What I Found in My Son’s Backpack

I was cleaning out my son’s backpack when I found it.

A piece of notebook paper, folded in half, tucked between his math homework and a library slip.

It was a drawing. Crayons, bold lines, orange sun in the corner. A house. Two stick figures. One had tears drawn under its eyes. The other had a word bubble that said, “Don’t worry, Mommy.”

I stopped breathing for a moment.

We hadn’t told him anything. Not about the overdue mortgage. Not about the letters in the mail. Not about the late-night calls I’d been making from the bathroom floor while he was asleep.

But kids know. They always know.

I sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the drawing until my eyes blurred. My son is six. He shouldn’t be thinking about whether we’re going to have a roof over our heads.

But I was thinking about it every hour of every day.

The trouble had started a year earlier when my hours were cut at work. I picked up part-time gigs, did food delivery on the weekends, even sold furniture online just to keep up. But with rising costs and no support system, the hole kept growing. And eventually, I missed a mortgage payment.

Then another.

And then the letters started coming.

I called the lender. I waited on hold. I submitted income forms. I asked questions. And every answer I got felt like a maze with no exit.

They told me I “might” qualify for a workout plan. Then they lost my paperwork. Then they said I submitted it too late. I was chasing deadlines and misinformation—and losing.

The official foreclosure notice came on a Friday. I read it in the parking lot of the grocery store. I sat in my car until the sun set, wondering what I would tell my son.

That night, after he went to bed, I searched the internet for answers. Not advice—real help. Most of what I found was terrifying. Fast-cash offers. Empty promises. Everything felt predatory.

Then I saw a story—ironically, on a blog that sounded a lot like this one. A woman had written about how she’d almost lost her home but had gotten help from someone named David Litt, part of a community resource called 4Closure Rescue.

She said he’d listened without judgment. Walked her through her options. And gave her clarity she couldn’t get anywhere else.

I saved the number she included: 224-344-5700.

I called the next morning. I almost hung up before the line connected.

But I’m so grateful I didn’t.

David answered the phone. He didn’t try to “sell” me anything. He just asked me to explain what had happened. I stumbled through the timeline—missed payments, the lender runaround, the stress, the silence.

He told me, “You’re not the first person to feel like they’re drowning. You just need someone to help throw a rope.”

That call was the beginning of everything changing.

Over the next few weeks, David and the team at 4Closure Rescue helped me gather the documents I actually needed. They helped me write a hardship letter that told my story without shame. They coached me on how to talk to the lender—and when to push back.

And eventually, they helped me get approved for a loan modification. My payments dropped. The foreclosure was canceled. We stayed.

I keep my son’s drawing in my wallet now.

Not because it reminds me of fear—but because it reminds me what I was fighting for.

If you’re feeling trapped, if you’re afraid of opening the mailbox, if you’re staying strong for everyone around you while quietly falling apart—please, call someone who understands.

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

Not just a lifeline. A real human on the other end of the phone.