Preparation is mostly subtraction. Buyers need to see the rooms, the light and the proportions — not the life currently stored in them. Before photography we walk each room and remove more than owners expect; what remains reads as space, and space is what the price is made of. Then the small honesty items: the dripping tap, the stiff door, the hairline crack. Fixing them costs little; leaving them costs trust, because every visible small fault invites buyers to imagine invisible large ones. Photography happens once, in the home's best hour of light. And the viewing itself is prepared too — aired, lit, quiet. None of this is theatre; it is simply the home, allowed to make its own case.