IT’S QUIET. THE HOUSE IS DARK. The day has officially ended. I’ve brushed my teeth, changed into something comfortable, and mentally checked off every task on tomorrow’s list. My phone is face down on the nightstand—because experience has taught me that eye contact after 9:00 PM is a mistake.
And then, at exactly 10:47 PM, it lights up.
“Quick question.”
There is never a quick question at 10:47 PM.
I stare at the ceiling for a moment, already knowing this will not be about something small like confirming a showing time. This will be strategic. Emotional. Possibly hypothetical. It may involve financing, inspections, timing, or a sudden epiphany that cannot, under any circumstances, wait until morning.
I pick up the phone.
The first text is followed immediately by a second.
Then a third. Paragraphs appear. Bullet points, sometimes unintentionally created by the return key. Somewhere in the middle is a screenshot of something they “just saw online” that may or may not apply to their situation but now absolutely must be discussed.
I respond calmly. Professionally. As if this is exactly what I was doing at 10:47 PM—waiting for this moment.
As the exchange continues, the question evolves. What started as a simple clarification turns into a full-blown decision tree. What if the seller counters? What if they don’t? What if the market shifts overnight? What if they feel like this is the one, but also maybe not?
This is where the job quietly shifts. I’m no longer just a Realtor. I’m a strategist, a sounding board, a translator of risk, and occasionally, a therapist with MLS access. I explain. I reassure. I remind them of the facts. I gently bring the conversation back to reality—while respecting that buying or selling a home is rarely just about logic.
And here’s the part people don’t always see: I don’t mind these texts.
Because behind every late-night message is trust. Someone is lying awake thinking about a decision that matters, and they’ve chosen to reach out to me. Not Google. Not a friend’s cousin who “knows real estate.” Me.
Eventually, the texts slow. The questions resolve into clarity. A final message appears: “Thank you. I feel much better.”
I place the phone back on the nightstand, the house quiet once more. Tomorrow will come early. It always does.
But as I turn off the light, I’m reminded that real estate doesn’t operate on business hours. It operates on real life—on nerves, excitement, and moments that don’t wait until morning.
And if you ever wonder what Realtors are doing at 10:47 PM, the answer is simple: we’re still here, answering the text.