My dad burst into my room, boots pounding against the floor. He didn’t speak. He grabbed my arm, dragged me down the stairs barefoot, and pulled me outside into the snow in nothing but my pajamas.
Then he turned and ran back in—for my mom and my grandpa.
None of them came back out.
The fire claimed all three of them.
Officials later said the fire started because of an electrical issue in the kitchen.
It didn’t just take my family. It took the house, the savings, the photo albums, and the small ceramic horse my mom gave me for my tenth birthday.
Everything.
Except me.
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