Winnie had a tendency to just go for it when she wanted something, and if she were honest with herself, that was probably where the trouble started. She’d wanted the Turlin Street home, and they’d paid a huge amount of money to live in a house he hated. Winnie knew that if it weren’t for her, Nigel would be living in a place downtown, something new in one of those buildings that reflected the sky and had a Starbucks and a gym attached. Nigel hadn’t grown up like Winnie, in a large rambler with her twin brother and three sisters. His mom had been of the single variety, hardworking and bone tired. They’d rented rather than bought, always something small and modern.

The house had almost seemed to fall into their laps—or perhaps Winnie’s lap. After months of bidding wars, failed inspections, and schlepping from one model home to another, Winnie had gone for a run around Greenlake, without Nigel, to clear her head. They’d been fighting about houses nonstop. She’d been parking her car along the curb as the owner drove the spikes of the For Sale sign into the front lawn. She’d hopped out of the still-running car and ninja-sprinted across the lawn in her New Balance sneakers.

“I’ll buy it,” she’d said, barely out of breath. “Your house. It’s sold.”

And as the former owner recounted later, Winnie had pulled the sign out of the ground and put it in the trunk of her BMW. They’d closed three months later.

Winnie’s memories of those twelve weeks were hazy. There had been a lot of back and forth until finally the offer was accepted, and then all of a sudden, they were owners of a very old, very large house. Prime location. “Seriously, Nigel. Who doesn’t want to live on Greenlake.” Winnie had said those words as they walked arm in arm toward their new home, just twenty minutes after the closing. Her eyes were as wide as the day Nigel had proposed.

They’d lived in the house for less than a year when the roof sprung a serious leak. Nigel had to cash out his 401k to replace it. Then, right after they brought Samuel home, they’d discovered the attic had black mold and had to be gutted. They lived in a hotel for a month with their new baby while the repairs were made. Years later, Nigel had wanted to add an apartment that could be locked off from the main house by a door in his den.

“But why does it need its own entrance?” she’d countered. He was growing impatient with her; if she dug her heels in it would cause a fight.