“You seem to haunt that tavern every moment of your spare time. Why, I wonder? Can’t you stay home and be with me? What makes that place so compelling?” she asked, her voice edged with frustration.
The husband’s grin was his silent attempt to communicate his perspective. A night at the bar with his friends was all it took to bring him joy, and he casually extended an invitation to her, thinking little of it. She, on the other hand, was thrilled at the prospect—finally, a chance to observe her husband in his nocturnal domain.
As they crossed the tavern threshold, the woman was taken aback by the chaotic melody of blaring music and the thick, acrid clouds of cigarette smoke swirling around. The constant roar of laughter, loud and unrelenting, pounded against her ears, yet she stayed, determined.
Approaching the bar, her husband leaned in, a casual smirk on his face. “What’s it going to be, darling?”
