It was my younger sister’s long-awaited wedding. I’ve been married for more than ten years, and together with my husband we have a five-year-old son.
We were sitting at the festive table: we laughed, raised our glasses to the newlyweds, and enjoyed the atmosphere. Everything seemed perfect.
But suddenly, my son began to act strangely: he kept peeking under the table, squirmed in his seat, and refused to go play with the other children.
At first, I thought he was just tired. But then he came up to me, grabbed my hand, and said:
— Mom, let’s go home.
— What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you tired? Don’t you like it here?
— No… But did you see what’s there, under the table?..
There, curled up, was a man sleeping — one of the guests, whom I barely recognized at first. He was obviously very drunk and, as he drifted into sleep, unconsciously stretched out his hands, touching my son’s legs.
I nearly screamed. My heart was pounding so hard it echoed in my temples.
— Oh my God… — I gasped. — There’s someone here!
At the sound of my voice, the guests turned. Several men jumped up and rushed over to me. One lifted the tablecloth, and everyone saw the man sprawled out on the floor under the table, as if it were his hiding place.
The women gasped, the children were frightened, and my son clung to me so tightly I could feel him trembling.
— He touched me… — he whispered, looking at me with frightened eyes.
Two guests carefully took the man by the arms, pulled him out from under the table, and lifted him up. He was almost unconscious, his eyes barely open, mumbling incoherently, and could hardly stand on his feet. The stench of alcohol hit us immediately.
The men led him outside. I held my son close, stroking his head to calm him. The guests started talking all at once, some shaking their heads in disbelief.
The wedding went on, but for me, that moment remained a terrifying reminder: even in the happiest of atmospheres, one must stay alert.
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