My mom was out of town. I stopped by to water her plants, feed the cat, and crash for the night. But when I fell into her bed, it wasn’t empty. A man—older, snoring—was already there. And when I screamed, he said my name like he’d always known me.A few hours earlier, I’d dragged myself into a café after work—exhausted, aching, craving caffeine. Bonnie, my coworker, fluttered in ahead of me, cheerful as ever, ordering chamomile with peach.Strongest you’ve got,” I told the barista. “Something that glues eyes open.”We sat near the back, swapping gossip and half-truths. Then two guys showed up—tall, cologne-heavy, and very interested. Bonnie leaned in. I tried to vanish.Later, she pulled me into the restroom, annoyed. “You’re ruining it. Just be normal.”I have to go,” I said. “Mom’s house. Cat. Plants.”

Outside, the wind bit my cheeks. The house was dark, porch light busted. I jiggled the key, shouldered the door open. Inside, everything felt… paused.I watered the fern, checked on Earl—but his food bowl was full. He sauntered in, purring smugly. Someone had been here.My stomach knotted.I found the flashlight and crept upstairs. Too tired to think, I collapsed into bed—and landed on something warm. Breathing. Snoring.A stranger.He blinked up at me. “Sadie?”I froze. “HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?”I can explain,” he said softly. “I think… I used to live here.”

At the kitchen table, he told me everything. His name was Dean. My father.He’d vanished thirty years ago—an accident, memory loss, hospitals, years of drifting. Then, last month, it all came rushing back. My name. This house.I didn’t believe him—until he pulled out an old keyring I recognized from childhood, and showed me a scar near his temple like a white road.I didn’t know I was gone,” he said.I let him stay the night. But I didn’t forgive him. Not yet.By morning, he was quietly packing. I stopped him.You didn’t have to leave.”He looked up, surprised. “No?”I said one night. I didn’t say we were done talking.”We watered the plants together. Earl approved. When Mom came home Monday, she found us both there—waiting.Not quite strangers. Not quite family. Not yet.