The days after the funeral passed like smoke drifting without shape I went through them on instinct eating sleeping working but nothing felt solid the laughter at the station was quieter the air heavier as if the walls themselves were mourning too I caught myself looking at the empty chairs at the kitchen table expecting Hank’s voice or Carter’s clumsy jokes silence became a companion I didn’t ask for but couldn’t send away

Captain Rivera gave me lighter shifts for a while said I needed space to breathe but breathing felt like the hardest thing I could do every time I put on the uniform it felt heavier not because of the weight but because of what it meant the trust the risk the memory of who wasn’t there anymore some nights I lay awake listening for the siren half wanting it to call me back into the only place I still felt like myself

Therapy wasn’t something firefighters talked about but the captain insisted he said if you don’t empty the smoke from inside it’ll choke you eventually so I went reluctantly the office was small quiet the therapist a woman named Maria with kind eyes she didn’t push she just listened I told her about the fire the blast the faces and the noise and how I couldn’t stop hearing it when she asked what scared me most I said forgetting them she said remembering is good but living only in memory is another kind of fire you can’t stay in the flames forever Lin

Her words stayed with me more than I expected I started writing in a notebook after shifts not stories just fragments thoughts smells moments the sound of rain on the truck roof the way smoke curls after a blaze the shape of fear inside silence sometimes I didn’t write words at all just lines of dots like pauses waiting to be filled the act of writing felt like exhaling something trapped inside

Slowly the weight began to shift not vanish just settle into a place I could carry I began running again before dawn the same track I used in high school each step steady each breath deliberate my lungs burned but in a good way I thought about how Hank used to say you can’t outrun the fire but you can learn to move with it maybe that’s what I was doing learning to move again

Back at the station things started to find rhythm we got new recruits fresh faces wide eyes one of them a kid named Mason barely twenty eager and reckless he reminded me of Carter in ways that hurt and healed at the same time he asked too many questions broke hoses by accident but his heart was in it I found myself teaching him how to roll lines properly how to read smoke patterns how to breathe slow in the mask during drills he looked at me like I knew everything I told him I didn’t he laughed said you look like you do

One evening after a long call we sat outside the bay doors watching the sunset the sky glowing red Mason asked does it ever get easier I thought about it and said not really but you get better at standing inside the hard parts he nodded like that was enough maybe it was I realized then that teaching him was helping me too every time I reminded him to stay calm I was reminding myself

Captain Rivera started giving me more responsibility running small drills coordinating responses nothing official but enough to keep my mind anchored I began to feel useful again not just functional but alive the crew noticed too one night someone left a mug on my locker that said hold the line no note no name just that three words that had carried me through every fire

The next call we got was a small kitchen fire nothing dramatic but standing there watching the flames curl and die under the water I felt a strange calm not joy exactly but balance like I could finally breathe in the smoke without drowning in it I realized then that grief and duty aren’t enemies they live side by side both demanding both sacred

When I went home that night the city lights flickered against the river I stopped on the bridge for a moment watching the reflection ripple I thought about Hank and Carter about the man who once saved me about everyone who walks into the heat knowing they might not walk out I whispered to the water I’ll hold the line for you all and somehow for the first time in months the words didn’t feel heavy they felt true