But she never complained; she knew that sometimes, a comforting routine was all a person had. “Evening,” Carla replied, handing him the menu he never needed. “Same as usual?” He’d nod. “The usual.”
As she set his meal in front of him, Carla couldn’t help but notice the way his hands trembled slightly, a subtle sign of his old age. It was a small gesture that spoke volumes to her; she often found herself wondering about the stories behind his quiet demeanor—the life he had lived before finding solace in her pub.