It was a cold afternoon in 1932, and Mary was sitting on the worn-out chair in their tiny London flat. Her son, Tommy, played quietly on the floor with a broken toy. Mary knew she had to tell him about the rent, but finding the right words was hard.

"Tommy," she began gently, "the landlord will come today to collect the rent. But we don’t have enough money right now. Things have been tough since your father lost his job last year." Tommy looked up, his young face full of worry. "Will we have to leave our home?"

Mary smiled softly, holding his small hand. "I don’t know yet, love. But we will find a way. People everywhere are struggling; this hard time is called the Great Depression. Jobs are rare, and many families have the same troubles."

The doorbell rang, and Mary wiped her hands on her apron. She took a deep breath before opening the door to Mr. Brown, the landlord’s debt collector. Despite her fear, she greeted him politely, hoping to buy more time. As Tommy watched, Mary whispered, "We will be okay, son. We always are."