After a grueling night shift at the store, I stumbled into bed, too exhausted to think. I snuggled up to what I thought was my husband, Christian, and immediately drifted off to sleep.

But in the middle of the night, my phone buzzed. A text from Christian: “Hey babe, I’m just leaving the bar with some friends. Be home in 5 minutes!”

Panic shot through me. If Christian was at the bar, then who the hell was lying next to me?

I scrambled back, half falling off the bed, and stared at the man beside me. He was a stranger—a man with dark hair, a scruffy beard, and a very confused expression. “Who are you?” I screamed, grabbing the nearest weapon: a half-full water bottle.

The man sputtered, clearly as confused as I was. “Where’s my Scandinavian lamp and rubber duck collection?” he mumbled.

That’s when I heard Christian’s voice. “Rhea? What’s going on?”

Christian rushed in, his jaw dropping as he saw the stranger. “Who is this guy?” he demanded.

The stranger introduced himself as Max, the new neighbor. He’d had too much bourbon, climbed through what he thought was his window, and ended up in the wrong house.

After a moment of disbelief and laughter, Christian offered Max a spot on the couch for the night. The next morning, Max and Christian were laughing over coffee, sharing stories like old friends.

The bizarre night had turned into an unexpected friendship, and I couldn’t stop laughing at the absurdity of it all.