Buying our first home was supposed to be a dream come true for me and my husband. Instead, one family dinner spiraled into a nightmare when I realized the person destroying our hard work wasn’t a child with markers, but an adult with a grudge.
I’m Marissa, 30 years old. If someone had told me a year ago that my biggest stress wouldn’t be work or bills, but wallpaper, I would’ve laughed in their face. My husband, Oliver, 28, is the calm one between us, the type who can fix a leaking faucet with nothing but a YouTube tutorial, determination, and a handful of swear words whispered under his breath.
