Daniel looked toward the diner.
“Are you moving?”
Sarah placed one arm around her daughter.
“We’re handling it.”
“Tonight?”
“We have until six.”
Emma looked at Daniel.
“They’re taking our house.”
Sarah’s face tightened.
“Emma, please.”
Daniel did not press immediately. He had learned that helping someone did not begin by taking control of their story. He gestured toward the diner.
“Can I buy you both something to eat?”
“We don’t need charity.”
“I didn’t say charity. I said lunch.”
Emma looked hopefully at her mother.
Sarah hesitated, then nodded.
Inside, they took a booth near the window. Emma ordered grilled cheese and tomato soup, while Sarah asked only for coffee. Daniel ordered pie but barely touched it.
He waited until Emma was focused on dipping her sandwich into the soup.
“What happened to the house?” he asked quietly.
Sarah wrapped both hands around the coffee cup.
“After Michael died, the insurance covered most of the mortgage. I took over the remaining payments and kept working at the county clinic.”
“You were a medical receptionist.”
“I still am. Or I was.”
She explained that the clinic changed ownership six months earlier. Several employees lost their jobs, including Sarah. She found temporary work at a pharmacy, but the hours were irregular and the pay was lower.
Then the heating system failed during winter.
Repairs cost nearly everything she had saved.
Sarah missed two mortgage payments. The lender offered a short repayment plan, but late fees and legal costs grew quickly. By the time she found stable work at a dental office in another town, the foreclosure process had already advanced.