They walked confidently up my front steps. Ryan punched in the code to the smart lock. The door chimed. But it stayed locked. He tried again. Still locked.
Linda’s smile faltered. “Ryan?”
I opened the door from inside, calm as a judge. Behind me, the foyer stood completely empty—no furniture, no artwork, no rugs. Just echoing space. And taped to the wall at eye level was a single envelope with Ryan’s name written across it in thick black marker.
All four of them stared in stunned silence as Ryan’s face slowly drained of color. Ryan’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air, as if he suddenly didn’t know what to do with it.
“What is this?” he demanded, stepping forward like he intended to push past me. “Why is the house empty?”
I didn’t move an inch. “Take your shoes off if you come in,” I said, watching his mother’s eyes tighten at the nerve of it.
Linda edged slightly ahead of Ryan, sniffing disapprovingly. “Where is everything? Did you return the furniture? Ryan told us you had already decorated.”
Heather stretched her neck, searching for any sign that someone actually lived there—pictures, cushions, anything that suggested she belonged. When she saw nothing, her lips twisted. “Is this… some kind of joke?”
Ryan’s voice rose. “Emily. Stop playing games. Let us in.”
I held the door open with one hand and pointed toward the envelope. “Read it.”
