The.uninvited Site

I live alone. I have no pets. I do not own a rocking chair. Yet, at 3:17 AM last Thursday, I heard the rhythmic creak... creak... creak from the corner of my spare bedroom. A room I had locked.

We talk a lot about guests in this life. The planned ones. The ones with wine bottles and wet umbrellas. We tidy the living room, hide the laundry, and light a candle that smells like sandalwood and lies. the.uninvited

Draw the line. Speak the boundary. Let the silence that follows be the loudest thing in the room. I live alone

So, I did something that felt ridiculous at 4:00 AM. I walked into the spare bedroom, looked at the empty rocking chair (which, for the record, I still cannot explain), and I said out loud: Yet, at 3:17 AM last Thursday, I heard the rhythmic creak

But here is the secret I learned:

We are taught to be good hosts. To offer a drink. To make space.

The.uninvited had made itself comfortable. Here is the lie we tell ourselves: A home is a fortress.