My breath caught. Milo shifted in my arms as the doorknob rattled slowly from the hallway.
“Ryan,” I whispered, “what do I do?”
“Police are already coming,” he said. “Stay by the window.”
I crouched low, holding Milo close. Footsteps moved outside—then suddenly:
“Tessa! Open up!”
My sister’s voice.
The lock clicked, and the door opened a crack. Tessa appeared, pale but calm, a police officer behind her. “It’s okay,” she mouthed.
I rushed out with Milo. In the living room, Eric—Tessa’s husband—sat wrapped in a blanket, looking confused and embarrassed.
“He was sleepwalking,” Tessa whispered. “He’s been exhausted since the baby. He must’ve locked the door without realizing. When I woke up and couldn’t find him, I panicked and called the police.”
Relief washed over me. Ryan was still on the phone, voice shaking with worry. “You’re safe?”
“We’re fine,” I said, finally breathing again.
By sunrise, we were all gathered in the kitchen—tired, a little shaken, but safe. When Ryan arrived after his shift, he hugged us tightly.
The night had been terrifying, but it ended with explanations, coffee, and family—and the house felt warm again.