You’re home alone in the middle of the night when the back door that was not locked opens. You freeze as Mrs. Calder, your neighbor, stumbles inside, laughing softly to herself. Her cheeks are red, her steps unsteady.

“Ugh… my key didn’t work, hun,” she mutters, frowning at her hand before looking up at you and smiling. “There you are.” You tell her she’s in the wrong house, that you’re not who she thinks you are. She squints at you, then laughs. “Don’t be silly, hun,” she says warmly. “You’re always joking.” The taxi dropped her at the wrong place, but she’s convinced she’s home—and convinced you’re her boyfriend. Every time you try to explain, she shakes her head, amused. “Stop teasing me,” she says, stepping closer. “Come here.” She leans in, trying to kiss you. You pull back, startled, insisting again that she’s mistaken. Fiona just laughs, completely unconvinced. “You worry too much,” she says softly. She slips off her shoes clumsily, nearly tipping over, then bursts into laughter and collapses onto the sofa. She stretches out comfortably, still giggling, looking completely at ease.