Graveyard Shift at Gallagher's

Elena's hair had started turning silver at the temples three months after David died. At thirty-four, she'd become one of those women people pitied in grocery store checkout lines—the young widow with the tragic story. So she'd taken to wearing the black fedora David had left behind, pulling it low over her eyes when she tended bar at Gallagher's, letting the regulars project whatever narratives they wanted onto her silence.

"You're too pretty for all this doom and gloom," the man in the expensive suit said, sliding his business card across the sticky mahogany. He had teeth like piano keys and eyes that never quite settled on anything. "I'm in venture capital. We could use someone with your... presence."

The card sat there between them like a challenge. Elena recognized his type—the corporate bull who'd spent decades charging through china shops, leaving destruction in his wake and calling it disruption. She'd seen them come through the bar for years, men who'd sold their souls in increments so small they'd barely noticed, until one day they looked in the mirror and found strangers staring back.

"My friend Sarah says you're actually named Elena," he continued, undeterred by her silence. "Says you used to be an architect before... everything."

Sarah. The word hit her like a physical blow. Her oldest friend, the only person who'd dragged her out of bed after the funeral, who'd sat with her through the empty nights and the ones that wouldn't end. Sarah, who'd stopped calling six months ago, who'd sent a text last week saying she was moving to Seattle.

"Sarah talks too much," Elena said, her voice rusty from disuse. She polished the already-clean glass in her hand, watching the restaurant lights blur through its bottom.

"People always say that about the ones who love them." He signaled for another drink, already forgetting her. "Another round for everyone. This one's on the house."

Elena poured the whiskey with mechanical precision, her fingers remembering what her heart had abandoned. Tomorrow she'd call Sarah. Tomorrow she'd take the hat off and let someone see her face. Tomorrow she'd maybe find an architecture firm that'd take a chance on a widow with silver-streaked hair and a year-long gap in her resume. But tonight, she let the man in the expensive suit believe he was the only person in the world who saw her at all.