He looked down.
“When I was nine, I saw Mason sneak out late. He used to do stuff like that all the time. I followed him on my bike because I thought it was a game.”
His voice shook.
“I lost sight of him for a while. Then I saw him climbing out of a window at your house. A few minutes later, smoke started coming from the kitchen.”
I stared at him.
“I got scared and rode home. The next morning, when everyone started talking about the fire and what happened to you…” He swallowed hard. “I kept thinking if I told anyone, Mason’s life would be over.”
“So you stayed quiet?”
His face crumpled.
“I was nine.”
That stopped me.
Because he had been.
He had been nine. A scared child protecting an older brother he didn’t understand yet.
Caleb explained that Mason kept getting into trouble as he got older. Fights. Juvenile detention. Eventually, prison. But Caleb never stopped thinking about that night.
Especially once we ended up at the same school.
“At first, I avoided you,” he said. “Every time I looked at you, I thought about the fire.”
But avoiding me had become impossible. Classes. Hallways. Football games. Group projects. And somewhere along the way, guilt became something messier, quieter, and more painful.
Then he told me something I hadn’t expected.
Before prom, he overheard some guys joking that nobody would ask me to dance.
“I snapped,” he said. “One of them almost punched me over it.”
Taylor stood silently behind him.
Caleb looked straight at me.
“I didn’t ask you to dance because I felt sorry for you. I did it because I was tired of pretending I didn’t care about you.”
For a moment, I forgot how to speak.
Then I asked the question that still mattered most.
“Why would Mason do something like that?”
Caleb shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Then his expression shifted.
“But maybe it’s time we asked him.”
An hour later, Caleb drove us to the correctional facility two towns over. Taylor stayed in the car while Caleb and I went inside for visitation.
The whole drive, my stomach stayed in knots.
Part of me expected Mason to look terrifying.
Instead, when he walked into the room, he looked tired, older than he should have, and already ashamed.
The second he saw me beside Caleb, his face fell.
Nobody spoke at first.
Then I leaned forward.
“Why did you do it?”
Mason stared at the table.
“It wasn’t intentional,” he said quietly. “I was fourteen. I used to sneak around neighborhoods at night doing stupid things. That night, I saw the garden gnome outside your house and walked over. Then I noticed the kitchen window was cracked open.”
Caleb sat frozen beside me.
