In the heart of Denver, Color., U.S., Yong Cha Prince, 73, unexpectedly turned her run-down motel into a sanctuary for hundreds of migrants. On the verge of giving up on life after losing her husband of four decades and 33-year-old son, she found herself spiraling in the empty echoes of isolation. Then, one frigid night, a Venezuelan family knocked on her motel door asking for a room. They were homeless, but could afford one night. Shelters were at capacity and everywhere else they turned had closed their doors. The widow welcomed them in, and soon learned of that many other families were staying out in tents with nowhere to go. Before long, her 270-room hotel was full and brimming with activity. What was once a place of solitude and despair is now a warm, bustling refuge for over 300 people, giving them a place to sleep, food to eat, and most importantly, a newfound family. "I miss my son. I miss when I would cook for him and take care night and day. Almost two years I was lonely. So that's why I do this," Prince explains. Everyday now, she wakes up before dawn to cook breakfast for everyone before they go looking for work or school. This is "mama's work," she states. "We all call her mom," agrees one of her first guests. Amid her challenges, Prince remarks, "I'm happy." But she knows this large, eclectic family is temporary. With multiple code violations posted on her doors requiring thousands of dollars of repairs, Prince holds her uncertain future while giving to the immediate in front of her, and continuing to spend her own money to feed her guests. A testament to the resilience and enduring warmth of the human spirit, Prince unveils how life's meaning can really be as simple as opening one's doors.

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