That was the moment I realized my life had been tied to Ezra Cole long before either of us fully understood why.
I was nine years old when the fire happened.
One minute I was asleep in my bedroom.
The next, I woke up choking on smoke so thick I couldn’t even see my bedroom door. Somewhere downstairs, glass shattered. My mother screamed my name from the hallway while heat swallowed the house faster than either of us could escape it.
By the time firefighters dragged us outside, half the kitchen had collapsed inward.
I survived.
For illustrative purposes only
But parts of my face, neck, and arm were burned badly enough that the scars never truly faded.
People always assume the physical pain is the hardest part of surviving something like that.
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