My bleary eyes can barely read the message on my computer screen – I haven’t had my first (of the eventual four) cup of coffee yet – but I can already tell it’s not good. I swing my now toddler-sized baby from my right to left hip and scroll down to find more bad news; the municipality inspector who came out to view our property yesterday has said there really is no way to legalize our Chilean home, a crushing realization that puts the final nail in the coffin on a dream we thought would equate with monetary compensation, if we chose to sell rather than stay. Shit. After being up all night with my teething daughter, I don’t even have the words to respond.