The man did not move.

He opened the black leather folder, revealing a stack of official documents.

“My name is Detective Miller,” he said.

“I am with the county sheriff’s department.”

“I am here to follow up on the incident report from eight years ago.”

Mother gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white.

She looked like she was about to faint, her eyes darting toward the street.

“That was handled,” Father said, his voice rising.

“The fire department ruled it an accidental electrical fire.”

“We have the reports.”

“The reports we have contain several inconsistencies,” Detective Miller said.

He looked at Mother, then back at Father.

“Specifically regarding the timeline of that evening.”

“And the whereabouts of the adults in charge.”

Mother let out a small, choked gasp.

She pressed a hand to her chest, her face turning a pale, sickly green.

I watched her, realizing there was a shadow in her eyes I had never seen before.

It wasn’t just guilt over my scars.

It was something much bigger, something they had kept from both of us.