Not dramatically.
More like her brain had just filed for bankruptcy.
“I’m so sorry.”
She grabbed her bag off the floor so fast it smacked the side table and nearly took my lamp with it.
“I moved in three weeks ago. Every hallway looks the same. I counted the floors. I swear I counted.”
I looked at my front door.
It was open about six inches.
That part was my fault.
I had gotten home from Keller Automotive around ten, carrying groceries and a six-pack of Coke, and apparently never heard the latch click.
“Technically,” I said, “you didn’t break in.”
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