Richard visits his daughter to celebrate his eightieth birthday with her, but she answers the door in tears and sends him away. Richard suspects trouble and realizes he’s right after peeking through her front windows.
Richard tapped his fingers nervously against the steering wheel as he drove. Deidre used to drive down every Thanksgiving, but that stopped after his wife’s funeral four years ago. Now, there were only weekly calls.
Richard spread his arms wide as Deidre appeared in the doorway. “Surprise!” he yelled.
“Dad? What are you doing here?” she asked, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I came to celebrate my birthday with you…it’s the big eight-o!” Richard replied, but the joy in his voice trailed off quickly. “What’s wrong, honey? Why are you crying?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“It’s nothing; everything’s fine,” Deidre quickly wiped her tears and smiled a little. “I just…I wasn’t expecting you, and this isn’t really a good time. Sorry, Dad, but I, uh, need to focus. On my work. Look, I’ll call you. We’ll have dinner later, okay? Sorry.”
Deidre shut the door, leaving Richard hurt and confused. Something was terribly wrong. Was Deidre in trouble?
Richard stepped back from the front door but didn’t leave. He stepped over the short, flowering shrubs lining the path and snuck up to peek through the windows.
Two rough-looking men were in the sitting room with Deidre.
“Who was that?” One of them asked in a rough voice.
“Nobody,” Deidre lied in a shaky voice. “Just a neighbor’s kid…pulling a doorbell prank and running away.”
“Back to business then,” the second man said. “You’re now six months behind on your loan repayments, Deidre. Mr. Marco’s getting impatient.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“I just need more time. Business is sure to pick up again in the winter,” she pleaded.
“Time is one thing you haven’t got, sweetie,” the man replied, pulling out his gun. “People who owe Mr. Marco money don’t have a great life expectancy and end up feeding the fishes in the lake…” He pointed the weapon at her.
Terror froze Richard in place. But soon, the man stepped back with a look of disgust and tucked the gun away in the waistband of his trousers.
“Look around this dump and see if there’s anything valuable we can take to Mr. Marco, Danny,” he ordered. “She’s a businesswoman, so there must be a computer or some kind of equipment around here.”
”But I need those things!” she cried. “I can’t make money without my equipment!”
The man patted the butt of his gun. ”Boo-Hoo. I can still change my mind, you know. Don’t be ungrateful, now.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
The men ransacked her home before they stormed out, leaving Deidre curled up sobbing on the floor.
Nothing made sense to Richard because Deidre’s business was doing well. At least that’s what she had told him. But now, Richard could sense something was amiss. Deidre needed his help.
The men loaded several appliances from Deidre’s home in their vehicle.
When they finally drove away, Richard followed them.
The men stopped at a two-storeyed brick building downtown that looked like a bar. While it was closed, the door was unlocked. No one on the staff stopped Richard as he entered the building.
The men had joined a large table where several other rough-looking men were seated. One of them stood and swaggered toward him.
“The club’s closed,” he growled. “Come back later.”
“I’m here to discuss Deidre’s debt,” Richard announced.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Oh?” The man seated at the head of the table rose and stared at Richard. He looked like a gentleman except for a nasty scar above his left eye. Richard guessed he was Mr. Marco.
”How much does she owe you?” Richard asked.
Mr. Marco smirked. “A good samaritan, huh? Deidre took out a business loan of $80,000 from me. She was supposed to pay me back from her monthly profits, only she never made any.”
”I have around $20,000 in my savings,” Richard gulped fearfully, shaken Deidre had borrowed such a big sum.
”That’s only a quarter of what she owes us.” Mr. Marco sighed. “But there’s something you can do to make up the difference.”
Richard didn’t like the sound of that, but he had to do whatever it took to save his daughter from the mess she’d gotten herself into.
”What do you want me to do?” he asked.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Mr. Marco grinned at Richard and beckoned him closer to the table.
”My partner and I recently started a small business importing cars to Canada, but some of the paperwork has been delayed, so we’re having difficulties getting the…’merchandise’…across the border. A kind, innocent-looking Grandpa like you should have no trouble crossing the border in one of our cars.”
