The Brief

When Stephenie came upon workers in Portland, Oregon, who had bagged up all of her belongings in a homeless encampment sweep, she desperately pleaded to get one item back: her purse. It contained her cash and food stamp card — what she needed to survive.

The crew refused to look for it, she said. The items workers had put in clear bags were headed to a city warehouse. Those in black bags were headed to a landfill.

They handed her a card with a phone number to call if she wanted to pick up her things.

Portland, Oregon, distributes cards to people whose belongings are stored after encampment removals. Stephenie, who is homeless, received a similar card after her belongings were taken.

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Photo provided by Portland officials

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Pregnant and hungry, Stephenie was supposed to rest and avoid heavy lifting. She now had to start all over. In the days that followed last September, Stephenie slept on a sidewalk for the first time. She said she attempted suicide.

“I had nowhere to go — no place, no tent, no nothing. I couldn’t even feed myself,” she said. “The lowest point I’ve ever been in my life was after the sweep.”

As homelessness has reached crisis levels, more cities are clearing tents and encampments in operations commonly called sweeps. Since a U.S. Supreme Court decision in June allowed cities to punish people for sleeping outside, even if there’s no shelter available, some have made their encampment policies more punitive and increased the frequency of sweeps.

Some cities have programs to store what they take, sometimes created in response to lawsuits. In theory, these storage programs are supposed to protect people’s property rights and make it easy to get their possessions back.

In reality, they rarely accomplish either objective, according to a ProPublica investigation of the policies in regions with the largest homeless populations.

ProPublica obtained records from 14 cities showing what was stored following encampment clearings. In Los Angeles and San Diego, thousands of encampments are removed each year, but the belongings taken from them are rarely stored, the records showed. San Diego, for example, removed more than 3,000 sites during 2023 but only documented storing belongings 19 times. In Seattle, the city removed nearly 1,000 encampments during a six-month period last year and stored belongings from just 55 of them.

This sign from Seattle indicates that nothing was stored after an encampment was cleared.

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Asia Fields

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ProPublica

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Even when possessions are stored, the records showed, people are rarely able to reclaim them. In Portland, which stores the most among the cities ProPublica reviewed, property was reclaimed 4% of the time during a recent 12-month period. In San Francisco, property was reclaimed roughly 12% of the time over 18 months; much of what the city stored was collected after contact with police. Records provided to ProPublica by Anaheim, California, showed nothing had been retrieved from January 2023 through May of this year.

Some cities did not address ProPublica’s questions about the low rates at which people are able to retrieve their belongings. But they broadly defended their encampment practices, saying that they balance the rights of people experiencing homelessness with public health needs.

In Portland, officials said they manage an extensive database of stored belongings and “share in the collective frustration in the difficulties in managing a system that works well for everyone.” When asked about the sweep in which Stephenie’s items were taken, they acknowledged that camp removals are harmful to unhoused people, but that they must also maintain city property and natural areas.

ProPublica heard from at least 95 people who had experienced encampment clearings in cities with programs to store belongings. Thirty said they tried to recover their belongings but hit obstacles, such as being unable to reach anyone at the facility or the site not having everything that was taken. Only one person got back all of his items.

The rest said they didn’t try, often because they didn’t know how to go about it, lacked phones or transportation, or thought, and in some cases saw, that their belongings had already been thrown away.

A section of the facility where Portland stores items taken in sweeps. A larger area not pictured contained shelves full of bags in May. City officials said they manage an extensive database of stored belongings.

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Asia Fields

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ProPublica

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The storage programs offer only an “illusion of compassion,” said Barbara DiPietro, senior director of policy for the National Health Care for the Homeless Council, a nonprofit research and advocacy group. People experiencing homelessness often endure encampment clearings multiple times, which “wears a human being down,” DiPietro said. “I’ve never heard anyone say they got their stuff back.”

Dozens of outreach workers and advocates in cities with storage programs echoed DiPietro’s statements. Advocates and people with lived experience said this deprives homeless people of belongings they need to survive on the street and forces them to reconstruct their lives and obtain new identification documents when they are taken.

“The loss of property was the harshest punishment many people felt they could face on the street,” said Chris Herring, an assistant professor of sociology at the University of California Los Angeles who researches homelessness.

