We were three days from closing. Three days. The buyers had done their final walkthrough, everyone signed off, title company had everything queued up. My commission check was going to be around twelve thousand after the split, and I had already mentally spent about eight of it because my car needed new brakes and I was two months behind on my health insurance. Then the listing agent calls me. Not texts, calls. Which you know is never good. The seller decided to take the chandelier. The chandelier that was in the dining room during every single showing. The chandelier that was explicitly listed as a fixture in the contract. She just... took it. Put up some brushed nickel thing from Home Depot and acted like nobody would notice. My buyers noticed. They wanted a ten thousand dollar credit. The seller offered two hundred. Two. Hundred. Dollars. For a chandelier her grandmother brought over from Italy in 1962 or whatever, I don't know, she kept telling me the story like it mattered. Lady, I don't care if your grandmother hand-carried it across the Atlantic on her back, it was in the contract. We went back and forth for six days. Six days past closing. The buyers almost walked. The seller's agent stopped returning my calls on day four, just texting me "working on it" every few hours. Final credit was eighteen hundred. My commission got docked for the extension fees. The whole thing cost me probably four hundred bucks and I genuinely cannot look at chandeliers anymore without feeling my blood pressure spike.