The purchase closed two months later.
And the hardest work of her young adult life began.
The renovation took almost two years.
Naya didn't transform the property overnight.
She worked in stages.
First came the necessary safety repairs.
Then electrical improvements, plumbing work, insulation, and roofing.
She hired licensed professionals for jobs beyond her experience and performed smaller cosmetic tasks herself.
Every decision required a budget.
She compared estimates.
Waited for sales.
And sometimes postponed improvements for months because she refused to take on debt she couldn't manage.
During the first winter, she slept in a nearly empty bedroom with a portable lamp and boxes stacked against the wall.
The kitchen had temporary shelving.
The dining room was filled with construction materials.
And the backyard looked more like a storage yard than a garden.
But she loved the place.
Every repaired wall felt like progress.
Every completed room made the house more like the home she'd imagined.
Her mother visited frequently.
Sometimes she brought food.
Other times she arrived wearing old jeans and offered to help paint.
One Saturday afternoon, they stood together in the unfinished kitchen studying samples of light-colored stone.
Naya held one against the cabinet.
"What do you think?"
Her mother frowned.
"Too gray."
Naya held up another.
"That one?"
"Too yellow."
Naya laughed.
"Mom, you hate everything."
Her mother shook her head.
"I just know you. You'll spend the next twenty years complaining if you pick the wrong countertop."
They finally chose a beautiful gray granite with subtle natural patterns.
Years later, that would become the same countertop where Naya's husband ordered her to sign divorce papers.
At the time, neither woman could imagine it.
They saw only a kitchen they were building together.
When the renovation was nearly finished, Naya invited her mother for dinner.
They ate at a simple wooden table in the newly completed dining area.
The lights were warm.
The windows were clean.
And for the first time, there were no construction supplies stacked against the wall.
Her mother looked around.
Then smiled.
"You did it."
Naya shook her head.
"We did."
The older woman laughed.
"Don't give me too much credit. I mostly complained about paint colors."
Naya reached for her hand.
"You kept telling me I could do it."
For a moment, her mother became emotional.
Then she looked toward the kitchen.
"I hope you remember something."
Naya smiled.
"What?"
"Don't ever let somebody make you feel like you need their permission to live in the life you built."