There are moments in life that mark a before and after. Moments that shake you so hard they awaken something inside you that you never knew existed. My name is Hope Mendoza.

I am sixty-eight years old, and my entire life I have been a woman who made compromises for love. I gave in when my husband wanted to paint the house blue instead of green. I gave in when my son Edward wanted to study engineering instead of taking over the family business.

And I kept giving in even after I was widowed, when loneliness began to weigh on my shoulders like a wet blanket in the middle of a Chicago winter. My home in a quiet Chicago neighborhood has witnessed laughter, tears, celebrations, and goodbyes. Every corner holds a story.

Anthony and I built this house with the sweat of our brows. Forty years of teaching at St. Martin’s Elementary School.

Forty years of saving every dollar, giving up vacations and luxuries just to have a roof of our own over our heads. Anthony didn’t get to enjoy it as much as we would have liked. Cancer took him five years ago, leaving me with yellowed photographs, old memories, and a house far too big for one person.