“I’m sorry, Cindy. About everything.”
Silence filled the room.
Then Mason quietly added, “If you want to report it now, I understand.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
Honestly, I thought I’d feel anger sitting there. But mostly, I just felt sad.
Sad that one reckless mistake made by a teenager had destroyed so many lives.
Sad that Caleb had spent nearly ten years carrying guilt over something he barely understood as a child.
When Caleb and I left the facility, neither of us spoke much on the drive back.
But before going home, we stopped at the police station.
I found the officers from that morning and told them everything Mason confessed.
And when they asked whether I wanted to press charges, I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “I don’t, and I’m sure my mother won’t, either.”
Because nothing could erase my scars.
But for the first time in years, I realized they no longer controlled my life.
And somehow, neither did the fire anymore.
