Page 48 of No Take Backs

Fuck.

“Where is she?”

“They took her via Life Flight to Children’s in Boston.”

If they took her there, they really don’t think she’ll make it.

“Where was the fire?” Normally I’d have my radio on me, but since we were spending the evening with my family, I hadn’t thought of it.

“Piper Lachlan. The foster home she’d been sent to. The family is still on scene, if you want to go and get their statements now.” Kennedy pauses. “I’m sorry, Josh.”

I don’t tell her that it will be okay, because it won’t be. And I’m not going to tell Nia about it. Not until I know for sure if that little girl will make it or not. Instead, I hang up the phone and pull out of the driveway.

The acrid smell of smoke fills the air, and the sky is still gray from the fire when I pull up to the house five minutes later.

“Harmon,” Captain Harvey says grimly. “Family’s over there.”

An older woman with black streaks on her face and tears falling down her cheeks stands off to the side, held in the arms of a man who has to be her husband.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats over and over. “I have no idea how it happened.”

“Ma’am. Sir. I’m Firefighter Harmon, and I’m the investigator assigned to the fire. Can you give me any and all information you have?”

“Bill and Trish Sage,” the man introduces himself and his wife gruffly. “I was in the garage working on the bed I’m building for Piper, our foster daughter, so she feels like she has something that’s only ever been hers. Trish and Piper were in the house, and the next thing I know the living room is on fire.”

“We weren’t even in the living room.” Trish starts to cry. “I don’t know what happened. We were upstairs, putting away the clothes we got for the summer trip we were planning.” She sniffs and rubs her face, spreading the soot around. “I don’t know what happened. Piper was right with me, and I didn’t let her out of my sight. She was so afraid, Bill. So afraid.”

“Did you see anyone around your house in the past few days?” I scratch the tip of my nose with my thumb. “Anyone you didn’t recognize or who didn’t fit in?”

“No,” they both answer.

When they finish answering the rest of my questions, I am beyond exhausted. I don’t even make it back to my car before the phone starts ringing in my pocket.

“Harmon,” I answer blindly, rubbing a hand down my face while I take in the total loss of the house in front of me.

“Josh.” Kennedy’s voice fills the line. “The little girl didn’t make it.”

19

NIA

I didn't realize they made coffins small enough for toddlers. Not that I've ever actually thought about children dying. Even if it is a reality that I have to acknowledge exists, I've never seen a tiny coffin in real life.

Piper Lachlan was supposed to have her entire life ahead of her. A life full of laughter, love, and endless possibilities. She was only three years old, with her whole future waiting for her, and then… nothing. It’s a cruel joke, the kind that leaves you reeling, questioning everything you thought you knew about the world.

How could someone so young, so innocent, be taken away like this?

The unfairness of it all gnaws at me, making it hard to breathe or concentrate on anything. I can’t stop thinking about the milestones she’ll never reach, the experiences she’ll never have, the joy she’ll never bring to the people who loved her. Every thought of what she should have had in this life sends a fresh wave of grief crashing over me, and I struggle to keep it together.

Josh held me while I cried when he told me, and he didn’t let go when I raged about the lost innocence of a beautiful girl that we’d saved from the fire.

He doesn’t call me crazy when I insist on going to her funeral or when I ask him to go with me.

Nor does he think I’m batty when I pull Piper’s brother Richard into my arms before the funeral when he runs straight for me with tears in his eyes.

“Piper’s gone." He sobs loudly as my arms wrap around him. "She's gone, and she was only three. It’s all my fault.” His words come out in a rush, each one more devastating than the last. The pain in his voice is unbearable, and it cuts through me like a knife. He’s just a child, carrying the weight of a guilt that wasn’t his to bear. It’ll never be his. But in that moment, I can see that he truly believes it was his fault, that he should have done something, anything, to save his little sister. It’s an impossible burden for such a young boy to carry, and it shatters me to hear him voice such dark thoughts. I tighten my arms around him, holding him as if I could ever shield him from the cruelty of the world, even though I know I can’t.

His words decimate me. But his sobs are the knife twisting in my heart that I will never be able to escape. His pain is the worst thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life. It’s palpable, permeating the space all around us.

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