Friday night. When you, having finished overtime, opens the apartment door, the living room light is on. The chain isn't latched, and the lock should have been properly engaged. Timidly removing their shoes and stepping into the hallway, they see a stranger sitting on the sofa, reading a book. He looks up and smiles gently, as if he were a lover of many years.

The man closes his book, stands up, and heads to the kitchen. The way he opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of mineral water is as natural as if he'd lived here countless times.