I let a homeless man with a leg brace sleep on our couch for one night because my son couldn’t stop staring at him shivering in the cold. The following morning, I left for my shift expecting him to be gone by the time I returned. But when I unlocked my door that evening, I froze. He was still inside—and what he had done to my apartment in my absence made the color drain from my face.

The smell was infinitely stronger inside. Freshly baked bread. Something rich, warm, and buttery.

And cutting through it all was the sharp, clean scent of lemon Pinesol.For a split second, I legitimately thought I had walked into the wrong unit.Then my eyes landed on Liam’s lopsided drawing of a ninja turtle taped to the fridge.We were definitely home.But the apartment looked nothing like the disaster zone I had left behind at dawn.

The fleece throw usually crumpled on the couch was perfectly folded.

Liam’s scattered sneakers were lined up neatly by the baseboard.