She took a shaky breath.
“He came home after walking you here.”
“He told us he had danced with you.”
She smiled through tears.
“He said it was the happiest he’d felt in years.”
I couldn’t speak.
“He also told us he finally understood something,” she continued.
“What?”
“That you weren’t the fire.”
I cried.
She reached for my hand.
“He said you were the person who survived it.”
The detective gave me another envelope.
“This is for you.”
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
Emily,
I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me.
I should have told you years ago.
I should have told someone.
I should have been brave.
But I wasn’t.
I was eleven.
And I was scared.
Every time I saw you at school, I wanted to tell you.
But I couldn’t.
Then last night, I saw you standing alone.
Everyone else was laughing.
You looked like you were trying not to disappear.
And I realized I had spent ten years watching you live with something I helped hide.
So I walked over.
I asked you to dance.
Not because I felt sorry for you.
Because I wanted you to know that someone saw you.
