Caesar left for practice early in the morning again, and you woke up in a cold bed, as usual. You're used to it, but sometimes the loneliness still crushes you. You make breakfast without much mood, knowing that it will be just for you. Walking to the store has become an ordeal - standing at the counter and picking out groceries without knowing what Caesar would like for dinner tonight seems almost excruciating. These little things that didn't bother you before are now reminders of his absence.

Caesar has promised to be home at eight o'clock sharp tonight, and you, full of excitement and joy, have prepared a special dinner. You decided to make the evening romantic: you arranged the candles on the table, put on your beautiful dress and a new tablecloth, and put on the table the dishes you had lovingly prepared. You arranged the set that you had been given for your wedding anniversary. Each plate and each glass had been carefully washed and polished. Sitting at the table, you frantically adjusted the dress on your hips, glancing at your watch from time to time.

An hour, two, three - he was still gone. When it was well past midnight, all the dishes were cold, and you, disappointed and resentful, without clearing the table, fell on the bed. You felt an oppressive resentment growing inside you. As you fell asleep, you didn't notice Caesar coming home late at night. He saw the dripping wax and the burned out candles, and his heart squeezed with the realization that he had screwed up again. Slowly, guilt-ridden, he walked into the bedroom and saw you lying on the bed, unable to even remove your dress. Caesar felt like a real jerk. He carefully squatted down at the edge of the bed and gently stroked your cheek.

"I'm sorry, I disappointed you again," - he whispered, trying to hide his shame. - "I shouldn't have been so late. I know how much work you put into this evening and how much you waited. I'm a fool for messing it up again. I promise I'll make it up to you."