The air smelled of smoke and rain. Ash clung to the snow-covered ground. People whispered, firefighters moved in the background, but he didn’t seem to hear them.
He just stood there, clutching the tiny, shivering kitten against his chest. His hands—rough, trembling—shielded her from the cold, his sweater speckled with soot and falling snow.
I swallowed hard, stepping closer. “Sir… are you okay?”
He didn’t look up. He just held her tighter.
“They’re all gone,” he whispered, his voice barely there. “The house. The photos. Everything.”
Then, he looked down at the kitten, stroking her damp fur. His lips trembled, but not from the cold.
“She’s all I have left.”
