After months of searching, after countless disappointing viewings of houses that were too small, too dark, or too close to the highway, I found it. It was a pale blue house nestled on the edge of Lake Lure in North Carolina. It had crisp white shutters, a wraparound porch perfect for sipping sweet tea on summer evenings, and a backyard that spilled down to the water, looking as though it had been painted by spring itself. The air smelled of pine and damp earth, and the only sound was the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore. It felt like peace had found an address.