She Forgot That I Own the House

I had just woken up at the hotel when I got a call from the realtor, Eric Wood.

"Mr. Scott, are you sure you want to sell the house?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied firmly.

"Is anyone currently living there?"

I checked the security cameras on my phone.

The living room was a mess. Empty liquor bottles were scattered across the carpet, while the lighting equipment and boxes from last night's livestream were piled on the couch.

My girlfriend, Claire Dickson, was making coffee for her childhood sweetheart, Terry Boyle, while Mark Sullivan and Wayne Tucker were still asleep in the guest rooms.

The four of them looked completely at home, as if the house belonged to them.

"It'll be empty by today," I told Eric.

After hanging up, I opened the smart lock app.

There were four permanent users—Claire, Terry, Mark, and Wayne. My name wasn't on the list.

After the renovations were done, Claire had told me the lock system hadn't been set up properly yet and gave me a temporary passcode instead.

I hadn't thought much of it.

The house was supposed to be our future home after we got married. She was an interior designer, so I trusted her with the renovation.

Only now did I realize that "the system hadn't been set up" was just an excuse. She had simply never added me to it.

I selected their names, tapped "Delete", and then hit "Confirm" when the system asked me to revoke their permanent access.

After that, I texted Eric the address along with a photo of the deed.

"You can come by this afternoon to take photos for the listing," I said.

It hit me then that yesterday was my 30th birthday. Claire had forgotten completely. And yet, I had picked up a birthday cake for Terry.

She had texted me that afternoon and asked me to bring it home on my way back from work because she was busy.

They'd probably finished off the cake by now. I hadn't noticed the name on it until last night.

It wasn't mine. It was Terry's.

At around 10:00 am, I returned to the house.

Claire was standing outside, repeatedly pressing her thumb against the scanner. "What happened?"

The moment she saw me, she demanded, "Is the lock broken?"

I entered the admin code, and the door clicked open.

She followed me inside, looking annoyed. "Why aren't any of our fingerprints working?"

"I deleted them," I replied coldly.

The living room fell silent.

Terry poked his head out of the kitchen. He was wearing my bathrobe.

"Come on, Andrew. Isn't that a bit much?" he said, without a trace of remorse. "We all just had a little too much to drink last night. We figured it was better for you to stay at a hotel and cool off instead of coming back and starting a fight."

Mark came downstairs, yawning.

"Why make such a big deal over a lock? Just add our fingerprints back. We're going to be here a lot anyway."