingers. “Napkins, got them.” With a small victorious smile, she wiped the little ones’ fingers before they left permanent stains on their clothes.

  As they were eating, He eyed the lango?.

  This cholesterol can’t be doing me any favors. I can’t resist... one cheat weekend can’t hurt.

  They split for two hours. “Stay where we can see you,” Viktor said. “Sure, Dad.”

  The younger kids cried when the big swing ride was off-limits for their age; the “8+ only” sign didn’t care about puppy eyes. Bumper cars saved the day, and even the parents could join.

  They regrouped at last; their fluffy pal shouldn’t be alone for too long.

  “I think I can drive,” Viktor said, and Sara gladly handed him the keys.

  The ride back was calm. The older kids scrolled on their phones while the younger ones dozed.

  At the door, the retriever wagged his tail and leaped in greeting.

  “No barking,” Viktor told him, scratching the dog’s head. He carried the smallest children to bed.

  Leaving Alex’s room, he felt like a glass of wine while it was still bright outside. “Sara, could you pour?” he asked.

  “I’m not an alcoholic,” Viktor said.

  “Of course not,” she said dryly.

  I’ll do a two-week detox after the weekend, and start taking my meds again.

  He sat in the living room. The filter hummed under the gray coping, chlorine hung in the warm air, and the peach tree’s shadow crept toward the terrace door. The kids still slept when Sara brought generous pours. After a few sips of quiet, the little ones, now awake, found him again. He loved playing, chasing, carrying, roughhousing. Squeals, fearless runs around the garden. Eventually he slipped to the terrace, letting worries shrink to nothing.

  Carrie begged him to swim. They all jumped in. Alex needed help with floaties; he was the last to learn. He dove and surfaced at the edge: chlorine’s familiar scent, a pleasant chill. For a moment, his heart seemed to skip, a quick flutter he’d been told was harmless. He let it pass. Tom and Sam returned and joined in; chaos resumed until dusk.

  “It’s getting cold, not quite summer yet. Time to get out!” Sara called.

  They dried quickly and settled by the TV. Later, as darkness deepened, Sara rallied the bedtime routine. A quick webcam hello from the grandparents, baths, reminders, stories, the usual “go to bed!” By a little after ten, the house finally exhaled. On the living room couch, Viktor caught a glimpse of Sara in lingerie.

  “Coming?”

  He had no intention of skipping marital duties and followed her to the bedroom.

  By Sunday morning, the household was already buzzing. He asked Carrie to bring him the cold coffee he’d left on the counter.

  “Sorry, I’m off duty today,” she announced, dead serious, like a five?year?old server on strike, and the room cracked up. Sam brought the mug to the terrace, where Viktor was already sitting. The phone rang; the youngest carried it over.

  “Careful, don’t drop it,” Viktor said. The screen showed “Mom.”

  “Kids, Grandma and Grandpa are calling!” The older ones waved and vanished; the younger two put on a small show, fielding questions and blowing kisses.

  For lunch the children wanted spaghetti; after second helpings, even the youngest were full and drifted off. Sara and Viktor cleared the mess and finally sat in the quiet.

  Sunday afternoon chilling in the living room felt perfect.

  “I’m grabbing a beer. Would you like anything?” he called out.

  “Oh, pour me a glass of wine,” Sara replied.

  “What kind?”

  “I feel like rosé today,” she said, smiling.

  After he brought the drinks, they lounged together. “Tomorrow I have to decide who loses their jobs,” Viktor said wryly.

  “If results don’t improve, I don’t know how long the company can last,” Sara said.

  He squeezed her hand. “Let’s enjoy the last day of the weekend first.”

  The kids woke, inhaled a snack, and the calm held until the phone rang. Sara’s brother needed another loan. Not again. Viktor stiffened; the last one still wasn’t repaid.

  “I’ll talk to Viktor and call you back,” she said.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Viktor snapped.

  “He’s my brother,” Sara said, voice tight.

  “We’re not helping him like this,” Viktor said. “He needs to hit bottom before he can climb.”

  The older boys came downstairs at the raised voices; Sara’s look told Viktor to drop it.

  “Come on, Dad, play with us,” the boys said. He glanced at Sara and shrugged.

  “Why not. Two rounds.” He changed into a blue T-shirt and green shorts and sat at his aging computer. “Ready, Dad?” “Almost... updating... okay, I’m in.” They queued into their favorite shooter, the boys ignoring his calls.

  “I’m down!” Sam yelled.

  “Me too!” Tom called from the other room.

  “Will you listen? Tom, you’re soloing all the time, and Sam, you’re just copying him. This isn’t single-player; if one of us loses, we all lose.”

  “I didn’t even want to play anyway,” Sam muttered, and disconnected.

  Sara burst in. “You haven’t studied today and exams are coming. What do you think those report cards will look like? Homework. Now!”

