I had a deal under contract for six weeks. Six weeks of inspections, appraisals, endless negotiation over a $400 repair credit, and seventeen phone calls about whether the sellers would leave the garden hose. We were three days from closing. THREE DAYS. The buyers had already scheduled movers and my sellers had packed up their entire kitchen. Then the buyers went to "take some measurements" for furniture and decided the master bedroom was actually too small for their California king. A bedroom they'd seen four times. They walked. No contingency left, just walked, said they'd rather lose their earnest money than live with a "cramped sleeping situation." The sellers had to unpack everything, relist, and explain to their new home's sellers why they needed to push closing back a month. I had to have the "sometimes people are unhinged" conversation with them while privately wondering if I should've become a dental hygienist like my mother wanted. The buyers are now back in my inbox asking if I'll help them find something "more spacious." I haven't responded yet because I'm still practicing my professional tone.