When Stephenie called to retrieve her belongings last October, no one answered the storage facility phone number. The line was staffed for limited hours. She left a message but couldn’t always keep her phone charged in case someone called back. When she finally reached a person, they provided the address and an appointment time. She had to take multiple buses and walk to get there.

As she sorted through the large clear bags at the warehouse, she realized her tent, most of her tarps and her cooking stove weren’t there. Nor was her purse or prenatal vitamins. Her engagement ring and the notes from her late fiance were also gone.

She left the bags behind.

“To go through all that trouble to get my stuff back and then to have nothing that I needed there, and to have that decided by somebody else who doesn’t even know me, it was traumatizing all in itself,” she said. “It was heartbreaking. It felt like losing everything all over again.”

In response to a prompt from ProPublica, Stephenie wrote about having her purse taken in a sweep.

A response to lawsuits

Nearly half of the cities ProPublica examined created storage programs in response to lawsuits alleging they had violated people’s property rights by destroying belongings during encampment removals. Yet some of those cities, including Phoenix, continue to throw away possessions, according to advocates and people who sleep outside.

In December 2022, after a local advocacy group and unhoused people sued the city of Phoenix for violating the rights of homeless people, a chief U.S. district judge issued an injunction against seizing their property without advanced notice and ordered the city to store belongings for at least 30 days.

The city began storing belongings in May 2023. Since then, it has responded to 4,900 reports from the public involving encampments, according to city records through May. The city of Phoenix said workers, trained to assess which items are property and which are trash, found storable property at 405 of the locations it visited, and not all of those cases required storage because people may have removed their belongings prior to their arrival. The city stored belongings 69 times.

In June, the Department of Justice issued a report following a nearly three-year investigation, finding that the city and its police department destroyed belongings without providing adequate notice or an opportunity to collect them. Before property is destroyed, the city must provide notice, catalog the property and store it so people can retrieve their belongings, federal investigators wrote.

Benjamin Rundall, who represents the plaintiffs in the ongoing lawsuit, said he’s never encountered anyone whose belongings were stored by the city. “It’s just giving this appearance that they’re doing something when they’re not doing anything,” he said.

Over the summer, Mike Leeth was helping a friend move their things from a Phoenix alley, leaving his own camp unattended. He rushed back to find his own belongings — clothing, canned food and canopies for shade — were gone. “All of a sudden, I’m down to one set of clothes, and I can’t even wash them because I’m currently wearing them,” he said.

Leeth said the city has thrown away his belongings at least five times. He said he’s never been told that his property would be stored.

The city said in a statement that workers give notice and store unattended property, and that it’s “confident” its processes address encampments in a “dignified and compassionate manner.”

In other cities, lawsuits have continued long after storage programs were put into place.

Los Angeles, with the nation’s largest population of people sleeping outside, has in the last 30 years faced nearly a dozen lawsuits over the destruction of property in homeless camps, according to court records.

A 2019 lawsuit brought by seven people experiencing homelessness and two advocacy groups alleged the city has “codified” seizing and destroying belongings, rather than investing in bathrooms, hand-washing stations and trash cans for unhoused people. In April, a federal judge overseeing the case found that the city had altered documentation of what crews removed during cleanups.

The city declined to comment on the ongoing lawsuit.

In response to questions from ProPublica, the city of Los Angeles provided data showing that it only stored belongings 4% of the time during a three-month period in 2023. A spokesperson said the city recognizes the “importance of ensuring people have their personal belongings” and “works to not unnecessarily remove anyone’s belongings during cleanings.”

In April, when crews came to move Ismael Arias from where he was living on a sidewalk in a Los Angeles suburb, they took his plumbing tools, a Mexican coin collection given to him by his father and a baseball card collection he was planning to give to his son.

A friend drove him to reclaim his things. At the storage facility, he was given items to look through. “I said, ‘This is not my stuff,’ and they said, ‘Well, this is all we got,’” he said. “I was like, ‘What do you mean this is all you got?’”

ProPublica spoke to three others who attempted to retrieve belongings from Los Angeles storage facilities and found some or all of their things were missing.

Evidence in an ongoing lawsuit in San Francisco revealed that workers were not instructed how to distinguish between personal property that is unattended, abandoned property and property that’s mixed in with biohazards, Chief Magistrate Judge Donna Ryu wrote. Workers’ decisions “appear to give rise to the most disputes,” Ryu wrote in August. The city agreed to better train workers who handle the belongings of homeless people at removals.