Richard had no choice but to agree. Later that night, he pulled into a gas station near the border town to use the bathroom and parked beside a patrol.
“Jesus!” he gasped as the German Shepherd in the back of the police cruiser began barking at him and pawing at the window.
Service dogs were trained not to bark at random people unless…Oh, man.
He quickly climbed back in the car, a Valiant, and started reversing as the police dog went crazy.
Two cops hurried out of the gas station store and yelled at him to stop as they glanced at him. The GPS app voiced directions, but Richard shoved it in his pocket to silence the darn thing.
He pushed the Valiant to its limits as he wove through traffic, leaving a trail of outraged drivers and narrowly avoided collisions in his wake. The sirens blared behind him.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Richard soon spotted a narrow, unmarked dirt road veering into the forest ahead. He sharply turned, leaving the road behind him as he raced into the forest. The muddy trails were awful to navigate, but Richard pushed on.
He turned down a narrow track leading downhill. Then, he turned up a slight rise and instantly regretted it.
The car was now stuck in a precarious position, balanced on a narrow rise above a wide river. Richard tried to reverse back the way he came, but the tires spun without getting traction.
In fact, the car was sliding closer to the water.
“No!” Richard desperately pulled up the parking brake, but it didn’t work.
The car’s nose hit the river with a loud splash, sending a wave of dark water flooding over the bonnet. Richard shoved the car door open, desperate to escape the sinking vehicle.
The pressure from the water started to push the car door shut against Richard’s legs. Richard splashed around in panic as the river filled the interior.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
As the water level crept up his face, he tipped his head back, took one last breath, and pulled himself underwater.
Richard squeezed himself out of the opening and pushed himself up toward the surface. He took in a lungful of air and swam toward the river bank.
Reaching land made Richard realize how close he was to death. He was thankfully breathing. But he still needed to do something about the $80,000. So Richard hitchhiked home.
”I need to mortgage my house,” he told the bank assistant. ”And I need the cash in my bank account fast.”
Richard waited impatiently as the bank employee processed the paperwork. He jumped in fright when Deidre called him.
“Some thugs from a local gang were just here asking about you, Dad…what is happening?”
“Tell them I’ll be there soon. I arranged to pay off your debt for you. I don’t understand why you didn’t come to me first, Deidre, but this isn’t the time to discuss that.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Richard ended the call and signed the paperwork. He didn’t want to give up the home where he had created memories with his family, but it was the only way to help Deidre.
A few hours later, he pulled into the club’s parking lot in a rented car and headed toward the entrance.
”Dad, wait!” Richard looked back as Deidre ran toward him.
”I won’t let you face those thugs alone,” she said. ”I still don’t understand how you found out about this mess or how you got the money to repay them, but the least I can do is stand by you while you save me.”
Richard studied the determined look in Deidre’s eyes and knew he couldn’t convince her to leave. As they entered the club, the thugs herded him and Deidre toward the table.
Richard placed his duffel bag, which contained the cash he’d withdrawn after the mortgage went through, and put it on the table.
”Here’s the $80,000 Deidre owed you plus another $15,000 to cover the cost of your car. I, uh, got into some trouble, and the car ended up in a river.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Mr. Marco’s mouth twisted angrily, and he thumped his fist against the table.
“You have the audacity to offer me a measly $15,000? After you come in here and tell me you sank the $100,000 shipment hidden in that car? That doesn’t even BEGIN to cover what you now owe me.”
The gangster grabbed the duffel bag and threw it to one of his thugs.
”You know, Deidre, I really believed in you, but sometimes, in business, you’ve got to know when to cut your losses.”
He removed a gun from his suit jacket and pointed it straight at Deidre’s forehead.
Richard pulled Deidre behind him. “No, please! This is all my fault! Don’t punish her!”
”Well, you made a good point.” The gangster shrugged, and the next moment, Richard was staring down the gun barrel.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
But suddenly, they heard police sirens outside.
Mr. Marco turned and ran toward the back of the club as loud gunfire boomed and shook the place.
Father and daughter crawled under the table. There was chaos in the club, and as Richard looked into his daughter’s fear-filled eyes, he knew he had to get her to safety, no matter what.
