I sat flat on the ground, my legs numb from sitting too long without changing position. My hands were trembling uncontrollably. Every time I picked up the piece with the tweezers to try to attach it to the body of the ship, my hands would shake again, making the piece slip out of the place where it was supposed to go.

The icebreaker model was really complicated. From the very first time I saw it, I thought of the giant creatures on TV, split into hundreds of big and small bones. Even adults would probably have to sit and carefully look at the assembly instructions printed in tiny letters, let alone a second grader like me.

I pressed my lips together and picked the plastic piece back up. The fingers holding the tweezers were red from the cold and from trembling. I had to take two deep breaths and lean forward to try again. One hand gripped the front of the ship, the other held the tweezers tightly, trying to fit the plastic piece into the tiny gap between two side panels of the ship.

"Just a little more careful..." I told myself. My head felt a little dizzy from bending down for too long. For a moment, I thought maybe I should call Grandpa, but then I was afraid he would tell me to stop.

I bit my lip, tilted my head, my eyes straining to see the small groove. I exhaled—very slowly—as if afraid my breath might blow the tiny plastic piece away. Suddenly, the front part of the ship that I was holding came loose.

As soon as I heard a "crack," I flinched and tried to let go, but it was too late. My vision blurred, and my body fell forward. Before I could cry out, inertia had already pulled me down into the unfinished model. Sharp edges scraped across my hand and knee, cold like a small blade. Several jagged pieces stuck into my thigh, hurting so much I couldn't even breathe.

I burst into tears, my voice echoing through the empty room. Tears streamed down my cheeks and into my mouth - salty and bitter. I panicked, not knowing which part to hold first. Lifting my hand hurt, pulling in my leg hurt too. Blood trickled into thin red trails on the floor, spreading around the pale plastic fragments.

Grandpa rushed over from the living room next door. His eyes were wider than usual, a flicker of worry passed through them before he ran straight toward me, lying amidst the broken model pieces.

 - Sweetie! What happened to you?!

I couldn't answer because the pain was too much. I clutched my leg, panting heavily, my eyes stinging, tears and snot mixing together. Grandpa lifted me up, gently touched and examined my injury, then turned and hurried into the bathroom. I heard the cabinet doors open and close, and the clinking of bottles knocking together.

Just seconds later, he returned with a first-aid kit and a bottle of disinfectant. He opened the cap and poured some onto the wound on my calf. A sharp pain spread through my entire leg, like hundreds of tiny knives stabbing into me. My mouth opened, but no sound came out; my tears flowed even slower than the pain arrived.

He carefully took out a few bunny-shaped band-aids from the box, the kind with soft pink edges that I'd once seen him keep separately on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet. He gently placed them over my wound, tapping lightly to make sure they were firmly stuck. I looked at the smiling bunny on the band-aid - half amused, half embarrassed - and for some reason, I suddenly felt like crying again.

He let out a sigh, then bent down and lifted me up. The familiar scent of his wool sweater instantly eased my nerves. He carried me into the bathroom and set me down on the small plastic stool by the wall. Pulling down the showerhead, he tested the water with his hand before gently letting the warm stream run over my arm.

The water stung as it touched the scratches, but it felt better than when he had poured medicine on them. I instinctively pulled my arm back, but he held my wrist firmly, using his other hand to wipe the dried blood with a soft cloth.

He hoisted me into his arms again. His hands trembled slightly, but his grip was steady. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my chest still hiccuping from the crying. He took me into the room, nudged the door open with his shoulder, and gently sat down on the armchair by the window. The chair creaked softly under our weight.

He sat me snugly on his lap. His arms wrapped around me - warm and secure. My back rested against his chest, and I could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady.

I glanced around Grandpa's room. On the opposite wall hung rows of black-and-white photographs he'd taken in Antarctica. In the images, the sky was a pale gray, as if it were about to rain. Massive ice floes - bleached white and taller than trucks - lay stacked atop one another. 

In one corner stood a glass display cabinet holding his old belongings. Inside sat a worn fur hat with frayed edges, a pair of heavy black boots that looked weighty enough to sink, and several metal boxes whose purpose I couldn't guess. Once, I asked about them; he only replied briefly that they were "equipment from his expedition days."

On top of the cabinet lay a thick file of yellowed documents, fastened with a sturdy metal clip. One afternoon I climbed onto a tall chair and reached for it. No sooner had my fingers brushed the paper's edge than I heard his hurried footsteps. He yanked me down, his voice suddenly stern, and told me those papers were off-limits.

