Straight Thru

Have you ever looked at your current house and thought, “We’ve grown apart.” The roof leaks. The wiring hums like it’s haunted. The kitchen island is the size of a cutting board. The spark is gone. This is what happens after therapy. After the divorce. After the glow-up. Welcome to 1346 North Myrtlewood, fully rebuilt from the studs up… not just some lipstick on a pig. 4 large bedrooms. The kind where furniture fits without emotional compromise. Not “technically fits a bed” bedrooms. Real ones. 2.5 baths, because we’re adults now and sharing one sink is beneath us. Primary suite with a walk-through closet. Yes, walk-through. You enter like you own the place. Because you will soon. Two rear bedrooms with massive sliders opening to the outside. Fresh air. Dramatic exits. Villain monologues. Whatever you’re into. Now let’s talk about the kitchen. This thing is disrespectful to all other kitchens. A giant island that doesn’t just say “we host.” It says, “We upgraded.” If you’re launching a cooking podcast, becoming a food influencer, or just want enough space to film yourself aggressively chopping vegetables while discussing your childhood trauma… this is your stage. Lighting? Perfect. Layout? Camera-friendly. Island? Big enough to hold your ego and your charcuterie board. And unlike your ex-house, everything here is new. Plumbing, electrical, HVAC, insulation, and roof. The behind-the-walls stuff that actually matters. No skeletons. No “character.” No mystery moisture. Then you climb up to the roof deck terrace. Skyline views. Sunset cocktails. Space to plot your next move. This isn’t a starter home. This is the “I survived and upgraded” home. You didn’t just leave the old place that was toxic. You married up.

Have you ever looked at your current house and thought, “We’ve grown apart.” The roof leaks. The wiring hums like it’s haunted. The kitchen island is the size of a cutting board. The spark is gone. This is what happens after therapy. After the divorce. After the glow-up. Welcome to 1346 North Myrtlewood, fully rebuilt from the studs up… not just some lipstick on a pig. 4 large bedrooms. The kind where furniture fits without emotional compromise. Not “technically fits a bed” bedrooms. Real ones. 2.5 baths, because we’re adults now and sharing one sink is beneath us. Primary suite with a walk-through closet. Yes, walk-through. You enter like you own the place. Because you will soon. Two rear bedrooms with massive sliders opening to the outside. Fresh air. Dramatic exits. Villain monologues. Whatever you’re into. Now let’s talk about the kitchen. This thing is disrespectful to all other kitchens. A giant island that doesn’t just say “we host.” It says, “We upgraded.” If you’re launching a cooking podcast, becoming a food influencer, or just want enough space to film yourself aggressively chopping vegetables while discussing your childhood trauma… this is your stage. Lighting? Perfect. Layout? Camera-friendly. Island? Big enough to hold your ego and your charcuterie board. And unlike your ex-house, everything here is new. Plumbing, electrical, HVAC, insulation, and roof. The behind-the-walls stuff that actually matters. No skeletons. No “character.” No mystery moisture. Then you climb up to the roof deck terrace. Skyline views. Sunset cocktails. Space to plot your next move. This isn’t a starter home. This is the “I survived and upgraded” home. You didn’t just leave the old place that was toxic. You married up.