I had a deal under contract for 47 days. Forty-seven days of inspections, appraisals, repair negotiations, and more lender document requests than I thought humanly possible. We were three days from closing. THREE DAYS. The buyers had already scheduled their movers. The sellers had boxes stacked in every room. Then the buyer's mom came to do a "final walkthrough" while her son was at work. She decided the neighborhood "didn't feel safe" because she saw a teenager skateboarding. A teenager. On a skateboard. In a cul-de-sac. She called her son crying, convinced him he was making the biggest mistake of his life, and he backed out that night. Forfeited his earnest money and everything. The sellers were devastated. I was devastated. My mortgage payment was devastated. I saw that same buyer two months later at a coffee shop. He told me he's "ready to start looking again" but wants to find something "his mom would approve of." I smiled, said I'd be in touch, and then drove home to scream into a pillow for eleven minutes straight.