My twin brother dragged me out of a burning house and ran back inside to save our dog. He never came out. I spent 31 years believing his loss was my fault. Then on my 45th birthday, a man knocked on my door with my brother’s face and said there was something about the fire I’d never been told.
The morning of December 14th is always the hardest day of the year for me.
My name is Regina, though everyone who knows me well calls me Reggie.
I was pouring my first cup of coffee when the knock came. I wasn’t expecting anyone. My 45th birthday was not a day I celebrated. For the last 31 years, it had been the day I mourned.
I set down my cup and went to the door. When I opened it, my heart almost stopped.