The ruling came weeks after Mayor London Breed promised “a very aggressive” crackdown on encampments. Breed lost her race for reelection.

In August, two ProPublica reporters observed San Francisco public works employees clear an encampment of tents, plastic bins of clothing, a cot and bikes. Nothing was set aside to be stored. One employee did slip into his uniform’s oversized pocket a tin of baseball cards taken from the encampment; he then placed it in the cab of a work truck rather than the back, where other belongings were stacked. The city said it is investigating the incident.

A tin of baseball cards was taken from a San Francisco encampment and placed inside of a city vehicle.

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Nicole Santa Cruz

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ProPublica

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Barriers to claiming property

In Portland two years ago, workers took Errol Elliott’s tools, clothing, electronics and makeshift tent near the church where he stayed. He was given information about storage but didn’t have a way to carry his things.

“How are you gonna pick it up when you have no car and you’ve got nine bags of stuff or two big trunks of tools?” he said. “How are you supposed to get that back? They act like it’s so easy to go and get it, but it’s not that easy.”

Portland officials said in this kind of situation, property was likely taken to storage.

But people in Portland and other cities told ProPublica that even if local officials promise to store belongings, they’re often difficult to retrieve. The programs don’t take into consideration the challenges of experiencing homelessness, which include lack of access to transportation and not having a phone, they said. This is further complicated by requiring an appointment to retrieve belongings or not widely distributing the address where items are stored.

Some cities, such as Seattle, Portland, Anaheim and San Jose, California, don’t publicize the addresses of their storage facilities because of concerns about security. Phoenix says it delivers belongings to people, but records show people there are rarely reunited with their property.

When people do figure out where to go, the journey can be long and require multiple trips.

In Denver, for instance, the storage facility is only open for limited hours. Some people have trekked to the warehouse only to be told their belongings were stored off-site and have to be retrieved, said Andy McNulty, an attorney who sued the city on behalf of people who live outside. When they return they’re told that their belongings weren’t stored, he said.

“It’s pretty common knowledge to folks on the street now that if the city takes your stuff, even if they say they’re going to store it, it’s gone,” McNulty said.

The city of Denver said that people receive a claim slip when their items are stored after an encampment removal. Flyers with contact information are also widely shared so people can arrange a pickup, the city said.

In Los Angeles, a sign giving notice of a June encampment clearing in the San Fernando Valley directed people to call or retrieve their items from The Bins downtown, which is about two hours away on public transit. Multiple people said the distance prevented them from getting their things back or that they were unable to reach anyone for more information on how to retrieve them.

The city stores belongings at 10 locations across Los Angeles, making it even more challenging for people to find their things.

Angel, who is homeless in Los Angeles, said she’s tried calling the number on city sweep notices multiple times. “In reality, it always goes to a busy line,” she said.

People who experienced encampment removals and researchers who study homelessness said the programs could be more effective by giving clearer notice, providing trash cans and garbage pickup and making sure people have detailed instructions on how to retrieve belongings.

Sonja Verdugo-Baumgartner, an advocate in Los Angeles who said she has experienced sweeps herself, said storage programs could be more productive if cities put effort into them. “But I don’t see the city or anybody being willing to take the time to do that,” she said. “And they can’t just do it for a few people, they need to do it across the board, for anytime they do a sweep.”

Stephenie, whose belongings were taken in Portland, said the experience was crushing.

“It keeps you in what we call a ‘homeless rut,’ where we can’t focus on anything else except being homeless,” she said. “We can’t focus on getting out of it and moving forward.”

She now lives in an RV, which makes it easier to haul her belongings when city workers show up. But she has to move the vehicle every few weeks to avoid being towed, and finding a spot to park is challenging. She’s noticed more cement blocks cropping up in parking spaces along the roadsides.

This story first appeared on The LA Local.

Just inches away from where workers warm up handmade tortillas at Guisados in Pasadena, Pablomanuel Maldonado puts the finishing touches on different drinks before calling out to his customers.

“Provecho,” Maldonado, owner of coffee pop-up the Caffeinated Cart, says to each customer before quickly redirecting his attention to the next, treating each one like he’s known them for years.

Local taco chain Guisados partnered with the Caffeinated Cart to bring its coffee to the people of Pasadena in a space where Maldonado can chat up his customers and serve his Latino-inspired signature coffees. 

