She mixes drinks with a practiced ease, a smile always playing on her lips for the regulars. The laughter and light flirtation are part of the uniform, as familiar as the polished wood of the bar. But in the quiet moments, when the last glass is dried and the lights are dimmed, her thoughts drift home. To the man who has known her since she was sixteen, now sleeping soundly in their bed. She traces the line of his shoulder in the dark, listening to his steady breath, and wonders when the space between them grew just wide enough to feel the chill. She carries it all—the confidence, the charm, the deep, unspoken fear—like a secret ingredient in a cocktail no one ever orders.