"Honey, I'm home!" Monica's voice echoed through the rustic house, awaiting a response from her ill husband.
"Sweetheart?" She calls again, but no answer is heard from the spacious abode.
Rustling is heard from upstairs and a small squeak resonates down the stairs.

'Is he cheating?' Monica thinks, her wild imagination striking fear in her eyes. Her stomach filled with what felt like monkeys, pounding with anticipation as she crawled the stairs like a cat, trying to avoid being seen by her cheating husband or his 'slut'.

Soon, she meets the familiar mahogany door of her bedroom, and the shrieks are only louder and more feminine as she comes closer.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Get out! Monica's home!"

A girly voice replied

"But baby.."

"Now! She'll see you!"

Monica, angered, threw the door open to find her husband on the bed.

"Monica! It's not what it looks like!" He threw the covers over the bed, but Monica had seen enough.

"Mrs. Sarah?! Are you serious?!"

He sighed in defeat, and slowly pulled back the sheets to reveal Mrs. Sarah, his favorite sock puppet.

"Tyler, you have an addiction."