Nearly all of his drinks have names in Spanish, a nod to his Mexican roots. By far his best seller is the “Cereal Killer,” a cinnamon brown sugar latte with a cereal garnish, where customers can choose between Cocoa Puffs or Cap’N Crunch Crunch Berries. 

Pablomanuel Maldonado, owner of the Caffeinated Cart, prepares a Cereal Killer at Guisados in Pasadena, Calif. on Mar. 4, 2026.

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Isaac Ceja

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The LA Local

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Though he’s only been operating at this location for the past three weeks, small touches — like Virgen de Guadalupe candles, a new coffee blend from local roaster Picaresca and a shiny new drink menu on the wall — make his corner of the restaurant feel welcoming.

“For the first time, I don’t feel tired. I feel mentally at peace, and it’s like, ‘Damn, this is what I love doing,’ you know?” Maldonado told The LA Local. “I get excited to come here. I get excited to get out of bed.” 

Maldonado recently transitioned from working full-time at Bristol Farms during the week and doing coffee pop-ups on weekends to serving coffee full-time at Guisados.

The Caffeinated Cart began in 2020 when Maldonado started selling bottled lattes in his hometown of Compton before eventually popping up at local markets like Angel City Market and the Beach Flea. 

Only a couple of years after he started, Maldonado was selling out at the pop-ups.  Today, he has over 23,000 followers on Instagram.

Maldonado’s partnership with Guisados began in 2025 via an Instagram story when owner Armando De La Torre Jr. put out a call for coffee pop-ups at his Guisados location in Long Beach. 

A photo illustration of the Caffeinated Cart’s most popular drink the Cereal Killer, a cinnamon brown sugar latte with a cereal garnish, at Guisados in Pasadena, Calif. on Mar. 4, 2026.

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Isaac Ceja

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The LA Local

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After connecting with De La Torre, Maldonado began popping up outside the Long Beach location for six months. But Maldonado said permitting issues with the city’s Health Department forced him to stop. 

Nearly a year after their initial collaboration, De La Torre invited Maldonado to Pasadena to show off the space he had in mind for him, but the Caffeinated Cart owner had mixed emotions. 

Maldonado was concerned about going to Pasadena and leaving behind the community and regular customers he had in Long Beach, but he was excited by the idea of finally having a physical space, even if it wasn’t completely his own.

Pablomanuel Maldonado, owner of the Caffeinated Cart, hugs his former boss who visited him at his new coffee residency at Guisados in Pasadena, Calif. on Mar. 4, 2026.

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Isaac Ceja

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The LA Local

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“We’re in a world where… everybody gatekeeps and then everybody stops each other from growing, and coffee’s been so welcoming, man,” Maldonado said. “The community I’ve built around me has just been so welcoming, and a lot of people just truly do trust us.”

Leo Abularach, co-owner of Picaresca in Boyle Heights, has been a longtime supporter of the Caffeinated Cart. He told The LA Local that he loaned Maldonado over $3,000 worth of equipment to help him get started. Abularach even let him use his business delivery service, so Maldonado would no longer have to run to the store for things like extra milk.

“He has always been there for Picaresca. He is part of our family,” Abularach said of Maldonado. “He is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and I think his personality is one of the reasons why people love the Caffeinated Cart.”

Pablomanuel Maldonado, owner of the Caffeinated Cart, pours coffee beans into a grinder at Guisados in Pasadena, Calif. on Mar. 4, 2026.

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Isaac Ceja

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The LA Local

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Customers Adriana Acevedo and Eilene Gonzalez saw the Caffeinated Cart on TikTok. When they realized it was around the corner from their workplace, they decided to give it a try.

“It’s amazing. It tastes really good. Like, no notes. Amazing,” Acevedo said after finally trying the coffee in real life on a recent Wednesday morning. 

“Yeah, for first timers, now I think we’re going to be returners,” Gonzalez added with a laugh. 

Pablomanuel Maldonado, right, talks with customers Adriana Acevedo, left, and Eilene Gonzalez, centert, at the Caffeinated Cart inside of Guisados in Pasadena, Calif. on Mar. 4, 2026.

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Isaac Ceja

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The LA Local

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The two praised the welcoming service offered by Maldonado, and after Acevedo mentioned she loves caffeine, Maldonado even gave her an additional shot.

