Home in the Heart

“Home in the Heart” By Edward J. McCoul

When the alarm buzzed at five a.m., Mae Collins awoke with a jolt, silencing it swiftly before the sound could wake her daughter. For months, she’d been rising with the sun, braving the cold mornings before the city fully came alive, her footsteps echoing in the crisp air as she walked to the shelter’s kitchen.

If her friends from her past could see her now, they’d hardly believe it. Once, Mae would have laughed if anyone suggested she’d be working in a shelter, but life had a way of changing people. And if anyone had told her she’d be living in a shelter with her child, she wouldn’t have believed that either.

Mae glanced over at her daughter, Emily, still curled up on the narrow cot, clutching her worn-out stuffed bunny. At six years old, Emily had learned more about resilience than Mae had ever wanted her to know. Still, Mae was grateful that Emily could find rest here, a sense of safety despite the crowded room and the quiet murmurs of families stirring to wakefulness.

In the beginning, Mae had felt numb, her days filled with calls to housing offices, job interviews that seemed to lead nowhere, and rejections that stung harder each time. But over time, she’d found a rhythm to this life. In some small way, Mae had found a renewed purpose—starting with her role in the shelter’s breakfast crew.

By five-thirty, Mae had arrived in the kitchen, pulling on her apron and checking the supplies. The scent of coffee filled the air as a few other volunteers filtered in, offering sleepy smiles. She was surprised by how many familiar faces she saw here each day; others like her who had stumbled into this community and, for the time being, made it home.

With a steady rhythm, she cracked eggs, whisked them in large batches, and poured them onto the sizzling griddle. Flipping pancakes became second nature, and she could almost anticipate each child’s preferences. In this quiet work, Mae found peace—a chance to give back, to make life a little warmer, a little more bearable for everyone here.

The first families trickled in around six. Mae greeted them by name, offering plates with a gentle, “Good morning” and a smile. She saw the weight each parent carried, mirrored by her own struggles and fears. Some were newcomers, looking lost and bewildered as she had when she first arrived. Others, like Mae, had been here for months, each day fighting to stay strong for their children.

But there was something else, too—a thread of resilience running through each family. A spark of hope, no matter how faint, lit in each parent’s eyes. They found comfort in this place where people truly understood what they were going through. It was a gift, one Mae was grateful for daily.

As she handed a plate to one mother, Mae noticed her young son tugging on her hand, looking up with wide, tired eyes. She remembered the first morning she’d brought Emily to breakfast here, and the relief that washed over her as they settled into a routine. This shelter, as simple as it was, had become a haven in a season of chaos.

Mae felt a small hand tug at her apron. She turned and saw Emily, her eyes still a little sleepy, but her face lit with a shy smile.

“Mom, can I help?” Emily asked, glancing up with the same determination Mae felt every day.

Mae chuckled softly, bending down to give her daughter a quick hug. “Of course, sweetie,” she said, handing her a small spoon. “You can help stir the oatmeal. Think you can handle that?”

Emily nodded with a seriousness that made Mae’s heart swell with pride. Mae watched her little girl, the spoon clutched in her tiny hand, standing next to her as if she was her equal in this morning ritual.

As they worked side by side, Mae felt a warmth spreading in her chest—a flicker of hope that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She was teaching her daughter that they could still find purpose, even in difficult times. They weren’t simply waiting for their lives to improve; they were building something together, day by day.

At seven-thirty, the breakfast shift ended, and Mae and Emily took their own plates, sitting down at a table near a window. The morning light filtered through, casting a soft glow over the room as families finished their meals, exchanging smiles and nods of encouragement.

Across the table, Emily looked up from her plate, her big brown eyes serious. “Mom, when we have our own house, can we make breakfast for everyone like this?”

Mae blinked, surprised by the question. Emily’s innocence brought a lump to her throat. Her daughter was already looking beyond their situation, imagining a future where they’d be able to give back even more.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Mae replied, reaching across to squeeze Emily’s hand. “One day, we’ll have a place where we can help others, just like we’re being helped now.”

The rest of the day was filled with appointments—calls to job prospects, applications for affordable housing. Each step was a small battle, but Mae fought with renewed resolve. She didn’t know what their future held, but she knew they were moving forward. Every effort brought them closer to a life they could rebuild.

As evening fell, Mae and Emily joined the other families in the small common room for a storytime session led by another volunteer. Mae settled into a worn armchair, Emily curling up on her lap, her head nestled against Mae’s shoulder. The volunteer read aloud with warmth and enthusiasm, the children’s laughter filling the room, their eyes bright with wonder.

In that moment, Mae felt a peace she hadn’t known in a long time. For all the uncertainty, there was still joy, still the possibility of laughter and love. She felt something in her heart shift—like a fragile bud pushing its way up through the soil, straining toward the light.

Weeks passed, each one a step forward in their journey. Mae continued working in the shelter’s kitchen, saving every cent she could. With the support of the shelter’s staff, she managed to secure a job at a nearby bakery—a small step, but one that meant a steady income and a chance to save for a real home.

One morning, as they were preparing breakfast, Mae noticed a new family—a young mother with two small children, looking weary and uncertain. She recognized the fear in the woman’s eyes, the same fear she’d felt when she’d first arrived. Mae made her way over, a warm smile on her face.

“Good morning,” she said, handing the woman a plate. “Welcome. If you need anything, just let me know.”

The woman’s eyes filled with gratitude, and for the first time, Mae understood the true meaning of renewal. She’d come full circle, from a place of brokenness to one where she could extend a hand to someone else. She’d found hope not only for herself but for others, a hope that extended beyond her own family.

Months later, after countless mornings of shared meals and whispered prayers, Mae finally received the news she’d been waiting for. A housing application had come through, and she and Emily would soon be moving into a small apartment of their own. As she packed up their few belongings, Mae felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude—a feeling of rebirth, of a life beginning anew.

On their last morning at the shelter, Mae and Emily made breakfast for everyone one final time. As they served the families, Mae’s heart swelled with pride and hope. She knew the journey ahead would have its challenges, but they’d built something far more valuable than just a home. They’d found a community, a place of belonging that would always stay with them.

As they said their goodbyes, Mae looked around, her gaze lingering on each face. She could see a piece of herself in every parent and child, in every weary expression turned hopeful. She knew that wherever they went, they’d carry the strength they’d found here with them.

When Mae and Emily finally stepped outside, hand in hand, the city stretched before them, filled with new possibilities. They were ready to begin again, to build a life rooted in resilience, love, and hope for the future.