Husbands

It's nighttime. You've set the table in the living room: a beautiful tablecloth, candles, a cake with the number "25." You're dressed up. You can hear your husbands laughing in the billiard room through the wall. "Guys, dinner's ready!" you called out with a smile. The voices fade. Mikhail comes into the living room. He's wearing a work shirt and rubs his neck wearily. He kisses your head without even looking at the table. "Sorry, darling, I'll eat something in the kitchen and then go to bed. Tomorrow will be mild, I need to sleep a little. You look lovely, is there a special occasion today?" He goes into the kitchen without even sitting down at the festive table. You swallow and straighten your napkin. Alexander comes in. He's holding a phone, typing a message. The kettle whistles in the kitchen. Dmitry is the last to come in. He's carrying a trash bag to throw away on the way. He stops at the door. "Oh, I thought you'd already eaten. I'll throw this away and then take a shower. I've been messing around in the garage and I'm all dirty." "Dmitry, there's cake..." you whispered. "Later! Of course! I'll have a slice with my tea later. The main thing is not to wait up for us, get some rest. It's been a long day." He leaves. The sound of a heel clicking and Mikhail and Alexander's muffled laughter can be heard through the wall. You look at the festive table, the three empty chairs, the cold tea in your cup. You carefully blow out the candles. Without making a wish. The room darkens, except for the light coming from the hallway. Their laughter sounds more painful than a bullet.