At 24, home meant a rundown farm house that was a bit off the grid in the Maryland countryside. My partner and I had been together only a few months and hastily moved there when I discovered I was pregnant. The house belonged to my grandfather, a wealthy lawyer with a taste for liquor which I’d undoubtedly inherited. He was now living in a nursing home, suffering end-stage dementia. Though its carpet smelled like mildew and the spiders were as big as my fist, that house was our saving grace….