Her story is heartbreaking. It's also, in a very specific way, an indictment.

San Francisco spends more per capita on homelessness than virtually any city on Earth. The budget for the Department of Homelessness and Supportive Housing alone exceeds $700 million annually. We have navigation centers, coordinated entry systems, outreach teams, safe sleeping sites, and a bureaucratic alphabet soup of programs that would make a Pentagon procurement officer blush. And yet people like Anne Morrison still fall through every crack in the system, find no lasting help, and die in one of the wealthiest cities in human history.

The question isn't whether we care. San Franciscans care — often to a fault. The question is whether caring has become a substitute for accountability. Every year, supervisors hold press conferences announcing new funding. Every year, nonprofits publish glossy reports about "progress." Every year, people die on the streets of the Tenderloin.

As one SF resident put it bluntly: "We keep funding the same organizations and getting the same outcomes. At what point do we call it what it is?"

Anne Morrison made peace with the family she found because the systems we built — and paid for, lavishly — never connected her with the one she lost. Her daughter is still out there somewhere.

We don't need more empathy. We have plenty. What we need is a city government willing to measure outcomes instead of intentions, cut programs that don't work, and be honest about the difference between helping people and helping itself to another budget cycle.

Anne deserved better. So does the next Anne.