I release a heavy breath as I stare at where the house we loved once stood. The place that held so many memories for us is now ash. I drop to my knees, feeling so much loss I can’t stand under its weight. Jessica was in there, and I couldn’t do anything. I have no idea if she’s still alive and I can’t take it.

There’s a hand on my shoulder, gripping. “Come on, let’s go,” the police officer says. He helps me to the car, and we ride the ten minutes without talking. I’m glad he doesn’t try because I have no words.

If I try to speak, I will fall apart. The only thing keeping me together is that they found her and she might be okay.

I send a text to Stella, letting her know the name of the hospital, and she lets me know Jessica’s family is on their way.

When we get inside, the police officer informs the staff of who I am and asks about Jessica’s status. She explains that right now they have no information other than she’s in ICU and that I will have to wait until they talk to her next of kin.

I’m not family, and they can’t release anything to me.

I have no idea if she’s awake or unconscious. Is she hanging on or letting go? Is she asking for me or hopes I don’t come?

If you’re listening, God, just don’t take her. Let her live and let me spend the rest of my life making it up to her.

My head rests in my hands, and I cry. I just fucking cry because I did this to her. I pushed her away, made her run because I was so sure she’d go because that’s what happens. She is everything to me, and I gave her away.

Now, she might really be gone.

How can I live with myself? How do I ever look at the skyline again and not die a little inside?

Hours pass. Hours and no matter how much I beg, no information will be released to me.

My phone rings, and it’s Delia.

“Gray, we’re at the hospital. Where do we go?”

She must’ve gotten in the car right after I did. “I’m on the fourth floor.”

“Okay,” she says panting.

A few minutes pass before the door opens, and Delia, Winnie, and her mother enter the room. Her sister rushes toward me. Her arms wrap around me, and we both start to cry.

“I’m a fucking asshole,” I say. “I did this to her.”

“Stop it. She’ll be okay. She has to be. Who the hell survives a plane crash to die in a house fire?” she says as though that makes anything easier.