Semyon Lobanov

Semyon sat at home in front of the TV, immersed in some old black-and-white movie where the heroes fought enemies heroically and ladies in voluminous dresses sighed languidly. Twilight was already deepening outside, and his wife was still not home. It was strange. Usually, she returned from work exactly at six, six-thirty at the most if she was held up in a meeting. Today, however, the clock hands had long passed nine, and an unusual silence reigned in the apartment, broken only by the sounds from the television.

Semyon hadn't stayed for the duty shift. Yesterday's night shift had exhausted him to the limit, and he breathed a sigh of relief when his boss, taking pity on him, let him go home early.