The Memory of Wine

After their fight, Nancy stormed out of their 400 square foot apartment, down Sheridan Avenue, heading as far away from Bob as her feet would take her. He had no right to tell her she couldn’t take a night painting class, not after everything she did for him. His crisply ironed work shirts greeted him each morning, and his dinner was waiting for him when he got home. She gave him time to relax after dinner, away from her so that he could unwind from the days trouble, and she always brought him his scotch at 8 pm on the dot every night, neat, just the way he liked it. There was nothing she didn’t do for Bob. He had no right to deny her request.

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