With a huff, I dropped the last box down on the carpet. Unloading this truck by myself had been a gigantic pain in the ass, but I had to admit it did feel rewarding to have it all done. Now that I was here, I don't know what I was so afraid of. I can handle this alone.

It was time for a new start and looking around at the house I had bought without seeing in person first, I thought it could use a new start too... beginning with this god-awful carpet.

After unpacking the important items required for day to day living, days of extensive online research on how to pull up carpet, and struggling to unload my SUV after purchasing everything from a local hardware store in multiple trips, I was ready to begin my first renovation project. It was really the second, I guess, if I counted completely rebranding myself and moving cross-country away from everyone I know as the first.

I decided to start tearing up the carpet from the back corner of the living room so that I could work my way back to the front door. The questionably colored shag carpet was ancient, and I was curious to see what treasure it was hiding. I pulled my hair up in a messy bun, stretched a headband around my forehead to keep flyaway baby hairs out of my face, and set to work.

I had gotten into a groove tearing up carpet, bobbing my head to the wide variety of my shuffled playlist and singing when the moment called for it, that I almost missed the irregularity in the floor. There was indeed a beautiful hardwood floor waiting patiently to be set free, and for the most part, the existing boards were evenly cut and set in a uniform direction. The area I had just uncovered, however, showed the boards cut shorter just within a uniform square. I felt my brow furrow and ran my finger along the outer edge of the square, finding the groove to be minutely larger than the rest of the spacing between the boards. Slipping my fingernail in between the boards, I tried to pull up, but found no purchase. Frustrated and with a newfound determination, I hopped up and went in search of a flathead screwdriver.

I opened the drawer in the kitchen that I had allocated for dumping my very small collection of tools and other handy items and rifled through, setting the imposters on the counter. Finally, I had found it. When my mom had originally gifted me this pink tool set, I don't think she anticipated it being used to leverage up floorboards, but what was I if not versatile and adaptive.

I walked briskly back to the living room, fueled by excitement. Jamming the screwdriver into the edge of the square, I applied pressure and heard the boards creak in protest. At this point, I was so determined that nothing short of an act of God would keep me from seeing what this floor was concealing. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as the wood finally gave way, and the panel popped up from the floor. Hesitantly, I pulled it away and revealed what looked like a trap door. There was a ring that was presumably used as a handle, and a small keyhole next to it. I gave the ring a few experimental tugs, and let out a frustrated sigh when there was no give.