  “We can’t think for you on this,” Viktor added. “Bring it when you’re done; we’ll quiz you.”

  Tom scoffed. “It's my last year of primary, so the last report card barely matters.”

  “It matters to us,” Viktor said, sending them to their rooms.

  Dusk settled. The little ones needed their evening routine, but a bathroom flood and a toothbrush battle wore him down. “No bedtime story tonight,” he snapped. “Off to bed! Immediately!” His patience ran out. Still fuming, he grabbed another beer and stepped onto the terrace. From inside, Sara shouted, “And you didn’t cut their nails?!” The remark tipped him over the edge. He walked it off, sipping and staring at the horizon. The moon hung over the peach tree, cut lawn, gray-tiled pool shining. His thoughts snapped back to Monday’s calls.

  Homework! I haven’t checked it yet, and I still need to quiz them! He turned toward the house when, out of nowhere, a sharp, crushing pain gripped his chest. A cold sweat broke; his breath hitched.

  What’s happening? The pressure wouldn’t let up, and before he could make sense of it, his legs buckled. Suddenly, the ache vanished. Viktor found himself able to stand again. He turned toward the house and froze. A tall figure stood by the terrace, draped in a black cloak. As he tried to focus, he realized it was a woman, her face almost entirely hidden by a hood, moonlight blurring her features. Her hands were loosely clasped in front of her.

  “Who are you? What are you doing in my garden?” Viktor called out.

  The woman simply extended her arm and pointed a slender finger behind him. Viktor spun around, and what he saw brought him to his knees. It was his body, still dressed in the blue T-shirt and green shorts he’d just put on. His eyes were wide with terror, much lighter than he remembered, and it was clear the life had left them. Beside him lay a spilled bottle of beer.

  “But... what? What is this?” Viktor gasped. “Who are you?”

  The figure stood silently, meeting Viktor’s gaze. After a moment, she broke the silence: “Your time in this world has come to an end. Step onto the next path that awaits you beyond the boundary of life,” she said calmly.

  “The next path? But... Sara, our kids! I can’t leave her alone with four children! How can I...?” He remembered he hadn’t taken his heart medication for the past two days, unhealthy food and had drunk far too much alcohol. The recent arguments with Sara and the children, the stress at work. It all made sense.

  I had a heart attack? People my age don’t die from heart attacks! Sure, it happens, but the doctors can usually save us. There must be a way to turn this around. I can’t go yet!

  “Can’t I get back into my body and fight?” He broke down, sobbing.

  “Help me! There must be something I can do! Saaara! Someone, please help me!” he shouted, but no one came.

  “Your mortal heart suffered a wound beyond all mending. Your earthly life has ended. That is why you can see me. Do not be afraid. They will find your body soon, though you will not wish to watch. My time with you here is limited. If I were to leave you behind, your journey would be stalled for a long time, and the path to the other side would remain closed. There are other ways to cross without my guidance, but that’s not something we’ll discuss today. Becoming a wandering soul, even in your own home, is not a fate I would wish upon you,” the figure said, her voice calm yet unwavering.

  Wiping his tears, Viktor rose to his feet and fell silent for a second.

  “Even though I think I know the answer, I have to ask...” Viktor said, his voice steadier. “Are you Death?”

  After a brief pause, the figure replied, still calm, “I have many names, but for your understanding, yes, I am the one who will guide you to the next stage. You may think of me, and call me Death. But now, we really must go.”

  Just then, the door burst open and Sara’s frantic screams echoed from the inside. “Viktor! Viktor!” she cried, running to his lifeless body.

  “Sara, help me!” Viktor pleaded and rushed toward her. But she passed right through him. All he could do was stand and watch as she tried desperately to resuscitate him, shouting for their sons or anyone nearby to call an ambulance. Her palms pressed and counted; footfalls thudded through the house.

  “She can’t save you,” said Death, standing behind Viktor and reaching out a hand. “Come. Don’t witness what comes next. It’s time to go.”

  Viktor looked at Sara one last time, her frantic attempts to save him. The choice was clear: wander as a ghost in his own home, watching his family grieve. Stay stuck here for how long? He didn't know. Or step forward into whatever came next.

  He reached for her hand, eyes shut. She pointed ahead. The air parted like curtains, revealing the Door of Light.

  Together, they stepped into it. Viktor turned back one last time and saw everything he was leaving behind, the large garden with the pool, their dream family home, his career; none of it could go with him to the other side. His wife. Four beautiful, healthy children who would grow up without a father. The thought made his heart ache all over again. But with a sigh, he turned away and walked further into the tunnel. The figure had been right. He didn’t want to see what would happen next, and if he did, it would only bring him more pain.

  After a moment in the light, all he could see was a brilliant flash and then darkness.

  Yes that is how it all played out. My last goodbye was yelling on the kids and fight with my wife. After all I have done... Some character I was.

  With that he finally managed to put himself to sleep.

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  Christopher