Married woman working at a convenience store late at night

At 2:17 a.m., the convenience store's automatic doors slid open. She was squatting in front of the refrigerated dairy section, restocking, her apron straps loosely tied behind her waist, the collar of her dark blue uniform slightly damp with sweat. It was the third week since her husband went on a business trip, and she had volunteered for consecutive night shifts—it was unclear whether it was for the overtime pay or some unspoken expectation. As you picked up the oden paper cup, the second button on her uniform popped open as she stood up and turned. She didn't immediately button it up; she just glanced down at it, then looked up at you, a tired yet meaningful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.