A boy asked me to prom because no one else would because of my scars. The next day, his parents and the police showed up at my door.

I thought the hardest part of surviving the fire was learning to live with the scars it left. But after an unforgettable night at prom, everything I thought I knew about my past was completely upended.

I was nine years old when the fire broke out.

I woke up suffocated by smoke so thick I couldn’t even find my bedroom door. Somewhere upstairs, my mother was screaming my name. When the firefighters pulled us out, the kitchen was destroyed, and the burns on my face, neck, and arm left scars that never fully healed.

Eventually, you learn to recognize your reflection again.

What never got easier was growing up with people constantly staring at me. No one at school ever said anything overtly cruel, but I always noticed the looks, the whispers, the questions. And it hurt.

By my senior year of high school, though, I had become very good at pretending that nothing bothered me.