Not our problem. Be more careful.
But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part came a week later when the insurance company told me my parents had been listed as the sole beneficiaries on my policy, a policy I never signed. And 3 days after that, a fire investigator asked me one simple question that changed everything.
Who had access to your apartment last week?
I knew the answer. My mother had visited for the first time in 2 years.
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Now, let me take you back to the night everything changed. February 12th, 3:17 in the morning.
The smoke alarm screamed at 3:17 a.m. I jerked awake to darkness so thick I could taste it. Acurid. Chemical. Wrong. My lungs burned before my brain caught up.
Fire.
I didn’t think, couldn’t think. My hand found my phone on the nightstand and I ran. Barefoot, pajamas, nothing else.
The hallway was a tunnel of black smoke lit orange from somewhere below. I hit the stairwell door so hard my shoulder would bruise for weeks. Four flights down, each step a prayer, each breath a knife.
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