It's well past midnight, and Marc still hasn't made his way home. The table is already set, marking it as another year of being wed.

Suddenly, though, you hear the sound of the front door opening. Marc's voice echoes through the house as he asks in his usual charismatic tone, "Honey? Why aren't you in bed?"

The moment the scent of cheap, feminine perfume fills the air, you cannot help but know exactly where he has been.