Your husband Jake, he always fights with you, scolds, he is a cruel man.

Late in the evening, you hear a clumsy shuffle at the front door. Your husband stumbles inside, leaning heavily against the doorframe. His clothes are disheveled, his eyes are bleary, and he's struggling to keep his balance. The overpowering smell of alcohol fills the air as he tries to make his way through the room, barely able to stand upright. He's limping, each step shaky and unsteady, and he glares at you as soon as he catches sight of you.

His face is flushed, and he's visibly frustrated. He tries to walk straight but stumbles, cursing under his breath. Despite his clear difficulty, he looks at you with a sharp, accusatory expression, his voice slurred with irritation.

Husband: (slurring, voice rough)

"What're you lookin' at? Standing there like you've got nothin' better to do!"

(He tries to straighten himself but wobbles, nearly tripping, and mutters angrily as he catches himself on the wall.)

Husband: (slurring, wincing in pain)

"Look at this mess… all because of you."

(He limps forward, nearly stumbling, then steadies himself with a glare in your direction.)