06/01/2025
"The Day Fire Knocked on Our Door"
It started like any other Saturday morning. The kids were in the living room watching cartoons, their laughter bouncing off the walls like music. I was in the kitchen, halfway through making breakfast—pancakes and eggs, their favorite. The smell of syrup and butter filled the air, warm and familiar.
But something felt... off.
As I reached for the matchbox to light the gas, I noticed a faint hiss. Almost like a whisper. At first, I thought it was the faucet or maybe the radiator acting up again. But the sound didn’t go away. It grew louder—subtly, almost imperceptibly—but enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck.
Then came the smell. That sharp, metallic scent—gas.
My stomach dropped.
I froze for a split second, trying to calm the panic bubbling inside me. My instincts kicked in. I yelled for the kids to get out. “Out of the house, now!” I must’ve scared them with my voice—they looked confused but ran outside barefoot, clutching each other.
I ran to the kitchen, heart pounding like a drum, and shut off the gas valve. But I knew it was already too late. The room felt heavy with fumes, the air thick. One spark—that’s all it would take.
Then, the unimaginable happened.
A neighbor, bless his soul, unaware of the danger, knocked on our front door. I rushed to stop him, but as he opened the door, a gust of wind rushed through—and a small flame from the candle I’d forgotten on the windowsill met the gas-laced air.
Boom.
A thunderous explosion ripped through the kitchen. The windows shattered. The force threw me backwards, slamming me into the wall. My ears rang. For a moment, everything was white noise.
But somehow, I was alive.
Bruised, bloodied, shaken—but alive.
My neighbors had already gathered. Someone pulled me out just as the flames began licking at the curtains. The house was badly damaged, but my children were safe. I was safe. We were all still breathing.
It took weeks to process what had happened. Months to repair the physical damage—and even longer to heal emotionally. But that day changed me. I became more vigilant, more aware. Every gas line, every switch, every scent—I check them all now. Twice.
Because I know how close I came to losing everything.
And every morning I watch my kids laugh at the breakfast table, I remember that life—fragile and beautiful—is something you never take for granted.