When I was 16, our house caught on fire at night. My dad pulled me out through the front door. He went to get my mom and grandpa. But they didn’t come back. The fire took all three of them.
After that, I wasn’t living. I was drifting. The fire took our house, our savings, our photos, and our clothes. Everything except me.
A local volunteer service helped me get a room in a community dorm-style shelter. Shared kitchen, two bathrooms per floor, but it was safe, clean, and warm. I was grateful. Especially because my only living relative, my mom’s sister (my aunt), refused to take me in.
“I don’t have the space, and I’m not about to give up my reading nook for a teenager,” she said.
What she did do, however, was take half of the insurance payout I received.
I didn’t argue because I’d already lost the thing most precious to me — my family.
During the day, I studied to get into college and find work.
I was surprised. I had no idea who sent it.
But as I cut it, I nearly blacked out when I saw what was HIDDEN inside. ⬇️