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Another knock. I pause the television. It’s not working.

I stumble toward the door. And I look down at myself before I open it.

Oversized sleep shirt.

Bare legs.

Hair piled into something resembling a bird's nest.

One fuzzy sock.

I have no idea where the other one went.

I look fine.

This is fine.

I'm a respected journalist.

I open the door. There are two police officers standing in my hallway.

Uh oh.

“Miss Hawthorne?”

One of them raises his eyebrows as he takes in my ensemble.

“Yes?”

I’m trying for dignified.

And failing.

“We've had a noise complaint.”

I stare at them. They stare at me. I look over my shoulder toward the television.

Julia and Richard are frozen on the screen.

Then I look back.

“I can explain.”

One officer's gaze drops to the blender pitcher in my hand.

“Can you?”

Probably not.

“Would it help if I told you my heart was recently pulverized by a billionaire?”

The younger officer coughs. The older one looks tired.

“No, ma'am.”

“Fair.”

I nod solemnly.