“How was your day, dear?” My husband places a kiss on my cheek.
“Lovely,” I reply through gritted teeth.
“Oh,” he says. “You need to go fill your cup.”
The door slams again on my way out. A passerby nods, tipping his hat. Outside the pub, I drop a few dollars in the busker’s guitar case. He smiles. Inside the pub, the bartender hands me a soda. Comforting chatter bounces between the barstools. I thank the bartender and return home with my cup full.