The Notice Came on My Birthday

I turned 41 the day the foreclosure notice arrived.

It was supposed to be a quiet day. Nothing extravagant. Just me, my daughter, a homemade dinner, and a store-bought chocolate cake with wax candles I reused from the year before.

When I opened the mailbox and saw the large white envelope with my mortgage company’s return address stamped on the corner, I knew what it was before I touched it. I had been avoiding their calls for weeks. Ignoring the emails. Hoping—no, convincing myself—that if I just waited long enough, something would give.

What gave was time.

The letter confirmed what I already feared: the foreclosure process had officially started. My home—the same two-bedroom I bought on my own after my divorce, where I raised my daughter through middle school and high school—was at risk of being taken from me.

I sat on the front porch for an hour, the unopened envelope in my lap. Inside, I could hear the microwave beeping, the sound of my daughter giggling at something on her phone, the scent of frosting still in the air from the birthday cake I hadn’t even tasted yet.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t panic. I just felt numb.

Later that night, after she went to sleep, I started searching online. I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for—maybe legal help, maybe someone who could delay the inevitable. But most of what I found made me feel worse: scammy-looking ads from people who “buy houses fast,” bankruptcy firms pushing Chapter 13, and generic government links that led to long PDFs and broken contact forms.

Then I came across a blog post written by a woman in Wisconsin. She had faced foreclosure, too, and shared how she worked with David Litt at 4Closure Rescue to save her home. She described him as “the first person who didn’t make me feel like garbage.”

She ended her post with his number: 224-344-5700.

I don’t usually trust people from the internet. But something about the honesty in her post stuck with me. I saved the number and called the next morning.

David answered.

He didn’t sound like a lawyer. Or a banker. He sounded… calm. Reassuring. Like someone who wasn’t shocked by my situation. Like someone who had been here a hundred times before—and still had hope.

I told him everything. About the missed payments. About my reduced hours at work. About the way I had prioritized my daughter’s tuition over the mortgage. About the birthday letter.

He didn’t shame me. He didn’t rush me. He said, “You’re not alone. We can work through this.”

Over the next few weeks, David and his team at 4Closure Rescue helped me organize my paperwork, contact the mortgage servicer, and apply for a loan modification. They even walked me through writing a hardship letter that didn’t sound like a sob story—but like the truth, respectfully told.

It wasn’t quick. It wasn’t easy. But it worked.

We stopped the foreclosure sale.

I kept my house.

And every time I walk past my mailbox now, I remember what it felt like that day. The dread. The stillness. The guilt. And I’m reminded that the moment I thought I had lost everything was actually the moment I started to fight for something new.

If you’re reading this and feel like time is running out, I want you to know there are still people who answer the phone. Still people who help.

Call David Litt at 4Closure Rescue: 224-344-5700.

Even if it’s your birthday. Especially then.