In June 2020, hours after moving into an apartment, my daughter and I stood in the street holding our dogs, hypnotized by billowing smoke. We lost everything. Later, a friend asked how I was doing. "Living it up at the Hampton Inn," I said, flatly. No questions asked, he and his partner opened their home. My daughter read to their children, our dogs claimed the couch and I sautéed my way through trauma, cooking gratitude into memorable meals. When we left, they gave me a key. I cried for the first time, realizing that the people we call family are home. — LaVonne Roberts

Yacht Club 3 Piece Seating Group