I cleared my throat, trying to regain composure, and reminded her that the electrical cord was unsafe, and the heater wouldn’t be sufficient for winter. Her eyes fell, embarrassed and uncertain. “I can’t afford—” she began, and I stopped her. “You don’t need to,” I said. “Tomorrow at ten a.m., I’ll come by, install a proper inlet, breaker box, and safe outlets. I’ll bring a radiator to keep you warm.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Mr. Henderson, I can’t pay you.” I smiled and patted her desk. “You just mail that application. That’s payment enough.” I left her standing in her tiny yellow box of hope, realizing that a home is not defined by walls, square footage, or appliances—but by the reason those walls exist: protection, opportunity, and a place where life and dreams can grow. That day, I learned more about courage, resourcefulness, and what it truly means to create a home than I ever did in my decades of watching, fixing, and judging the world around me.
