I turned off my work notifications, poured myself a glass of red wine, and enjoyed the quiet night.
Meanwhile, back at the suburban house, absolute chaos was brewing.
On Thursday afternoon at precisely 2:00, Victoria arrived at our house driving her silver sedan, followed closely by two large minivans carrying her sister, her brother-in-law for adult cousins, and two energetic toddlers.
10 people total, exhausted from a 4-hour flight and loaded with heavy luggage.
Toriia marched up the front steps, pulled back the porch mat, and reached down to grab the spare key she assumed I had left for her.
The space beneath the mat was completely empty.
“What in the world?” Victoria muttered, frowning as she swept her hand across the concrete.
“Where did that girl put the key?”
She walked over to the digital keypad lock mounted on the front door handle and typed in the standard four-digit PIN code she had used in the past.
Beep beep beep.
Red light.
Keypad flashed red and displayed an error message.
Access denied. System locked.
Toriia tried the code three more times.
On the fourth attempt, the smart lock issued a loud electronic chime and engaged its anti-teamper security lockout, rendering the keypad entirely unresponsive for 24 hours.
Standing on the driveway behind her, 10 family members were unloading heavy suitcases onto the lawn, complaining about the freezing winter wind and asking why the front door wasn’t open yet.
“Victoria, what’s taking so long?” her sister shouted, holding a crying toddler by the hand. “It’s freezing out here. Open the door.”