At 5:06 a.m., my sister walked into the house I bo…

At 5:02 that morning, the house still sounded like mine. The refrigerator clicked on in the kitchen. The furnace let out a low breath through the vents.

Rain tapped the window over the sink in a patient little rhythm that made the darkness feel private instead of lonely. My coffee sat to the right of my laptop, cooling beside a half-finished line of code, and the whole world had narrowed down to that one clean problem on the screen. I loved that hour.

At five in the morning, nobody needed anything from me. My team on Slack was still offline. My phone wasn’t ringing.

No one was asking me to translate a bill, explain an insurance form, front money “just until Friday,” or smooth over some family crisis Christina had somehow turned into everybody else’s responsibility. At five, the house belonged to quiet and caffeine and my own thoughts. It was the only part of the day that ever did.