“I’m all about making it affordable. I don’t charge extra for alternative milks. You want extra shots? Bro, get extra shots. I’m not going to charge you extra,” Maldonado said. 

“We’re all for the people,” he said. “We want to make sure people can still come back and not have to feel like ‘Was the $7 coffee worth it?’”

Though it was only a Wednesday, customers kept trickling in, keeping him busy throughout his shift, and even Maldonado’s old boss from Bristol Farms, Dina Urquilla, came to support. 

Maldonado said he’s still saving to open up his own shop in the future, but for now, he says he looks forward to making coffee every day in his corner of Pasadena.

A view of some of the trinkets at the Caffeinated Cart inside of Guisados in Pasadena, Calif. on Mar. 4, 2026.

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Isaac Ceja

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The LA Local

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Warm temperatures are on tap again today as we head into a toasty weekend with temps set to reach the triple digits in desert communities.

L.A. County beaches will see daytime highs from 67 to 72 degrees. It'll be between 69 and 76 degrees along the Orange County coast. More inland areas like downtown L.A., Hollywood and Anaheim will see temperatures from 75 to 81 degrees.

Meanwhile, the valleys will see varying temperatures. Areas closer to the coast will see highs from 78 to 83 degrees, and further inland, temps will stay in the upper 80s, up to 89 degrees.

Meanwhile in Coachella Valley, temperatures will rise to 101 to 106 degrees.

Looking ahead to the weekend, the valleys will reach the 90s for Mother's Day, up to 100 degrees in the Antelope Valley too. Come Sunday, an Extreme Heat Warning kicks in for the Coachella Valley, where temperatures will stay in the low 100s, with up to 109 degrees possible. Make sure to stay hydrated!

Jessica Wang has experienced delay after delay for nearly two years as she tried to open Gu Grocery in Chinatown. Her father, a contractor, had told her it would take nine months.

Instead, she says, there have been issues with city permits, inspectors, inaccurate information, illness and wayward appliance installers which have pushed things back.

The community didn't take nearly as long. In two weeks, 134 donors contributed nearly $12,000 to keep Wang afloat. But money can't solve her problem — she still needs the city's approval to open the doors.

Wang signed the lease at the end of 2023, envisioning a Chinese-Taiwanese grocery store and community hub where seniors could use EBT to buy fresh tofu, where kids from nearby elementary schools could stop by after class, and where her mother, Peggy, could teach neighbors how to make their grandmother's pickles.

Now, more than two years into a five-year lease, and nearly out of money after paying for permits, buildout, and rent on a space she can't operate, Wang launched a GoFundMe campaign a few weeks ago. The response showed the community believes in Gu Grocery and wants to see it succeed. But she's still waiting for at least seven final inspections by the city before she can open.

The story of Gu

The name "Gu" carries layered meaning: the character 菇 means "mushroom" in Chinese, a traditional symbol of prosperity, while the sound "gu" also means "auntie" in Mandarin — honoring intergenerational caretakers. Wang's mission for the space is to provide a place to purchase Chinese-Taiwanese pantry staples and prepared foods, and to host community workshops.

The communal aspect is central to Wang's vision of social entrepreneurship, not solely focused on profit. In addition to workshops, Gu Grocery plans to accept EBT and offer senior discounts for those on fixed incomes.

"I wanted a space where I could share knowledge and share culture and also just learn from the community," Wang said.

Ultimately, she hopes to convert the store into a worker-owned co-op.

Wang grew up in the San Gabriel Valley and worked as a pastry chef at San Francisco's State Bird Provisions before a pre-diabetic diagnosis at age 29 prompted her return to L.A. She began volunteering with API Forward Movement, a local nonprofit focused on health equity and food access in AAPI communities, and saw firsthand the need during COVID food distributions at L.A. State Historic Park.

Chinatown had lost its last two full-service grocery stores in 2019. Last fall, the neighborhood lost another: Yue Wa Market, a small produce shop that had served residents for 18 years before rising rent and pandemic losses forced it to shut its doors. The closures hit especially hard in a neighborhood where, according to American Community Survey data, half of the residents are low-income and one in five are seniors 65 and older — many of whom rely on walking to shop.

Jessica Wang (center, in black) and her mother Peggy (left, in white and red) smile while serving customers at a farmer's market pop-up for Gu Grocery.

