Chapter 1
Everything around me kept moving like nothing had changed. Someone screamed the boy’s name—Elliot. A woman in diamonds clutched her chest. Security guards shouted at guests to back up. Preston Blackwood himself stood frozen near the steps, face drained of color, staring at the upper floor as if refusing to believe what he already knew.
“My son is in there,” he said, voice barely holding together.
A guard grabbed his arm. “Sir, fire department is coming. Don’t go in—”
But the boy’s cry came again, weaker this time.
That was when something in me snapped into place.
Not bravery. Not heroism.
Something simpler.
Memory.
Sofia at six years old, waking up from a fever nightmare, calling for me in the dark even when I was just outside the door trying to find medicine I couldn’t afford.
I dropped the towels I was holding.
“I hear him,” I said.
Heads turned.
Preston looked at me like I didn’t belong in the same world as him. Maybe I didn’t.
“Second floor,” he said quickly, voice shaking now. “Blue room. East hallway.”
The east wing was already collapsing in smoke.
A security guard stepped in front of me. “Ma’am, you can’t—”
I didn’t wait.
I grabbed a soaked tablecloth from the catering bin, wrapped it over my shoulders, and pushed past him.
May you like
“I’m a mother,” I said. “He’s a child.”
Then I ran.
