When I moved into a cozy house at the end of Maple Street with my daughter Lily, I thought it was the fresh start we needed after a painful divorce. The neighborhood felt peaceful, and Mrs. Thompson, my sweet elderly neighbor, made us feel welcome right away showing up with cookies and even helping me unpack.

She reminded me of my grandmother, and her warmth filled the house with comfort. After a long day, I left a few boxes for the next morning. That’s when I found the envelope. “To the New Owner,” it read. Inside was a handwritten note from Mrs. Thompson. She explained there was a large, exotic tortoise named Sheldon living in the basement a pet she had promised the late previous owner she would care for, until the next homeowner arrived.

Now, she hoped I would take on the responsibility. I was stunned. Sheldon wasn’t just a pet—he was a full-time commitment. As a single mom rebuilding my life, I couldn’t take that on. I gently told Mrs. Thompson the next day, and although she understood, I saw the quiet disappointment in her eyes. I tried to shake it off, but I couldn’t. Suddenly, the fresh start didn’t feel so fresh.

The joy of the house was gone. I felt guilty for letting someone down someone I had just started to care about. So, I made a choice. I called my realtor and listed the house. “No pets,” I said firmly. “Not yet.” Lily and I needed a clean slate free of guilt, expectations, or tortoises.