Richard and Deidre pulled one of the tables over and barricaded themselves in a corner. They hid there until the police escorted them to safety. Thankfully, Mr. Marco was apprehended.
”Are you certain you don’t have any heart-related health issues?” Richard shook his head at the paramedic while in the ambulance.
Richard swallowed hard when the police detective approached the ambulance.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“Sir, what were you and your daughter doing in this club today?” the detective asked sternly.
Richard explained about Deidre’s loan and how they’d come to the club that day to repay it. He hoped he might get away with not mentioning the car he sank in the river.
The detective glanced at Deidre. “If we hadn’t found a car full of contraband in the river, we wouldn’t have been here to rescue you. You shouldn’t be taking loans from such disreputable people, miss.”
“A car in the river?” Richard asked nervously.
“It was registered to Mr. Marco’s cousin, which was exactly the lede we needed to take this gang down,” replied the officer.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Richard sighed in relief. He was in the clear.
The cops let him and Deidre go once they provided their statements.
”I owe you a huge apology, Dad. I dragged you into this whole mess,” Deidre apologized as they walked to the front, where Richard’s car was parked.
Tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t know how to tell you. How does anyone tell their father that they’re a huge failure?”
“You are not a failure!” Richard put his hands on Deidre’s shoulders. ”Maybe your business idea didn’t work out as well as you’d hoped, but you tried, Deidre. I wish you’d felt comfortable enough to tell me what was really going on in your life. Heck, I just wish you felt you could be as close with me as you were with your mother,” he continued. ”I don’t think you’ve been ‘fine’ for quite a while now.”
Deidre burst into tears, and Richard put an arm around her. “It’s okay, honey,” he whispered soothingly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
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If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a woman who spots her husband taking his wedding ring off before leaving for work. She decides to follow him, only to discover something shocking.
Cleaner Stepped Into a Stranger’s Home — Then a Stack of Birthday Cards Revealed a Heartbreaking Secret
When Claire agrees to clean a reclusive woman’s neglected home, she expects dirt and clutter — but not the eerie feeling of a house frozen in time. As she sorts through the piled-up mess, she finds a stack of birthday cards that leads her to a heartbreaking revelation.
My phone buzzed as I packed my cleaning caddy. Another day, another home that needed cleaning.
A cell phone in someone’s back pocket | Source: Pexels
“Clean Slate Services, this is Claire,” I answered, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I checked my supply of microfiber cloths.
“Hello?” The voice was elderly and tentative. “My name is Margaret. My daughter suggested I contact you. She said you post videos online about helping people clean their homes?”
I smiled, thinking of the before-and-after videos that had become surprisingly popular.
A woman in a store room speaking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
My small cleaning business may not have been setting the world on fire, but scrubbing suburban floors and dusting small offices served a greater purpose. Those jobs allowed me to offer free cleaning services to people in need.
“That’s me,” I replied to Margaret. “How can I help?”
“It’s not for me.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “It’s my neighbor, Eleanor. She needs help. She won’t ask for it, but she needs it.”
Something in her tone made me stop what I was doing.
A concerned woman speaking on her cell phone | Source: Midjourney
I’d heard this kind of concern before — the worry that comes when someone watches another person slowly disappear.
“Tell me about Eleanor,” I said, sitting down on a nearby stool.
Margaret sighed. “Her yard is completely overgrown now. There are newspapers piling up on her porch that she never brings in. I tried checking on her last week and she barely opened the door, but when she did…” Margaret paused. “There was a bad smell. And what I could see behind her… it wasn’t good.”
A woman using her cell phone | Source: Midjourney
My stomach tightened. I knew what that meant.
“It wasn’t always like this,” Margaret continued. “She used to be out in her garden all the time. Her roses won ribbons at the county fair. Then, one day… she just stopped. She’s a good person, Claire. I just… something’s terribly wrong.”
I hesitated for only a moment. These calls never came at convenient times, but that was the nature of crises.
A worried-looking woman in a supply room | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll be there in an hour,” I promised. “What’s the address?”
