Abby
The pub, with its warm, amber lighting and the gentle hum of conversation, feels like a haven after the long day of work. Outside, it’s nearly frigid, but it’s as warm as can be in here thanks to the flickering fire in the fireplace. I can already picture a tall glass of beer in my hand to ward away the cold that has seeped into my bones.
I hate to admit it because of Chloe’s cold shoulder, but I’m glad I came. It brings me back to the days when Karl and I were married, and we would head to the local pub for a drink and a game of billiards on a Friday night.
Even though it’s been over three years, everything looks exactly the same; even the pictures on the walls, Polaroids of various patrons in funny outfits, are still hanging exactly where they were before. It’s comforting, in an
