My father walked out on my mother after the worst night of her life, and for 30 years he stayed gone. Then, on my birthday, he showed up at our door asking for help, and I told him I would give it to him on one condition.
I’m 32 now, and the only reason I’m alive is because my mother carried me out of a burning house when I was two years old.
The fire started because of a gas leak in the kitchen. It happened in the middle of the night. My father was away on a work trip, so it was just me and my mom in the house. She woke up to the smell of gas, and then the explosion came. She grabbed me from my crib and ran through the smoke, carrying me outside.
I don’t remember the fire itself.
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