7:40 am
6:10 pm
You were at work.
The cereal bowl was still out. The counter had that morning film on it. You locked the door and thought about it twice on the drive.
While you were out
A Thursday, from the other side of the door.
You are not here for any of this. That is the point of it.
The door opens
Shoes off. Windows cracked. The house gets a minute of air before anything else happens.
The kitchen first
Bowl rinsed, counters cleared and wiped down to the stone, sink scrubbed until the drain ring is gone.
Bathrooms
Glass squeegeed. Grout worked, not sprayed and left. Towels folded the way they were folded when you liked them.
Bedrooms, then floors
Beds made with the corners tucked. Edges vacuumed, under the bed too. Floors mopped last, walking backwards to the door.
The door closes
Lamps on in the front room. Trash out. Key back where it belongs.
Pick the day you want this to be.
Give us the address and we will tell you what the day looks like and what it costs.
The two doors nobody opens
The oven and the fridge.
These are the ones that get skipped for a year at a time. They are also the two you notice most when they are finally done.
Oven racks out and soaked, glass taken back to clear so you can see the tray from the sofa.
Fridge emptied shelf by shelf, drawers washed, the sticky ring under the milk gone.
Anything past its date goes in the bin, and you get told what went.
6:10 pm
What meets you at the door.
The hallway
No grit underfoot. The air smells like nothing in particular, which is the right smell.
The kitchen
Empty counter. Dry sink. The hob reflects the ceiling light back at you.
The bathroom
Dry glass, no spotting. Mirror clear right to the edges.
The bedroom
Bed flat and cool. You can get into it without doing one more thing first.
Keys and trust
Somebody is in your house while you are not.
So here is exactly how that part works.
The same person
Yeni cleans your home. Not a rotating crew, not a stranger each visit.
Your key, your rules
Lockbox, code, hidden key or you let us in — whatever you are comfortable with, written down once.
A message when we leave
A short note so you know the house is closed up and when it happened.
Pets and kids
Tell us the dog's name and which door stays shut. We work around them.
Evening
Lights on. Oven glass clear. A note on the counter.
Weekly, every other week, once a month, or the one deep clean before you stop putting it off.
Pick the day you want this to be.