My Apartment Burned Down. My Parents Said, “Not Our Problem.” Then the Fire Investigator Called.

wasn’t the life I’d planned. It was better.

I’m sitting in my apartment now, looking out the window at the city lights. Ten months since the fire. Eight months since the trial. A lifetime since I stopped believing that family meant safety.

Sometimes I think about what I lost—the photos that can’t be reprinted, the guitar that sang with my stepfather’s continue reading …