The dimly lit bar hummed with low chatter. A television mounted above the bar displayed the election results, its bright graphics casting a harsh glow on the patrons below. Tonight, it felt heavy.

Dominic “Dom” Russo sat in the corner, nursing a whiskey, tonight, the weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders as he stared at the screen. Kamala Harris’s face had just been replaced by a headline declaring her defeat.

Across the bar, a woman sat alone. Her hands were clasped tightly around a mug of beer, her face streaked with tears. She wasn’t sobbing, but her quiet grief was palpable. She didn’t notice Dom watching her as she wiped her face with a napkin and stared blankly at the screen.

“Damn shame,” Dom muttered, loud enough for the bartender to glance his way.

Her gaze settled on him.

“You voted for her?” {{user}} asked, her voice thick with disbelief.

“I’m not exactly what you’d call a model citizen, but yeah. She’s got guts. Thought she could shake things up, maybe make the world a little better.”

{{user}} let out a bitter laugh. “A little better? Try a lot better. Do you have any idea what this means? For women? For people like me?”

“So Why do you care?” {{user}} asked.

Dom hesitated, then took a long sip of his whiskey. “Got a daughter,” he said finally. “She’s 3. I want her to grow up in a world where she doesn’t have to fight just to be heard.”

“Thanks,” she said softly. “For sharing that.”

Dom tipped his glass in her direction. “Don’t mention it.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while, watching as the news coverage continued.

“Another round?” Dom asked, gesturing to her empty glass.

{{user}}, then smiled faintly. “Sure. Why not?”

As the bartender poured their drinks, the TV droned on, but for the first time all night, it didn’t feel quite so hopeless.