“Well, this is the last house left,” the realtor announced as we walked up to the house. My stomach began to churn as we looked at the house.
We’d been all over Sunset Valley that afternoon, looking for a house. Every house was beautiful, the neighborhood pleasant; the neighbors themselves were some of the nicest people I’d ever met. But it was my ridiculously small pocketbook holding me back.
We stepped foot inside, the rotten floor creaking underneath every step. The wallpaper had long since corroded away. The kitchen tiles were stained with months—if not years—of neglect. There was a nasty oder, as if something had crawled up underneath the house and died. Which, the more I thought about it, the more likely that came to be.
“It hasn’t been used in years,” he explained. “When the bank forclosed on it, they hadn’t bothered to send anyone here to keep the place up.”
“It’s… nice,” I said carefully, trying to disguise my disgust, though it was obvious that the salesman didn’t entirely believe it. “It just needs a little elbow grease and I’m sure it’d be as good as new,” I suggested, a forced smile planted on my face. The truth of the matter was that I needed this house. No matter how disgusting the house was, it was really my last hope.
Though he was convinced I could be disuaded. “It needs more than elbow grease. It needs a bulldozer taken to it. It’s no where near habitable for a dog, much less for a young woman.”
“It’s fine, I’m used to having to work a little.”
“Look, I’ve got a daughter about your age. I would hate myself if I let you buy this dump,” he mentioned quietly. “I’ve got a friend who has property in Twinbrook. Why don’t I give him a call and—“
“No. Trust me, it’s fine. The house is perfect. I want this place.”
He gave me a hard look. “That determined to stick it to them?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. I laughed hesitantly. “Well, I guess I can’t talk you out of it.”
“Well then, welcome to Sunset Valley Ms. Morales.”