Episode 7

They were sitting together in the middle of the room. Two-year-old Zlata was diligently smearing finger paints across a wide sheet of paper, while her daddy, as always, assisted her and suggested new ideas.

“How about drawing a little sun in the corner?” he proposed.

“Su-un!”
The girl clapped her hands approvingly, and droplets of bright gouache danced across her father’s face.

“Easy there, little rascal,” Bohdan wagged his index finger with mock sternness.

Her irrepressible childish sincerity resonated deeply within his heart, for in his spontaneous, fiery, and sometimes uncompromising daughter he saw a reflection of himself.

Zlata did not miss this weakness. The little one sensed her father’s softness keenly, and now, disobeying him, dipped her palm into the paint and left a print on his cheek.

“Su-un,” the clever girl exclaimed, eagerly poking her finger at the freshly created body art.

As she drew out the sound, her pink bow-shaped lips rounded, and her chubby cheeks puffed up proudly. Bohdan melted like spring ice whenever her face took on that instructive expression.

“Oh, just you wait!”

With a sudden movement, he pulled the little mischief-maker toward him and began tickling her mercilessly. The girl burst into carefree, pealing laughter. Despite the discomfort that made her tiny body tremble and twist, Zlata did not give up trying to smear her father even more.

The room was filled with sunlight and the delicious scent of cherry pie, which her mother was baking in the kitchen. The sweet aroma of perfume announced her arrival.

“And who’s making all that noise in here?”
The woman was eager to join the cheerful company.

“Come here,” Bohdan called.

As soon as his wife sat down on the rug, a small palm left its mark on her face as well.

“Su-un,” the father smiled, pointing at the yellow imprint.

“Oh, you little giggler!” the mother squealed brightly and kissed her daughter on both cheeks.

Zlata hugged her parents, trusting and gentle, snuggling up to both of them like a little bird seeking warmth and protection. When their heads drew close enough to feel one another’s breath, the girl softly whispered:

“Lu-uv you.”

“And we love you too, sweetheart,” Bohdan replied, kissing her temple.

“More than anything in the world,” her mother added.

“I think it’s time for lunch,” she said gently. “Take daddy to wash his hands, and I’ll pour some milk and cut the pie.”

“Mmm, what a treat,” Bohdan encouraged.

“Yum-yum,” Zlata echoed.

The girl got up and ran out of the room.

“Just like the good old days,” Bohdan sighed dreamily.

He smiled and was about to embrace his ex-wife, but she stopped him with a look.

“Don’t,” she whispered, averting her eyes. “We’ve decided everything. You can’t bring the past back.”

An awkward pause was broken by a loud crash from the children’s room.

“I’ll go see where our little artist has disappeared to,” the man said, getting up.

“You’ve got thirty seconds before she demolishes the whole apartment.”

Bohdan hurried out and went in search of the hiding child. When he entered the bedroom, he saw Zlata sitting at the desk, drawing with intense concentration.

How did she climb onto the chair by herself? he wondered.

Scattered markers lay on the floor, and beside them a plastic cup that served as their holder—and was likely the source of the noise they had heard in the living room.

“What are you drawing, sweetheart?” he asked gently. “Come on, show Daddy.”

“Daddy is dead,” she muttered in response.

“What—”

The man was stunned.

“What are you saying, Zlata?” Bohdan asked. 

The girl slowly turned toward him.

“Daddy is dead,” she repeated in the same alien voice.

“No, no, no, this isn’t real!”

Zlata flickered like an old television. For a moment, the father saw an entirely different girl in her silhouette—dark-skinned, with black braids and eyes as blue as the sky.

“You’re not my child!”

“Daddy is dead,” the stranger insisted.

“Nooo!”

The more fiercely he resisted the illusion, the more often the apparition flickered, until nothing remained of Zlata’s image at all.

“You are dead,” the outsider said one last time—and the vision dissolved.