Over the next hour, she told him her story.
She had once been a fifth-grade teacher. Loved the work. Her classroom was a haven for kids who didn’t fit in elsewhere.
But after the pandemic, budget cuts hit hard. First came reduced hours. Then a pink slip.
She lost her apartment when the school closed. Her landlord gave her two weeks.
The kids? Siblings left behind when their mother, Clara’s former friend and neighbor, succumbed to addiction. Clara had promised she’d look after them. No court. No papers. Just love.
The two older women were neighbors too—widows who couldn’t afford Denver’s rent hikes.
“We’re not homeless,” Clara said quietly. “We’re a community. A small one.”
Trevor nodded, eyes stinging.
He left that night changed.
