When I opened my daughter’s closet and found a stash of something entirely unexpected, she begged me not to jump to conclusions. I thought I was staring at the biggest regret of her life — but the truth was something I never saw coming.My name is Mark, and I’m 42. I’m a firefighter, which is kind of funny since I never noticed the metaphorical fire burning under my own roof.For the last few years, it’s been just me and my daughter, Emily.
My wife passed away a few years ago, and the house got awfully quiet after that.t was full of memories that hurt too much to face. So, I did what a lot of people do when they’re hurting: I ran.I threw myself into extra shifts at the firehouse, practically living at the station.It felt easier to charge into a burning building, wrestling with smoke and heat, than to sit on my couch, wrestling with silence.I told everyone, including myself, that I was being a good father. I was providing for my daughter, making sure she had everything.I even managed to believe it at first.
