I thought the hardest part of surviving the fire was learning to live with the scars it left behind. But after one night at prom, everything that I thought I knew about my past changed.
I was nine when the fire happened.
I woke up coughing, surrounded by smoke so thick I couldn’t see my bedroom door. Somewhere upstairs, my mom was screaming my name. By the time firefighters got us out, the kitchen had been destroyed, and parts of my face, neck, and arm were burned badly enough to leave scars that never fully faded.
Over the years, you get used to your reflection in the mirror.
I woke up coughing.
***
The harder part was growing up with people staring at me all the time. Nobody at school openly said cruel things, but I always noticed the looks, whispers, and questions. It hurt.
But by my senior year, I’d gotten good at acting as if it didn’t bother me.
So when prom came around, I told my mom I didn’t want to go.
“You can’t hide forever, Cindy,” she said. “One bad thing already changed your life once. Don’t let it keep deciding things for you. Prom happens once in a lifetime.”
Eventually, she wore me down.
I’d gotten good at acting as if it didn’t bother me.
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