In the July heat of Ohio, Martha sat on her porch swing, feeling the ache of solitude. At sixty-eight, she had downsized after her husband died, leaving behind a big house and too much silence.

That afternoon, rain pounded the neighborhood, and Martha noticed six-year-old Leo, her neighbor, kneeling at the downspout, drinking gutter water. His small frame, pale and frail, terrified her. His parents had shut off the tap but bought luxuries instead. Without thinking, Martha ran to him, gave him water, and confronted his stepfather.

The next days revealed a cruel pattern: neglect behind closed doors. Calls to Child Protective Services seemed futile. But when a heatwave struck and Leo was left locked in a sweltering house with no water, Martha acted. She broke in, rescued him from near-death, fended off his abusive parents, and stayed with him until the police arrived.

In court, the parents were sentenced to decades in prison. Martha fought to keep Leo, and the judge granted her kinship guardianship.

Months later, winter blanketed the Rust Belt. Martha and Leo sat together on the porch. He sipped hot chocolate, smiling for the first time.

“It doesn’t taste like the roof,” he said.

“No, honey. What does it taste like?”

“It tastes like home.”