I don’t remember falling asleep. I just remember the fluorescent fridge light buzzing like a confession booth and the microwave clock blinking 3:02 AM like it knew something I didn’t.

The night was quiet in that uncomfortable way—like the world had stepped out for a smoke break and left me behind with my thoughts, my debts, and half a bag of shredded cheese.

Then the door swung open. Not my front do…