In my twenties, I rented a cute little house from an Aunt and Uncle, who cut me a great deal on the rent, being family. I actually moved out of state for a year and when I came back they offered to lease it to me again, because every other tenant they'd rented to were deadbeats who trashed the place. Anyhow, I spent about seven of the most functional years of my life there - I actually had friends, did some socializing, excelled at my job - good times. Finally, I married and had a family, and the little one bedroom house just wasn't big enough, so I moved out and got a nice little FMHA home in a bedroom community a few miles away.
After I moved out, they rented it out to some sleazy trash, one of whom set a lighted candle on top of their television set and passed out drunk. Candle dripped into the TV, television catches fire, ignites the curtains, cute little house burns to the ground, trashy tenants escape with their lives.
I loved that house, had a lot of great memories there. Now that I'm single again, I really wish it was still there. If I could go back to that house, I'd never leave it again. Well, on grocery day, but other than that...