An hour later, Caleb drove us to a correctional facility two towns away.
Taylor stayed in the car while Caleb and I went inside for visitation.
During the entire drive, my stomach stayed twisted in knots.
Part of me expected Mason to look terrifying after everything I’d heard about him.
Instead, when he entered the visitation room, he just looked exhausted and older than he should have.
The moment he saw me sitting beside Caleb, his face completely fell.
At first, nobody spoke. Then I leaned forward and asked the only thing I truly cared about.
“Why did you do it?”
Mason stared at the table for several long seconds, clearly realizing there was no hiding anymore.
“It wasn’t intentional. When I was fourteen, I used to sneak around neighborhoods at night doing stupid things. That night I noticed the garden gnome outside your house and walked over to look at it. Then I saw the kitchen window cracked open.”
Beside me, Caleb looked tense.
Mason continued.
“I climbed inside because I thought maybe I could steal something small without anybody noticing. While I was in the kitchen, I lit a cigarette. A few minutes later, I left it on the counter while I looked around the living room.”
Hearing it made me feel sick.
“Then I heard movement and panicked. I climbed back out the window and ran.”
Caleb stared at him in disbelief.
“You never meant to start the fire?”
Mason looked genuinely confused. “I didn’t even realize there was a fire until the next morning.”
For years, Caleb had believed his brother intentionally burned my house down. I could see the shock written all over his face.
Mason looked back at me, shame filling his expression.
“I’m sorry, Cindy. About everything.”
Silence filled the room.
Then Mason quietly added, “If you want to report it now, I understand.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
Honestly, I thought I’d feel anger sitting there. But mostly, I just felt sad.
Sad that one reckless mistake made by a teenager had destroyed so many lives.
Sad that Caleb had spent nearly ten years carrying guilt over something he barely understood as a child.
When Caleb and I left the facility, neither of us spoke much on the drive back.
But before going home, we stopped at the police station.
I found the officers from that morning and told them everything Mason confessed.
And when they asked whether I wanted to press charges, I shook my head.
“No,” I said. “I don’t, and I’m sure my mother won’t, either.”
Because nothing could erase my scars.
But for the first time in years, I realized they no longer controlled my life.
And somehow, neither did the fire anymore.
