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.

He smiled, but there was something distant about him, as if he had something inside him that wanted to say but couldn’t.

When we got to my house, we stood awkwardly on the porch.

“Thanks for tonight,” I told him.

Caleb shoved his hands in his pockets and nodded.

Then he looked at me seriously and said, “See you.”

We said goodbye and he left.

The next morning, loud bangs shook the front door.

Still half asleep, I went down the stairs and stopped dead in my tracks.

My mother opened the door and there were police officers standing outside.

Next to them were Caleb’s parents.

Everyone turned to me.

A knot tightened in my stomach.

An officer stepped forward. “Cindy, when was the last time you saw Caleb?”

“Last night, after the prom.”

“Did he tell you where he was going next?” I shook my head slowly. “No. Why? Officer, did something happen?”

The officers exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Then one of them asked me a question that made my stomach clench even more.

“Miss, you really don’t know what Caleb did?”

I stared at him blankly. “What?”

The officer spoke cautiously.

Our department recently reopened several old reports related to incidents from years ago to resolve them. During this process, Caleb admitted to being near his home on the night of the fire, nearly 10 years ago.

For several seconds, I couldn’t even process his words.

“What do you mean he was there?”
The officer inhaled slowly.

“You have to listen carefully and try not to get overwhelmed. Caleb witnessed something related to the fire in his house when he was nine.”

I stared at him.

“What kind of something?”

Before the officer could continue, Caleb’s father suddenly spoke up. “He never meant for this to happen.”

His voice was desperate and tense.