About the book

There's a moment when you realize the life you've built isn't quite yours.

No disaster. No failure. No dramatic turning point. You just work. Love. Parent. Run. And somewhere in the middle of all of it — something quiet asks: Is this me? Or is this what I learned to be?

Niki Kai did everything right. School. Army. Business. Home. Marriage. Kids. Runs that start in the dark and end when everyone is already asleep. And in the place where other people rest — he understood that he had built the right life for someone else. And that his own key had been left outside.

The story of one man — and everyone who made him. The great-grandfather who arrived with an empty suitcase and friendships with poets. The mother who woke up first every morning and never asked for thanks. The woman who wrote him notes and tucked them into his gear before every race.

About a chain of generations that passes without words. About love that doesn't know how to speak. About a father who was told "I don't need the floor, I need you" — and a son who took twenty years to understand why he never heard back.

And about the moment a man with three kids, a business, and a drawer full of race medals decides that the story he's been telling himself is over. He packed up his family. He left. Not to escape — to find out if there, far from everything he built, he could finally build the only thing that truly matters.

Home.

He is you. You are him.

About the book

Plumbum was toxic air. Everyone breathed it. No one asked what it was doing to them.

Kiki was different air. Quiet. Clean. People breathed him too — without noticing. Only someone from outside could smell the difference.

He had his name on the door. Students who went silent when he spoke. And then he packed everything into four suitcases. A wife. Two children. One language left behind.

In the new country — no degree. No recognizing glance. Just an accent that gives you away.

He collects what others discard — and builds a life from it. No complaints. No explanations. No need for recognition. Just giving.

One question hangs in the air: when you give everything you have — is it what they need? Or only what you know how to give?

A story about a father who loves through action. And children who grow up inside that love — and learn only later what it cost.

About the book

After the mortgage comes down a little, we'll take a trip.

After this project ends, we'll have time.

After he finishes high school, we'll rest.

After we finish paying for everything, maybe we'll start living.

After we come back from the vacation everything will be different.

After the salary goes up, we'll replace the kitchen.

After we close the overdraft, we'll fly.

After the car is four years old, we'll replace it.

After the interest drops, we'll refinance the mortgage.

After the kid finishes his finals, we'll take a break.

After the bonus comes in, I'll fix my teeth.

After I finish this report, I'll leave early.

After the project launches, I'll slow down.

After we finish paying for daycare, we'll have breathing room.

After the credit card debt closes, we'll breathe.

After the renovation is done, we'll enjoy the house.

After I finish the project this year, I'll plan something for myself.

After this year passes, it will be easier.

After I finish paying off the lease, I'll consider an electric car.

After the kids sleep through the night, we'll get back to ourselves.

After the doctor confirms everything is fine, I'll relax.

After I finish this commitment, I'll think about a change.

After the account balances, we'll really start saving.

After I build up a little more seniority, I'll ask for a raise.

After we close all the loose ends, we'll start living.