When the Lights Flickered, So Did My Hope

The day I realized we were truly in trouble, it wasn’t because of an eviction notice or a call from the bank.

It was when the lights flickered—and I panicked.

It was a normal morning. Coffee brewing. News on low volume. My husband had already left for work, and our teenage son was upstairs getting ready for school. I was reviewing bills—again—and trying to decide which one to pay late. That’s when the lights blinked.

Just a momentary flicker. But my heart dropped.

Because I knew it wasn’t a faulty bulb. It was the past-due electric bill. And I was terrified the next flicker would be permanent.

I had always been the one who managed the finances. I grew up in a household where bills were paid before groceries, and credit was sacred. But over the past year, everything started unraveling. Slowly, then all at once.

My husband’s small business took a hit when the economy slowed down. I picked up extra hours at the daycare, but they didn’t cover the rising costs of everything—food, gas, medicine, property taxes. And eventually, the mortgage.

We made late payments. Then skipped one entirely. And then, before we could catch our breath, we were two months behind.

At first, I thought we could fix it. We had always figured things out before. But this time felt different. The lender’s letters were cold and robotic. The deadlines were tight. And every call I made seemed to end in confusion or false promises.

Then the official foreclosure notice came.

I didn’t tell anyone at first. Not even my husband. I tucked the letter into a drawer and told myself I’d find a solution. I didn’t want him to worry. I didn’t want anyone to think I’d failed.

But the stress showed. I cried in the car on the way to work. I snapped at my son over small things. I stopped sleeping. I was constantly on edge.

One night, while looking for resources online, I stumbled across a forum thread. People were talking openly—without shame—about their foreclosure experiences. And in the middle of that thread, someone shared the name David Litt, with 4Closure Rescue, and said:

“He was the only one who explained things like I was a human being. He didn’t judge. He helped me stop the bleeding.”

They included a number: 224-344-5700.

I stared at it for a long time.

Then, the next morning, I called.

David answered himself. Not an assistant. Not a recording.

He had a calm voice—the kind of voice you don’t realize you need to hear until you hear it. He listened as I talked, even when I rambled or cried. He asked smart questions, but never made me feel dumb.

He explained the actual foreclosure timeline—not the fear version I had in my head. He showed me what documents I needed and how to request a reinstatement breakdown from the lender. He helped me draft a letter explaining our hardship and walked me through submitting a workout package.

With his help, we paused the foreclosure process. We caught up on part of what we owed and got approved for a modified plan. It didn’t solve everything overnight—but it gave us room. It gave us time. And it gave us back hope.

I never thought I’d be someone writing about this. But here I am.

Because maybe someone else is sitting in their kitchen right now, staring at the ceiling, wondering how it all unraveled—and what to do next.

This is what I want to say:

You are not the only one.

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

You don’t have to figure it all out alone.