Our first apartment had a bedroom barely big enough for a double mattress, no closet, and a hallway where you had to turn sideways to pass the laundry basket. I remember trying to fold a fitted sheet on a 120 by 60 centimeter foam mattress that lay directly on the floor because we couldn’t afford a proper frame. Every surface was a dumping ground. Keys, mail, a stray sock, half a bag of tortilla chips. Home organization felt like a cruel joke when you owned three plates and still couldn’t find one. But that joke turned serious the night my mother-in-law announced she would be staying for a week. We had no spare room, no floor space, and the only place for a guest to