After hanging up, I texted Ryan, my husband and business partner: Emergency clean-up. Not sure how bad yet. May need backup.
His response came immediately: On standby. Let me know.
I grabbed my “first assessment” kit — gloves, mask, basic cleaning supplies, and a change of clothes. Experience had taught me to always be prepared for the worst.
A variety of cleaning supplies | Source: Pexels
Eleanor’s house was a modest one-story with faded blue siding. The lawn had transformed into a meadow and dead flowers hung in forgotten window boxes. The mailbox listed to one side, stuffed with envelopes.
I knocked and waited. Nothing. I knocked again, louder.
Finally, I heard shuffling footsteps. The door opened just an inch, revealing a sliver of a woman’s face.
A woman peeking through a slightly open door | Source: Midjourney
She was pale, with unkempt hair and tired eyes that widened at the sight of my company polo shirt.
“I don’t need a cleaning service,” she muttered, already starting to close the door.
“I’m not here to sell anything,” I said quickly, keeping my tone gentle. “Margaret asked me to come. She’s worried about you. She thought you might need help.”
Eleanor’s jaw set in a hard line. “I can handle it myself.”
A woman speaking harshly | Source: Midjourney
I took a slow breath. I recognized this tone. This kind of resistance was not pride, but shame. It was the same way my mother used to react when concerned neighbors or teachers would ask about the piles of boxes filling our house.
“My mom used to say the same thing. ‘I can handle it.’ But sometimes, handling it means letting someone help,” I said softly. “I know what it’s like, Eleanor, how it all builds up. That’s why I started my cleaning business, so I could clean homes for free for people who need a fresh start.”
A woman on a porch speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
“A fresh start…” Eleanor sighed the words as though she barely dared to believe them.
For the first time, her eyes flicked up to meet mine. Something flickered there — hope, maybe. Or simply exhaustion. There was a long pause where I could almost see her weighing her options. Then her face crumpled.
“I don’t even know where to start,” she whispered.
A woman whispering sadly | Source: Midjourney
“You don’t have to,” I assured her. “That’s why I’m here. Maybe you could spend the day with Margaret while I work? It might be easier that way.”
Eleanor hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. Finally, she nodded. “Let me get my purse.”
She disappeared behind the door for a moment. When she emerged, she was wearing a cardigan that had seen better days and carrying a worn leather handbag. I noticed how she kept her eyes down, avoiding looking at her front yard.
Withered plants near a fence in a neglected yard | Source: Pexels
We walked together to Margaret’s house next door. Eleanor moved cautiously, like each step required calculation. Her shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if she was carrying something heavy.
Margaret answered her door with surprise that quickly melted into joy.
“Eleanor! Oh, it’s so good to see you out,” she exclaimed. “Come in, come in. I just made a fresh pot of tea.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
Eleanor managed a small smile as she stepped inside. “Thank you, Margaret.”
Margaret caught my eye over Eleanor’s shoulder and mouthed a silent “thank you.” I nodded and headed back to Eleanor’s house, already pulling out my phone.
“Ryan? I need you to bring the industrial garbage bags. And maybe a respirator.”
A concerned woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney
Ryan arrived 30 minutes later, a box of our heavy-duty cleaning supplies in his arms. He took one look inside the house and exhaled sharply.
“She’s been living like this?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask he’d already put on.
I nodded. “For years, I’d guess.”
The house wasn’t packed floor to ceiling with junk, but it was suffocating. Dishes with dried food crusted onto them formed precarious towers in the sink. Mold crept along the baseboards.
Dirty dishes in a sink | Source: Pexels
The air was stagnant, heavy with the smell of neglect.
I pulled on my gloves and mask. “Focus on bagging up the obvious trash in the living room and kitchen, please — rotting takeout containers, empty packaging, bottles. I’ll start in the bedrooms.”
Ryan nodded, already opening a trash bag. “Got it. I’ll leave the sorting to you.”
I moved carefully across the living room, noting the layer of dust on the television screen.
A dirty and untidy living room | Source: Midjourney
The master bedroom was in similar disarray. There were clothes piled on chairs and a bed that hadn’t been made in what looked like months. Prescription bottles for anti-depressants and sleep aids were nestled among the junk on the nightstand.
