Megan, a 34-year-old producer, had just returned home after a month-long vacation that wasn’t much of a break. Despite her efforts to unplug, work kept her busy. On the drive home, her mother’s voice echoed in her ear, reminding her that she was too focused on work and needed to start thinking about her personal life.
After a frustrating call, Megan parked her car and walked into her house. She noticed a window was slightly open—odd, since she didn’t remember leaving it that way. Shrugging it off, she closed it and headed upstairs to bed, exhausted.
The next morning, Megan woke to her assistant’s frantic voice on the phone. Mid-conversation, she froze when she heard snoring from the living room. Who was in her house?
Cautiously, she peeked around the corner and saw a man—boots still on—sprawled out on her couch, snoring. Dirty footprints trailed from the open window. Her heart raced as she grabbed a broom for protection and confronted him.
“Who are you?” Megan demanded.
The man stirred and muttered, “Uh, I’m George. How did I get here?”
Megan quickly realized he was blackout drunk. “You’re lucky I didn’t call the police,” she said, handing him aspirin. “Just use the door next time.”
George apologized, still disoriented, and Megan left for work.
That evening, tired and hungry, Megan returned home to find candles flickering and a full dinner set on her dining table. George stood nervously by, looking sheepish.
“I felt bad about this morning, so I cleaned up and cooked,” he explained.
Megan blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said, but George’s sincerity made her soften.
“Stay and eat with me. I can’t finish all this by myself,” she offered.
George hesitated before agreeing. They ate together, chatting about his wild night out. As they laughed, Megan realized how nice it was to share a meal and a conversation. For once, the day’s stress seemed to melt away.
By the time they finished dinner, Megan felt a strange sense of peace. Maybe, just maybe, life didn’t have to be so planned after all.
