The burning fire stood ahead of us.

Heat glazed my face, making me choke out a cough.

I never wanted — or thought — this would happen.

An hour earlier, the smell of smoke hit my nose. I felt it creeping closer and closer.

I ran to my door, desperate to find out what was going on.

It was swollen shut, and no matter how hard I yanked, it wouldn’t open.

I started banging and yelling, trying to force it.

We didn’t even have windows — my parents didn’t think about that 20 years ago when they bought this shabby old home, now burning to the ground.

Flames licked beneath the door.

I screamed for help — anyone.

I screamed so hard, my voice cracked and tore.

My heart slammed in my throat as I beat against the door,

thoughts racing faster than the fire outside.

There was a chair near my desk — my first instinct was to grab it.

A nonverbal command echoed in my head:

Get out. You have to get out.

I slammed the chair into the door.

Nothing.

Again.

And again.

My face glistened with sweat — panic, terror.

Gasps escaped my lips, sharp with fear and frustration.

I couldn’t stop thinking that I might not make it out.

That thought made me slam harder.

My body felt weak, melting. Like a forgotten ice cube —

once solid, now soft and slipping away.

Flames danced beneath the crack of the door.

I was trapped.

Stuck.

The more seconds passed, the worse it got.

With everything in me, I hurled the chair at the door.

White paint chipped off in splinters.

Finally — a crack.

The door burst open.

My heart pounded.

Ahead of me, fire roared, tall and wild.

Black shadows danced across walls and doorframes.

I held the chair like a shield, but the smoke still poured in.

My lungs burned.

My eyes stung.

My vision blurred.

Then —

Screams.

My little sister. Anna.

Her cries are still carved in my memory.

“Anna!!” I shouted, trying to reach her room.

Her door was shut.

I backed up.

Slamming, yelling, coughing.

“MOM!” I screamed, spotting her figure through the smoke — she was running down the stairs, carrying my baby brother.

“But what about Anna?” I yelled after her, coughing hard.

She looked back, her face red with heat, eyes wide with panic.

Then she disappeared down the fire-soaked stairs.

Fear covered me like paint — thick, hot, and heavy.

I turned back to Anna’s door.

“Anna! Move away! I’m coming in!” I shouted.

Coughing, choking.

My lungs felt useless.

I was dizzy.

My body was giving out.

Still, I kept slamming the chair into her door, again and again.

Finally, the door gave way.

I threw the chair aside and rushed in.

She was okay.

Her chestnut curls were untouched. Her hazel eyes were wide and wet with tears.

“Anna, thank goodness,” I whispered, hugging her tight.

I shut the door behind us.

She was shaking, sobbing.

“Okay, Anna, we’re getting out through your window, okay?” I said, brushing her hair back.

“But what about Teddy?”

Her eyes searched mine.

I couldn’t tell her Teddy — her favorite plush — was probably ashes now.

So I lied.

“Mom has him. We need to go now,” I said, coughing again.

My throat burned like it had been scraped raw.

I threw open the window.

We were high up — the ground looked far.

“We have to jump,” I told her.

I climbed out first, looking down.

I swallowed my fear.

And I let go.

The fall felt like forever.

But I landed.

My hip screamed in pain.

My arms ached.

But I was okay.

“Anna! Come on!” I yelled, coughing hard.

She stood there, trembling.

“Anna, I’ll catch you! I promise!”

Still, she didn’t move.

“Anna, please!”

She stepped closer.

“It’s like a game! Like at the pool, remember?” I tried.

She stared down at me.

“I’m scared!” she cried.

“Don’t be. I’m here. I’ll catch you. I swear.

5…

4…

3…”

Her eyes were full of terror. The fire behind her glowed brighter.

“2…

1…”

She jumped.

I reached up, caught her as best I could.

She fell into my arms.

We crashed to the ground.

My hip throbbed. My arms screamed.

But she was okay.

“You did so good, Anna,” I told her, holding her close.

Now we stand together, watching our house crumble to ashes.

The fire truck sirens wail in the distance.

I pick her up, rest her on my side, and stroke her hair.

We’re safe.

But I’ll never forget what we left behind.