I bought a birthday cake for a little boy whose mom couldn’t afford it at the grocery store, thinking it was just a small act of kindness. A week later, my sister called me screaming, “Do you know who that was?” What happened next completely changed my life, and even now, I still cry when I think about it.

My name is Alice. I’m 48, and for the past three years, I’ve been running on fumes.

Life as a single mom with two kids has felt like one endless to-do list with no pause button. Three years ago, my husband, Ben, left without warning. I came home from work one evening to find a note on the kitchen counter.

“I need to figure some things out. Don’t wait up.”

That was it.

He never came back.

Two days later, I drove to his office, desperate for answers. The receptionist looked at me with pity and told me he’d quit two weeks earlier. He’d already collected his final paycheck. He’d already planned his exit.

I stood there in that lobby, clutching my purse, forcing myself not to cry in front of strangers. That was the moment it truly sank in: I was on my own.

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A month later, my sister Megan moved in to help with rent. She’s been my lifeline ever since.

That afternoon, I stopped at the grocery store on my way home from work. I was exhausted, mentally calculating how far my paycheck would stretch, and planning a dinner that didn’t require much thought.

As I passed the bakery section, I noticed a woman standing at the counter with a little boy beside her. He was holding a pack of birthday candles—the kind shaped like the number six.