With a splash, he backed out of the driveway, already imagining the satisfying thrum of the garage door lifting to let him in.

The rain was drumming a relentless beat against the windshield of Leo’s old sedan as he pulled into the driveway. He reached up, his thumb finding the familiar, worn button of the garage remote clipped to the sun visor. Click. Nothing. Only the rhythmic sweep of the wipers.

He pressed harder, shifting his thumb to catch the edge of the button. The tiny red LED on the remote—usually a confident spark of life—gave a pathetic, dying flicker and went dark. Leo sighed, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. This was the third time this week he’d had to play "remote roulette," and it looked like the house had finally won.