When I was even younger, I believed that behind those photos lurked beasts the size of houses—I just couldn't see them. I would press my face to the glass cabinet, imagining snow still clinging to the boots inside. My grandfather had been a member of the 1946 Antarctic expedition, long before I was born. The grown‑ups say it was the largest and most important voyage of its time, uncovering secrets that until then mankind had only guessed at on maps.

I sat snugly in Grandpa's lap, my hands playing with the frayed wool threads sticking out from the old sweater he always wore. The familiar scent of the fabric - musty and slightly chilly - made me feel drowsy and safe.

Suddenly, the gate rattled, followed by the loud sputter of a motorbike engine that revved for a few seconds before falling silent. I looked up. My mother had just arrived home, carrying several bags of vegetables and meat she had bought at the market.

As soon as I looked up, I caught her gaze, fixed intently on me. Her face darkened. Without saying a word, she strode over and yanked me off Grandpa's lap.

Before I could grasp what was happening, she bent down and pulled a pale yellow bamboo cane from under the cabinet. A chill shot through my calves before the pain even hit. The sharp whooshes filled the air, followed by a burning sting that spread across my skin.

 - How many times have I told you?! Why do you keep going near him?!

Her voice trembled - it didn't sound like her usual self at all. I could only stand there, frozen, hurting and terrified, not daring to cry.

Grandpa took a step toward Mom, raising his hand as if to stop her, but she immediately spun around. Her eyes glared sharply, so cold that he froze in place, saying nothing more. Mom bent down and scooped me up. Her breath trembled next to my ear. Then she quickly walked out of the room, slammed the door shut, and locked it with a click.

She knelt down and grabbed my wrist. Her fingers were slightly trembling, not gripping too tightly, but still making the scratch sting. She lifted my arm higher, her eyes darting back and forth, scanning the red cuts and bruises mottled across my forearms and knees. For a moment, her face blurred - I couldn't tell if she was angry or afraid.

 - These... these wounds... what happened?!

Her voice was hoarse, louder than usual. I instinctively pulled my hand back, but she held on tight, her breath quivering right in front of my face. I didn't know what to say. I just lowered my head, tears streaming down my cheeks before I even realized.

 - J-just now I was building the model... and I slipped... fell onto that pile over there... - I sobbed, voice broken as my throat tightened.

Mom stayed silent for a few seconds, then gently shook my shoulder. Her hands no longer gripped me painfully like before, but they still trembled. I looked up and saw her eyes red and glassy, as if tears were about to fall.

 - Did Grandpa do anything to you? - she asked softly, her voice calmer now but heavy with exhaustion, like she'd been holding it in for a long time.

 - No... he even... he even put a bandage on me. - I said, raising a trembling finger to point at my calf, where the bunny-shaped band-aid still stuck neatly.

Mom followed my gaze and froze. Her eyes widened, and her lips pressed into a tight line. Then she bent down and yanked the bandage off my leg. I flinched - it hurt a little - and I didn't understand why she did that. She grabbed my hand tightly, her breathing ragged, voice trembling:

 - Sweetheart, listen to me... don't go near Grandpa again... okay?

I nodded. Mom was always like that - every time she saw me near Grandpa, her face would darken, and her tone would suddenly turn stern, like I'd just done something terribly wrong.

But I can't understand. Grandpa was always so nice to me. He told me stories, bought me candy, and always called me his "little angel"... Yet, every time I talked to him or sat near him, Mom would look at me with such a worried expression.

My mother wiped her face, stood up, and went into the kitchen to cook. I slowly got up, brushing the dust off my shirt from when I had fallen earlier. I walked over to the plastic table, where the ship model had collapsed. One of its wings was snapped in two, the nose shattered, glue oozing out like congealed blood.

I reached out to pick up the pieces, careful not to let the sharp edges cut my fingertips. Then I quietly tucked them all into the scratched tin box under the chair. It had been left slightly open since last time. Inside, dozens of other broken parts lay jumbled together, like a miniature graveyard.

I looked toward Grandpa's room. He was still sitting in the armchair, eyes half-closed as if dozing off. I slowly walked into the bedroom and climbed onto my parents' bed. A chilly breeze slipped through the crack in the door - it was late autumn now. I pulled the thick blanket up to my chin, curled up a little, and slowly closed my eyes, drifting into sleep.