The labels were all for Eleanor. Anti-depressants. Sleep aids. Another familiar sign.
But it was the second bedroom that stopped me cold.
A bedroom door | Source: Pexels
I pushed open the door and immediately felt like I’d stepped into a different house.
Dust floated in the air, catching in the slant of light from a single, grime-streaked window. Cobwebs dangled everywhere, like drapes. The lack of trash in here made it feel abandoned in a way that sent shivers down my spine.
A twin bed sat against one wall, covered with dust. A model solar system hung from the ceiling, also brown with dust, the planets tilting at odd angles from years of stillness.
A model solar system hanging from a ceiling | Source: Midjourney
A dresser stood against the far wall. Inside, I found children’s clothes, neatly folded. T-shirts small enough for a nine or ten-year-old. Superhero pajamas. School uniforms.
I exhaled slowly. This room wasn’t a storage space. It was a memorial.
I carefully closed the drawer and left the room exactly as I’d found it. I’d dust it later, but for now, there were bigger problems.
A woman in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
As I cleaned the house, I unearthed framed photographs on a dusty bookshelf. A young boy with dark curls grinned at the camera. In another, the same boy sat on a man’s shoulders, both of them laughing.
But as I found more photos, something gnawed at me. There were no pictures of the boy past the age of ten, or so. All the clothes I’d found earlier were for a child around that age.
In the master bedroom, I found a small stack of birthday cards addressed to “Michael” tucked inside a nightstand drawer.
Trash and junk on a nightstand | Source: Gemini
There were cards for every birthday from his first to his 13th. The text in the 13th birthday card was shaky, mostly illegible handwriting. All I could make out was “…would’ve been 13 today.”
Would’ve been? A heavy feeling settled over my heart as I began putting the pieces together. There was always a reason people lost control over the state of their homes, and I suspected this child was part of Eleanor’s reason.
By early afternoon, Ryan and I had made considerable progress. We’d cleared most of the floors and built a mountain of trash bags on the curb.
Trash bags on a sidewalk | Source: Midjourney
The kitchen countertops were visible now, and the sink sparkled. The living room had been vacuumed, the surfaces dusted and disinfected.
“I’ll start on the bathroom,” Ryan said, filling a bucket with hot water and bleach.
I nodded. “I’ll finish up in here.”
As I opened a kitchen drawer looking for stray utensils, I found a folded newspaper, yellowed at the edges. I almost threw it out, but then a name caught my eye: Eleanor.
A folded newspaper | Source: Pexels
My breath stilled as I scanned the headline: “Local Father Dies in High-Speed Crash En Route to Hospital.”
According to the article, James had been speeding to get to County General when he lost control of his vehicle. His ten-year-old son, Michael, had been rushed to the same hospital hours earlier by Eleanor, his mother, and James’s wife.
James never made it to see his son.
A woman holding a newspaper | Source: Midjourney
I closed my eyes, absorbing the weight of it. He’d been rushing to see his sick son, and then he was gone. The article didn’t mention what had happened to Michael, but the birthday cards and the second bedroom suggested she’d lost him, too.
No wonder it had all gotten too much for Eleanor.
I wiped my hands on my jeans and headed to Margaret’s house. I needed to speak to Eleanor.
A sad and determined woman’s face | Source: Midjourney
Eleanor was still at Margaret’s kitchen table, hands curled around a now-cold mug of tea. She looked up as I entered, her eyes questioning.
I sat across from her, placing the folded newspaper on the table.
“I found this,” I said quietly.
Eleanor didn’t move. Her eyes fixed on the paper but then shifted away.
“I should have thrown that away years ago,” she whispered.
A woman’s face in shadow | Source: Pexels
“But you didn’t.” My voice was gentle. Not accusatory, just observing.
The silence stretched between us. Margaret stood by the sink, her hands clutched together.
“Michael developed severe asthma when he was four,” Eleanor finally said, her voice flat, as if she’d told this story so many times in her head that the words had lost their power. “We managed it for years, but…” Her voice wobbled.