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Daniel Nguyen

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Courtesy Gu Grocery

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Permitting woes

Much of bringing Gu Grocery to reality has been made possible by support from Wang's friends and family. Her father, Willie Wang, serves as her general contractor. When plans were submitted to the city in March 2024, he told her the buildout would take nine months if everything went smoothly.

Instead, she’s experienced delays from all directions, from slow bureaucracy, to issues with contractors. A hood installation contractor rescheduled multiple times, she said, then doubled his price the day before a rescheduled appointment. Drywall contractors said their workers had been detained by ICE and never returned.

The process hasn't just taken time — it's been expensive. One inspector approved a makeup air unit for the kitchen hood system, she said, only to have a senior inspector overturn the decision and order a complete replacement at nearly $6,000. Her father paid out of pocket — even as he was recovering from March surgery to remove a cancerous lung growth.

"Who would have thought that something an inspector asked us to do would be completely overturned by another inspector?" Wang said. "That's just so wild."

LAist has reached out to the city's Department of Building Services for comment but has not heard back.

The financial toll

Wang estimates she's spent more than $200,000 so far — more than $100,000 on buildout and permits alone, plus a full year of rent on a space she can't operate, equipment, insurance and taxes.

She draws no income from Gu Grocery. To cover personal expenses, she teaches fermentation workshops through her other business, Picklepickle, though that work has been inconsistent lately. Her health insurance doubled this year. The GoFundMe money, she said, is a "rainy day fund" in case she needs it to pay future bills.

The financial strain has touched her entire family. Her mother, who received a small inheritance when Wang's grandparents died, got scammed late last year trying to grow that money to help with the store. Targeted through online ads, she was convinced by an "investment tutor" based in Taiwan to hand over cash to a stranger in a parking lot.

"I didn't realize this would become part of what it's like to have aging parents in the age of technology," Wang said. "But it's scary how they get targeted."

Black sesame noodles from Gu Grocery's popup menu. Wang uses black sesame for higher nutritional value and plans to offer the dish as one of the prepared foods when the store opens.

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Aunty J

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Courtesy Gu Grocery

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Rice balls with house pickles from a Gu Grocery pop-up. Wang has been teaching fermentation and pickling workshops for 15 years and plans to serve pickles alongside all meals when the store opens.

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Aunty J.

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Courtesy Gu Grocery

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Addressing Chinatown's needs

Once Gu Grocery opens, it won't operate as a full-service market — there won't be a meat counter. Instead, it will function like a corner store with a focus on healthy prepared foods: butter mochi, sesame noodles and daily congee.

"Something that Chinatown has never had was prepared food that is EBT eligible," Wang said.

In 2020, Wang surveyed seniors through API Forward Movement's Tai Chi fitness program to understand their shopping habits following the closure of local grocery stores. Many told her they now ride the bus to Super King on San Fernando Road in Glendale, nearly 5 miles away, for produce deals, or rely on family members to drive them to 99 Ranch in Alhambra. Some grow their own food in gardening plots, Wang said, "but they can't produce everything they need."

Willie Wang (left), Jessica Wang (center), and Peggy Wang (right) pose inside Gu Grocery. The signs display the store's values in both English and Chinese — Willie's reads "body health" and Peggy's reads "mushroom auntie," playing on the dual meaning of "gu."

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Daniel Nguyen

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Courtesy Gu Grocery

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The community response

When she launched her Go FundMe in mid-April, she was overwhelmed by the response. "I have a hard time asking for help," said Wang. "So actually receiving help, it's very moving."

The donors range from former pop-up customers and friends to a range of assorted well-wishers — a musician who had her food once at an event, fellow food business owners, farmer's market regulars and even her insurance agent.

"The generosity is beyond my expectations," Wang said. "Some of these people only had my food once. People are showing their support truly in a personal way and really believing in the vision."

The GoFundMe money helps Wang stay "afloat for now," but she's had to rethink her opening strategy. She won't be able to afford full inventory when she opens. Instead, she plans a phased opening: prepared foods only, served through a takeout window, then using revenue to slowly stock shelves with the retail items she originally envisioned.

The community raised more than $14,000 in three weeks. After nearly two years of delays, Wang is still waiting for permits. She hopes to open by Father's Day — her general contractor dad's birthday. But she's learned to expect the unexpected.

Many donors sent her direct messages saying simply: "We got this, Jess, we got you."