I walked into the home I hadn’t wanted and kicked myself for the thousandth time for allowing Liam to talk me into buying it. At the time, we’d been riding a high from building houses for impoverished communities in Costa Rica, and a project of our own had sounded like the right move. Liam had made it sound like the right move. The plan had been to buy the house with mostly cash—mine—take out a short-term loan—in my name—remodel it ourselves, and flip it for a big profit. I got pregnant the night we got the keys. And nothing had been going in the right direction since.
