When my son Stuart asked to throw his birthday party at my house, I was thrilled — maybe we were finally reconnecting. But the next morning, I returned to find my home in ruins and a careless note: “You might need to tidy up a little.”

Heartbroken and ignored by my own son, I began cleaning the wreckage of the home I’d built after my husband died. My 80-year-old neighbor Martha saw my pain and invited me over.