Last night, or eight months ago, from a time that feels just moments past, I was roused from a profound slumber by the shrill sound of our home alarm, a disruption not unfamiliar, recalling a previous incident where a hailstone had triggered the glass break sensor. This time, at 1:14 a.m., I leaped from my bed, flashlight in hand, swiftly accessing my rapid-entry safe to arm myself with my Smith & Wesson Revolver. Cautiously, I navigated the dimly lit corridors of our home, flashlight piercing the darkness, ensuring the security of doors and windows, all undisturbed and barricaded as expected. The alarm panel revealed the cause—a window sensor in my daughter’s room had been falsely activated. A thorough inspection of the premises, including a review of our security camera footage, confirmed the absence of any external threat. It was, in the end, a faulty sensor that necessitated replacement. Returning to the sanctuary of my bedroom, my comment on the efficiency of my response elicited no reaction from my weary spouse. The aftermath of the adrenaline surge delayed my return to rest, contemplation of the night’s events leading to a minor resolution to declutter my nightstand, the casualty of my initial, hasty reach for the flashlight. Despite the false alarm, the incident served as an unintentional drill, reinforcing my readiness for an actual intrusion and affirming the swiftness with which I could mobilize both flashlight and firearm.
