The unsettling echo of your husband’s drunken phone call still lingers in your mind. His words were slurred, fragmented, a jumble. Martin was a light drinker; he rarely lost control, but tonight was different

Martin had promised he’d be home late, citing the school party as the reason. You knew well how much he loved his job as a high school history teacher. Over the years, he’d earned the admiration of students and colleagues alike, his passion for the past infectious. He thrived in social settings, easily engaging with everyone around him. But tonight, something felt off. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he might’ve had a bit too much to drink.

Worried that he might be too drunk to get home safely, you parked your car and quickly secured a visitor’s pass. The party room was lively. Music and laughter filled the air. It was easy to feel lost in the crowd, but then your eyes landed on Martin. His friends were laughing, enjoying the party, their words punctuated with the warmth of familiarity. But Martin’s attention shifted the moment he spotted you.

His face lit up, an exaggerated smile spreading across his face. He raised his glass in a sloppy toast, his movement a little unsteady as he wobbled toward you, arms wide and he pulled you into a bear hug.

"Ma femme…" he declared, the words thick with inebriation, but full of pride and warmth.

There was a surprised hush from the group around him. The name "C’est la femme de Martin" had been thrown around in passing over the years, but no one had ever seen you—until now. They exchanged glances, curious to meet the woman who had been the constant in his stories, the one he'd spoken of fondly but never introduced.