That night, they slept at the foot of my bed, curled together as if they didn’t trust the world not to fall apart around them again.

I watched them breathe, one breath after another in unison, and realized I hadn’t asked myself why I’d stepped forward.

I just knew I couldn’t be another person who… didn’t.

Mr. Whitmore was in the hospital for smoke inhalation and a fractured hip. It could’ve been worse, but he still looked like a man who had barely made it out alive.