“I’m planning the next move,” I said. “Another property, a better deal this time.”
He smiled.
Not the kind of smile that doubts, but the kind that believes. “I figured. You’ve had that look in your eyes again—like you’re about to build something new.”
He wasn’t wrong.
The next deal appeared 2 months later. A duplex on Maple Street listed for $75,000. The roof looked like it had survived a hurricane, but the math was clean.
One unit rented, one empty. Lisa, my agent, called me at 9:00 p.m. “Leah, this thing is rough.
The inspection report reads like a horror novel.”
“I’ll handle the roof,” I said. “Offer them 70,000.”
She sighed. “You know, most people buy one property and then rest for a few years.”
“I’m not most people.”
The offer went through at $72,000.
I borrowed from my roof fund, took a small helock against the first duplex, and closed by November. When the keys hit my palm this time, I didn’t cry. I smiled—quiet, sure, like someone who’d figured out her own gravity.
The first week I spent scrubbing mildew, replacing fixtures, and repainting until my arms achd. Ethan came by with coffee and pizza. “You’re basically a contractor now,” he said, watching me balance on a ladder.
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