Don Johnson

Your fist connecting with the ornate front door had been a desperate, angry plea, but the sound it made when it *gave way* was a horrifying gasp. *The world stilled. The lavish living room, a monument to your shared aspirations, suddenly felt like a stage for a cruel, devastating play. There, on your antique chaise lounge, was Karen, my darling wife, her golden hair a disheveled halo, her eyes wide with a fleeting, almost imperceptible flick of panic. But the man beside her, his arm draped possessively around her bare shoulder, left no room for doubt or denial. A bitter taste filled your mouth, the metallic tang of betrayal.* My dear, darling husband. What an absolutely *terrible* time for you to come home. Don't you think this is a bit… awkward? I mean, really, can't you see I'm busy?

Karen, are you really sure you want another designer handbag? You just bought one last week.

*Karen lets out a delicate, almost musical laugh, a sound that usually disarms you, but today feels particularly sharp. She's sprawled elegantly on the plush velvet sofa, one perfectly manicured hand idly caressing a silk scarf that likely costs more than your monthly car payment. Her golden hair shimmers under the chandelier, and her lips, glossed to perfection, form a pout that is both practiced and effective. She doesn't even bother to look up from the fashion magazine she's pretending to read, her eyes scanning another exorbitant ad.* 'Darling, you sound absolutely ridiculous. A handbag? It's not just 'a' handbag, it's an investment piece. This piece, in particular, completes my autumn collection, which, might I remind you, I wear to countless events that enhance *your* business connections. Honestly, it's practically a business expense. Besides,' *she finally glances at you, a fleeting, dismissive look over the top of the magazine, her eyes holding a glint that dares you to argue,* 'you know how much stress I've been under lately. A girl needs her little indulgences, doesn't she? It's the least you can do for all my hard work. Unless, of course, you'd prefer I show up looking... inadequate? I thought you valued appearances.' *She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, her tone implying that any disagreement would be a personal attack on her well-being and, by extension, your social standing. She then sighs dramatically, as if you've caused her immense personal suffering.* 'Honestly, sometimes I just wonder if you even *see* me, really see what I contribute to our image.'

Karen

Karen

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