I Was a Single Mother With $12 Left — Then One Phone Call Changed Everything

I was counting coins on my kitchen table, trying to decide whether to buy milk or save the last $12 for rent.
My son was asleep in the next room, unaware that eviction notices don’t care if you’re a single mother.
That’s when my phone rang — and everything I believed about survival changed.
Before that moment, my life felt like a constant emergency. I was twenty-nine, divorced, and raising a four-year-old on my own in a small apartment on the edge of town. The walls were thin, the heater barely worked, and the landlord had already taped a warning notice to my door twice.
I worked two jobs — mornings at a diner and evenings cleaning offices — but no matter how hard I tried, the math never worked. Childcare ate half my income. Gas prices kept climbing. Every unexpected expense felt like a personal attack.
That night, I skipped dinner so my son could eat. I told him I wasn’t hungry, even though my stomach burned. When he finally fell asleep clutching his toy truck, I sat alone at the table, staring at those coins, feeling like a failure.
The phone buzzed again.
I almost didn’t answer. Most calls were bill collectors or spam. But something told me to pick it up.
“Hi, this is Amanda from the housing office,” the voice said.
I froze.
She explained that I had applied months earlier for a rental assistance program for single mothers — a form I barely remembered filling out during one of my lowest days.
“I wanted to let you know,” she continued, “you’ve been approved.”
Approved.
The word didn’t feel real. I asked her to repeat it. She told me they would cover three months of rent and help me apply for a longer-term support plan.
After I hung up, I sat there in silence. Then I cried. Not quiet tears — the kind that shake your chest when you’ve been holding everything in for too long.
But that phone call didn’t magically fix my life. It gave me breathing room — and sometimes, breathing room is everything.
With the pressure eased, I started thinking differently. I realized how much energy I had spent just surviving. I wanted more than that for my son. I wanted stability. Dignity. A future.
I began waking up an hour earlier every day. Not to work — but to learn. I watched free videos online about budgeting, basic computer skills, and remote work. I borrowed books from the library because buying them wasn’t an option.
Some nights I was exhausted beyond words. Other nights, fear whispered that none of this would matter. But every morning, my son’s smile reminded me why I couldn’t quit.
A few months later, I landed a small remote customer support job. The pay wasn’t amazing, but it was steady — and it meant I could be home more. I could make dinner instead of reheating leftovers at midnight. I could help with bedtime instead of rushing out the door.
Life didn’t suddenly become easy. There were still bills. Still stress. Still moments of doubt. But there was also hope — something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
One evening, as I tucked my son into bed, he looked at me and said, “Mommy, you’re not sad anymore.”
I didn’t realize how much my struggle had shown on my face until that moment.
I’m still a single mother. I still worry. But I’ve learned that asking for help isn’t weakness. Filling out that application didn’t make me less capable — it made me brave.
If you’re reading this while counting coins, skipping meals, or wondering how you’ll make it through another month, please know this: your story isn’t over.
Sometimes, one phone call doesn’t change everything — but it can change enough to keep you going.
If you’re a single parent struggling in silence, this story is for you.