We Were the Last to Know We Were in Trouble

Looking back, it didn’t hit us all at once. That might’ve been easier.

No, the fall was quiet. Subtle.

It was the kind of trouble that creeps in through the floorboards. You don’t notice it at first—not until you wake up one day and realize you’re ankle-deep in something you can’t get out of.

For us, it started with the water heater going out. Then the roof needed repairs. Then my hours at work were cut—and my husband’s seasonal job didn’t come back the way it usually did.

We started dipping into savings. Then into credit. Then we had a “tight” month. Then another. Then one where we couldn’t quite make the mortgage payment.

That was the first one we missed.

We told ourselves we’d catch up the next month.

But we didn’t.

By the time the third month came around, we were behind and stuck. And when the letter came—the one with bold letters and phrases like “intent to foreclose”—we both stared at it in silence. We had no words. Just the weight of reality sinking in.

You never think you’ll be that family. The one behind. The one in default. The one in danger of losing the place where birthdays happened, where the baby took her first steps, where the dog’s paw prints are still stained on the floor by the back door.

We tried calling the mortgage company. We were transferred over and over again. Each agent seemed to say something different. One said we didn’t qualify for help because we were “too far behind.” Another said we’d need to wait until a formal sale date was set. It was like trying to grab fog.

At night, we sat in our living room, not watching TV. Just… sitting. In the quiet. Staring at each other with nothing left to say. The shame made everything heavier.

I finally broke the silence. I told my husband I couldn’t take the waiting anymore. We had to do something.

That night, I typed “stop foreclosure when you’re behind” into a search bar. I didn’t want ads. I didn’t want “cash for homes.” I wanted someone who could tell me if we still had a shot.

I ended up reading a story posted by someone who had been through something almost identical. They mentioned a man named David Litt, from 4Closure Rescue, and wrote:

“He was the first person who didn’t talk at us. He talked with us.”

They listed his number: 224-344-5700.

I stared at it. Took a picture of it with my phone. Saved it in my notes. It took me three more days to call.

When I finally did, I was shaking.

David picked up himself.

I fumbled my words, unsure how to even start. He waited patiently. Then said, “Let’s figure out where you are—and where you can go from here.”

He didn’t promise the moon. He didn’t sugarcoat it. But he laid out our options like puzzle pieces. We talked about hardship letters, mortgage reinstatement, forbearance requests, and how to communicate with the lender more effectively.

He helped us organize documents and coached us through the process of applying for a modification. He followed up, not like a consultant—but like someone who genuinely cared.

And it worked.

We got into a trial plan. The foreclosure was paused. Then canceled.

The house is still ours. The memories are still here. And now, so is something we hadn’t felt in months: hope.

If you're reading this in your own version of the quiet middle—between falling behind and falling apart—know this:

There are still people out there who will meet you with empathy, not judgment.

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

You don’t have to face it alone.