My Ashes Are Not Hers
Language: en
The fire from two years ago was a monster that swallowed everything, leaving me to live in its charred ribs. It was a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. When the firefighter’s voice cracked through the smoke, rasping that he could only carry one of us, my mother didn’t hesitate. She pointed straight at me, simply because I was closer to the door. At the time, I thought I was lucky. I thought it was love. It wasn’t until later, when she convinced herself the fire had been started by us—a botched attempt to rob the neighbors—that the "luck" turned into a life sentence. She would grab me by…