“You’d be dead.”
He nodded.
“And I would have the face I was born with.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
“No, Derek. You don’t.”
I stood.
He looked frightened.
“Will you ever forgive me?”
I thought about it.
Then I answered truthfully.
“Forgiveness isn’t something you get to request like another favor.”
I walked away.
That was the last time I saw him.
PART 12 — WHAT THE FIRE LEFT
Three years after the fire, I bought a house.
Small.
Bright.
Lots of windows.
My father inspected every wire before I moved in.
Twice.
Mom laughed at him.
