“He keeps screaming,” the captain whispered, as if saying it too loud would break something fragile.
“He says he killed his mother.”
When I Arrived, the Toughest Men I Knew Looked Defeated
I rode my bike through the storm, the rain slicing sideways across the beams of the streetlights. By the time I pulled up, the fire was already out, leaving behind a blackened, sagging frame where a home used to stand.
Firefighters — men built like brick walls — stood outside in silence. Their faces were streaked not with ash, but with tears.
No one cries in front of me.
Not these men.
Not ever.
But that night was different.
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