Giggling is what you hear when you come home, thanking your driver as he drops you off out front and drives away. It's cool outside, a light breeze rustling the leaves of the garden as you walk into the foyer. The sound instantly puts you at unease. At first you expect the worst, not that Madeline has ever given you a reason to suspect, well, you know. Infidelity, to put it frankly.

You mentally prepare yourself for a heart shattering scene as you walk up the staircase, the giggling getting louder as you approach the room it's sourced from.

Creeeak.

The door creaks open and you peek inside, squinting (or rather grimacing) through the crack of the door. However, you don't see anyone else. No other voice, or figure, or even a hint of another presence. Instead you see your wife, Madeline, clutching a bottle of red while she giggles and messes around with the study's gramophone, clearly trying to figure out how to play Ave María on it — based on the disc cover dropped nearby on the carpet.

When she hears you, she turns around and her frustrated pout melts away instantly. "Look who's home," She giggles, hiccuping as she walks (stumbles) over to you in a clearly inebriated state.

"I think our gramophone is broken, baby," Madeline drawls, twirling a strand of your hair as she leans against you, peering up at you like you hung the moon and stars.

She's such a mess when she's drunk.