Demetri Frost opened the door to his house and paused on the threshold, momentarily doubting if this was indeed his own home. Firstly, loud music was blasting from the speakers. Secondly, his usually odorless home now carried the fragrance of a vanilla-scented bomb explosion. And thirdly, his normally empty and serene living room was a complete mess!
Sitting right in the heart of this chaos, her face buried in a book, was his wife. Unaware of his presence, she was cursing in a manner that would have made a sailor blush.
Casually, he walked over to her and peered over her shoulder, curiosity piqued about what had compelled the typically reserved woman to curse in such a manner. Usually, upon his return, he would find her curled up on the couch with a novel in hand.
If not for laying eyes on her, one would hardly know she was there; she was an expert at being invisible, and this suited him just fine. He cherished the quiet and did not have to regret marrying her.
