The knock on my door that Halloween night wasn’t from costumed kids—it was a cry for help. “My mom has been sleeping for three days,” Mollie, the little girl next door, sobbed. “And there’s a weird smell.”

My heart sank as I followed her to apartment 4D. Mollie looked lost, her tangled curls and tear-stained cheeks heartbreaking. Inside, the stench of spoiled food hit me. Isabel lay on the couch, pale and feverish, an empty pill bottle beside her.

“Mommy?” Mollie’s voice trembled. “I brought Mr. Dave. He’s going to help us.” I quickly checked Isabel’s pulse and called for help. Mrs. Derek from 4A rushed in, sensing the urgency.

As we waited for the ambulance, Mollie clutched her teddy bear, Captain. “Will they make her better?” she asked, eyes wide with fear. “Like they tried to do with Daddy?”

I reassured her, though my heart broke at her innocence.

Three hours later, a doctor emerged, saying Isabel was stable and wanted to see Mollie. In the hospital room, Isabel opened her arms, tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

Over the next months, Isabel fought through her depression, finding strength in support groups and therapy. I grew closer to Mollie, helping with homework and cheering her on at school plays.

That Halloween night changed everything. I didn’t just save a mother; I gained a family. Together, we learned that love and community can conquer the darkest of fears.