“It wasn’t intentional.”
“Then I heard movement and panicked. I climbed back out the window and ran.”
Caleb stared at him in disbelief.
“You never meant to start the fire?”
Mason looked genuinely confused. “I didn’t even realize there was a fire until the next morning.”
For years, Caleb had believed his brother intentionally burned my house down. You could see it all over his face.
Mason looked over at me again, shame written all over him.
“I’m sorry, Cindy. About everything.”
Silence engulfed us.
“Then I heard movement.”
Then Mason added softly, “If you want to report it now, I understand.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
Honestly, I expected to feel anger sitting there, but mostly I felt sad.
Sad that one reckless decision from a teenager changed so many lives.
Sad that Caleb had carried guilt for almost a decade over something he barely understood as a child.
***
When Caleb and I left the facility, neither of us spoke much during the drive back.
But before heading home, we stopped at the police station.
I expected to feel anger.
***
I found the officers from that morning and told them everything Mason admitted.
And when they asked whether I wanted to move forward with charges, I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “I don’t, and I’m sure my mother won’t, either.”
Because nothing was going to erase my scars.
But for the first time in years, I also realized they didn’t control my life anymore, either.
And somehow, neither did the fire
