“Daniel kept whispering the same thing,” Ben said quietly. “Over and over. Walt said he kept asking for his sister. And he kept repeating something else.”
Ben’s voice lowered.
“He said, ‘About Mom… tell her it was Mom. Please tell her.’”
Walt had gone to get additional equipment and help. When he returned, Daniel was gone.
I sat very still.
For 31 years I had believed Daniel ran back into the burning house because I had frozen in the hallway, coughing and unable to move quickly enough.
That belief had followed me through my entire life like a weight I never put down.
And now someone was telling me that Daniel had used his final moments trying to send me a message.
“What did Mom do?” I asked quietly.
Ben’s expression made it clear the answer wouldn’t be simple.
“I think we should ask her ourselves.”
I barely remember the drive to my parents’ house.
Ben followed behind me as we drove through streets I had traveled thousands of times. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly while one thought repeated in my mind: I needed answers.
My parents answered the door together.
My mother’s face changed the moment she saw Ben standing behind me.
“Reggie… who is that?” my father asked.
I walked inside without answering.
