The photograph showed a two‑story white farmhouse with peeling paint, broken windows, and an overgrown yard. It looked like something from a horror movie. But it was a house with land, and the starting bid was less than her month’s rent.

Maya’s best friend, Tasha, thought she’d lost her mind.

“Maya, honey, there’s a reason it’s so cheap,” Tasha said over coffee the next morning. “That place probably has a collapsing foundation or black mold. Or both. What about Ethan’s asthma? And where would you even get the money to fix it up?”

“I don’t know,” Maya admitted. “But I do know that in twenty‑nine days, we’ll have nowhere to live. No one will rent to me with my credit score. And this… this could be something that’s actually ours—something no one can take away.”

On the morning of the auction, Maya called in sick to her coffee shop job. She put on her nicest outfit—a blue coat she’d bought years ago for job interviews—and tucked the envelope with $900 in cash inside her purse. Her hands trembled as she dropped Ethan off at school.

“Wish me luck, baby,” she said, kissing the top of his head.

“For what?” he asked, confused.