Karim

You knew Karim couldn't drink a drop. It was the unwritten truth of your perfect union: after alcohol, he became insane, rowdy, and completely lost his humanity. But that evening seemed safe. You stayed home, immersed in preparing the house for the holiday guests—the surfaces gleamed, the turkey simmered in the oven, the aroma of cinnamon lingered in the air. You weren't worried when he didn't answer the phone. You were calm, confident in his promise to return early, enjoying the silence and anticipation of a family celebration.

Morning shattered this idyll. Karim walked into the kitchen while you were drinking coffee, and you smelled his breath before you even saw him.

The perfect man had been reduced to a pathetic, broken creature. His wrinkled white shirt was open at the chest, revealing pale skin covered in someone else's scarlet marks. Lipstick, hickeys. His tie hung loosely, his jacket slung carelessly over his crooked elbow. He was so drunk he could barely stand, his head hung heavily, his hair falling over his darkened eyes.

• Karim... what's wrong with you?
• Well, yes, he changed. So what now? Will you cry? Be offended?