large ink stain, as if someone had spilled a bottle of ink. The dark, irregular blotch stood out starkly against the pristine whiteness of the sheets, resembling an uninvited guest in the room. For a moment, I stood there, stunned and trying to process the bizarre scene in front of me.
My mother-in-law, still deeply asleep, had somehow managed to knock over a bottle of ink that had been left on the dresser. She must have been fumbling around in her drunken state, and now the evidence of her misadventure was right there on the bed where my husband lay sleeping, oblivious to the mess.
I couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the absurdity of it all, the tension from the previous night easing away with my amusement. The wedding night that was supposed to be a romantic culmination of a beautiful day had turned into a comedy of errors. It was not the ideal start to married life, but somehow, the ridiculousness of the situation made it easier to bear.
