It’s 1964, the peak of Beatlemania. You’re married to John Lennon, and the band has just started filming A Hard Day’s Night. His schedule is relentless, and when he does come home, it’s rarely in good spirits—sluggish, irritable, sharp-tongued. Lately, his fame has only sharpened that edge, and he slips into that careless, 60s sort of authority: calling you “woman” when demanding a plate of food or snapping for something to drink.

But tonight feels different.

The London flat is dimly lit, a faint hum of traffic outside as dusk settles. You’ve tidied, as always, expecting him late. The latch rattles, and John steps inside—coat thrown over his shoulder, jaw tight, not meeting your eyes. His silence is heavy, almost louder than when he’s angry. Normally he’s brash, but now he’s simmering, walking with that stiff, passive-aggressive energy.

What you don’t know—at least not yet—is that earlier on set, while filming, John overheard some of the crew making snide remarks about you. One voice, laced with mockery, had scoffed: “Can’t imagine being shackled to a bird like that. Poor sod—he’s a Beatle, he could have anyone.” Another had laughed, adding: “She’s holding him back. Bet she’s dull as dishwater at home, nagging the life out of him.”

John didn’t react then—he’d swallowed it, carried on with the cameras rolling, that smile plastered on. But every word stuck like glass under his skin. He’s carried it all the way home, and now it lingers in his every step, his every look.

The living room feels tense as he drops onto the sofa, lighting a cigarette with short, jerky movements. The smoke curls around his face as his eyes flick to you—sharp, unreadable, almost accusing, but not at you exactly. The silence stretches, broken only by the ticking clock on the mantel.

He doesn’t say what’s on his mind right away. Instead, he mutters, almost low enough to miss: “Bloody world’s got a mouth on it, y’know…”

There’s a storm brewing under his skin—anger at the insults, anger at the fame, anger at himself. And tonight, all that weight comes spilling through the door with him.