Page 49 of No Take Backs

I can’t let him go. Not when he’s clutching the black hem of my dress shirt with a desperation that makes my heart ache. He’s holding on so tightly, his small hands fisted in the fabric as if letting go would mean losing the last connection he has to his sister.

I don’t think twice, I just do what feels right.

I scoop him up into my arms, ignoring the fact that he’s nearly as big as I am, and I let him cry. His weight is nothing compared to the weight of his grief, and I would gladly bear it all if it meant taking even a fraction of his pain away. We sit there on the curb, outside the church that holds his little sister’s body inside, and I just hold him, rocking him gently as he sobs into my shoulder. It’s all I can do, and it feels so inadequate, but it’s the only thing that makes sense in this senseless situation.

"Shh." I rub his back and sit down on the curb right there, outside the church that holds his little sister’s body inside. "Shh."

I don't tell him it will be okay. It won't be.

Instead, I give him the only comfort I possibly can.

In less than three months, he lost his mother and his little sister.

Both to fire, no less.

No.

If I have any idea about life, it is that Richard's life won't be okay. Not for a long time.

"I wish I was never born," Richard whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief.

The words cut through me worse than even before. Leaving nothing but desolation in their wake, the kind that leaves you breathless and reeling. It’s a declaration so full of pain, so heavy with despair, that I feel my heart twist in my chest.

How do you respond to something like that?

How do you even begin to offer comfort to a child who feels like the world would be better off without him?

The depth of his sorrow, the hopelessness in his voice, it’s too much for any child to bear.

I find myself blinking back tears, my throat tightening with the need to say something. Anything. But I’m lost. There’s nothing I can say that might help.

My chest clenches again painfully as he wraps his arms around my neck tighter, and I find myself squeezing him tightly in response. "No," I whisper. "I don't want that. You don’t want that. Your mother and sister wouldn’t want that.”

"I couldn't save her." His tear-ravaged voice echoes in the parking lot.

With tears in my eyes, I look up to see not only Josh standing there, but the entire Birch Fire Department. Every single man and woman who works there, even if they aren't on our shift. Every one of them is wearing their dress uniform. More than a few of them have tears in their eyes as they watch our interaction.

"You're not alone, Richard," I whisper. "We're all here for you. You're part of our family now."

He doesn’t look up.

He doesn’t nod.

He doesn’t move.

The broken little boy in my arms cries until he passes out against my chest.

"I'll take him." Josh tries to pull him out of my arms, but I shake my head.

Instead of relinquishing Richard to Josh, I let him and Ryder help me up, their hands steady and reassuring as they lift us both. It’s a bit awkward, trying to stand while still holding on to Richard, but they’re gentle and patient, making sure we’re balanced before stepping back. Richard doesn’t stir, lost in a deep, fitful sleep, and I’m grateful for the support of these two men who understand, who’ve seen the same horrors, who’ve carried the same burdens. Together, we form a silent, unspoken bond, a shared understanding that words could never fully capture. This is what it means to be part of the fire department, to be part of a family that stands together in the face of even the darkest moments.

When I walk by the foster parents who are openly crying and watching me with him in my arms, I shake my head as the father moves to take Richard.

“I’ve got him,” I tell them quietly. “I’ve got him.”

I walk with him in my arms, ignoring the weight. In fact, I ignore everything and everyone as I carry him into the large room that is being used for her funeral.

For a moment, I worry about the empty pews, and all the love that Piper will miss out on in her life. Until I sit down in the front row with Richard on my lap and turn to see all of the people quietly walking in. Firefighters, police officers, EMTs. Dozens of people I know from work and training. Even doctors from the hospital.