A woman at a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney
“Michael’s condition worsened suddenly. I had to rush him to the hospital one day. I called James and he… he was driving too fast.”
Her breath shuddered.
“He never made it. And Michael… a week later, he was gone, too.”
A hard lump settled in my throat. To lose both of them so close together…
I reached across the table and placed my hand over Eleanor’s. “The room. You kept it exactly the same.”
A woman’s hand | Source: Pexels
Eleanor nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “At first, it felt wrong to change anything. Then, as time passed, it felt wrong to even go in there. So I just… closed the door.”
“And the birthday cards?” I asked softly.
“I couldn’t help myself.” She wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “For three years afterward, I bought my son a birthday card. I wrote him a message I wished he could read. I thought I was just working through my grief, but it became more painful instead of less. It was silly.”
A woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“No,” Margaret said firmly, coming to sit beside Eleanor. “It’s not silly at all. It’s love.”
Eleanor broke then, her shoulders shaking with years of bottled grief. Margaret moved her chair closer, putting an arm around her.
“It wasn’t just Michael and James,” Eleanor managed between sobs. “It was me, too. Part of me died with them. And I just… I couldn’t keep up with everything. The house, the yard… it all seemed so pointless, so exhausting.”
A sad woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Grief can swallow you whole,” I said quietly. “My mom went through something similar after my dad left. Not the same, but… things piled up. Literally.”
Eleanor looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “How did she get past it?”
“She didn’t, not really. Not on her own.” I squeezed her hand. “I helped where I could, but we both needed more than that. Eventually, she got therapy. Made some friends at a support group. It wasn’t a straight line to better.”
A woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
Margaret stroked Eleanor’s back gently. “You don’t have to be alone in this anymore.”
Eleanor wiped her eyes again. “The house… is it awful?”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” I assured her. “I called in back up and we’ve made good progress. Would you like to see?”
Eleanor nodded. Moments later, she stood hesitantly in the doorway of her home.
A front door and porch | Source: Pexels
Ryan stood aside, a nervous half-smile on his face.
“We’re not totally finished,” he explained. “But it’s getting there.”
Eleanor stepped inside slowly. The living room was transformed — floors cleaned, surfaces dusted, clutter removed.
She moved through the space as if in a dream, touching things, testing their reality. When she reached the closed door of the second bedroom, she froze.
A woman looking anxious | Source: Pexels
“We didn’t touch that room,” I said quickly. “I wanted to ask first.”
Eleanor nodded but didn’t open the door.
“Thank you.” She turned to face us. “Thank you both.”
Her eyes filled with tears again, but these seemed different. Relief, maybe. Or the first hint of something like peace.
“We’ll come back tomorrow to finish up, if that’s okay,” I offered. “The bathroom needs more work, and there’s still the yard…”
“Yes,” Eleanor said, and for the first time, I saw the shadow of a smile on her face. “That would be… yes.”
A woman smiling faintly | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, Eleanor was ready when we arrived. She had put on a clean blouse and combed her hair.
“Margaret invited me over for breakfast,” she told us. “And then we might look at some plants for the garden. If that’s all right?”
“That sounds perfect,” I said.
While Ryan tackled the overgrown yard with our garden tools, I finished the bathroom and laundry room. By mid-afternoon, the house was transformed. Not perfect, but livable. Clean. Fresh.
A clean and tidy home | Source: Pexels
When Eleanor returned, Margaret was with her, carrying a small tray of potted herbs.
“For the kitchen window,” Margaret explained.
Eleanor surveyed her house, her yard, her life — all visible now, all accessible again.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.
“You don’t have to,” I replied.
As Ryan and I packed up our supplies, I watched Eleanor and Margaret at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Something had shifted in Eleanor, like a door had opened, letting in light.
Coffee mugs on a table | Source: Pexels
I thought about my mother, about how hard it had been for her to accept help when her mental health started to deteriorate. She was the reason I’d started doing these free cleans in the first place, so nobody would have to suffer the same way.
Ryan caught my eye and smiled. “Another successful clean slate?”
I nodded, watching the two older women through the window as we walked to our van. “The cleanest.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
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