Chapter 1 - Andie
Chapter One - Andie
Cody’s arms around me have always been my happy place. My own personal security system—warm, safe, perfect. The kind of picture that makes you post those sickeningly sweet captions with #husbandlove that have my friends rolling their eyes.
But tonight? His warmth is different, a type I never experienced before.
I can’t pinpoint why or how it’s different; just that it is.
His heat against my skin feels wrong—like someone cranked the thermostat to hell and forgot to tell me.
I kick off the sheets, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable, as my husband lies next to me completely unbothered.
Of course, he can sleep through anything.
When my eyes finally open, I blink twice. Because seriously? This has to be a dream. My body wants to hit the panic button and react when the sight of smoke—actual smoke—hits the center of my eyes, but my brain is still stuck on loading. Unable to make any sudden movements.
Not the kind that happens when I attempt to cook dinner, getting distracted by music and dancing, where it sets off the smoke detector—an event that happens with enough regularity that I should probably just avoid cooking altogether. No, this is the real deal.
For a second that stretches way too long, I just stare. Trying to will it to apologize and disappear. It doesn’t.
“Holy shit.” The words tumble out as reality crashes into me.
My heart does that panicky flutter thing, like when you think you’ve lost your phone, but it’s actually in your hand, except a thousand times worse because, you know, fire.
I grab Cody’s shoulder, giving him a shake.
I fully expect him to wake up giving me that grumpy “What the hell, babe?” But right now? Nothing.
“Cody!” I shake harder, my nails probably leaving indents on his skin.
“Wake up!” The universe really has a twisted sense of humor sometimes.
My husband—Mr. Safety First—the guy who makes me run spontaneous fire drills at home, complete with timers and critiques on my technique, is sleeping through an actual fire complete with flames, smoke and a blazing heat.
You must act quickly if you want to survive or I’m simply trying to keep you safe, he would say.
To me, it was stupid because, in this case, no matter how much he tried to talk to me about these things, I feel like I always forget everything he’s ever said. Every safety speech I’ve endured over the years has vanished from my memories.
“Cody!” My voice hits that pitch that only dogs can hear. “Our house is literally on fire!”
He finally stirs, those blue eyes I usually get lost in now cloud with confusion.
I watch as awareness clicks into place. His firefighter brain processing faster than it seems humanly possible.
The flash of fear that crosses his face lasts maybe half a second before that calm, hero-mode expression takes over.
It’s the same look he gets before heading to work, but this time we’re not sharing a quick kiss at the door before he runs off to save somebody else’s home.
This time, it’s our life going up in flames.
We bolt for the closet like it’s Black Friday, and we just spotted the last PS5. Except instead of scoring a gaming console, we’re trying not to die.
The closet is our secret escape hatch with a second door that leads straight to the hallway and then to freedom.
Cody’s been obsessed with this alternative exit strategy since we bought the place.
I’d tease him mercilessly about his safety obsession, but it turns out my firefighter husband wasn’t being paranoid after all.
Funny how near-death experiences have a way of making you appreciate the little things—like knowing how to escape your burning bedroom at 2:00 a.m.
I drop to my hands and knees like Cody taught me.
Staying low, we crawl through the hallway, each breath getting harder as my lungs fill with smoke debris particles.
The floor—the beautiful hardwood we spent three weekends installing ourselves—scorches my palms and knees as I creep toward safety.
Basic fire survival 101. However, nothing feels basic when you’re living it.
Panic rises in my chest, threatening to take over.
My body screams at me to stop, to curl up, to give in.
But I keep crawling. The tears streaming down my face could be from the smoke, or maybe from seeing our dream home destroyed before my eyes.
The place I hoped to raise kids someday . . . gone.
My movements are slow, as I force myself one inch at a time.
That’s all I can manage. Cody’s voice behind me is steady and calming.
“Keep moving, babe. Don’t look back.” He’s seen too many people succumb to the flames when they decide to go back for their belongings or when they stop in fear.
Personally, I don’t want to be one of those people.
So, mustering the strength, I manage to keep making my way through the hallway.
Every few seconds, Cody taps my foot—our silent check-in system.
His touch, even just on my foot, grounds me.
It reminds me that I’m not alone in this hellscape.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I wait for the next one. Nothing. The silence hits harder than the smoke.
“Cody?” My voice sounds like I’ve been gargling glass.
No answer. Shit. Shit. Shit. I twist around, but all I see is a wall of black smoke.
He was right there. Right there. My brain short-circuits.
Go back for him? Keep going? The two options wage war in my head.
His words echo in my mind: Keep moving. Don’t stop till you’re outside.
I have to fight every instinct to go back as I force myself forward.
One. Inch. At. A. Time.
I finally reach the door, my trembling fingers wrapping my sleep shirt around the handle.
Fire safety tip number twenty-three from living with Cody Harris: test doorknobs before opening.
I struggle with the door, my strength fading fast. Then I hear it—that horrible cracking sound above me.
The sound of a house giving up. The roof.
Oh god, Cody is still in there. I burst through the door into the front yard, instantly blinded by flashing lights.
Fire trucks. Neighbors. Chaos. But no Cody.
My feet refuse to move. My brain can’t process what my heart already knows.
I turn to look again for him, but I’m quickly yanked backward by strong arms—not the ones I want.
A firefighter grabbed me, pulling me away from my home. From my husband.
“You have to go back! You have to save him!” I scream, my voice raw and desperate. “He’s still in there!”
Why are they looking at me that way? Why won’t they answer me?
Then I notice something that stops my heart.
They’re not rushing in. No heroic entry team.
No rescue operation. Just guys with hoses fighting the fire from the outside.
Defensive position. That’s what he calls it when a building is too far gone to save.
No. No. No. This can’t be happening. I want to wake up with his arms wrapped around me. I want him to whisper that this was just another nightmare, like the ones he sometimes has after bad calls.
My feet carry me closer to a group of firefighters. Their voices drift toward me in fragments. “. . . structure compromised . . .”, “. . . no longer a rescue operation . . .”, “recovery mode. . .” Recovery. Not rescue. Those four syllables shatter what’s left of my heart.
They won’t risk more lives to save someone who can’t be saved.
Logically, I get it. Cody would make the same call.
He’d never want his brothers running into a death trap for him.
But logic has nothing to do with the way I feel right now.
I stand there, watching our life disappear in flames, the summer heat nothing compared to the inferno before me.
The night sky that was once filled with the stars we would look up at before bed is now engulfed in a thick cloud of gray.
Then comes the explosion—the sound of my world ending.
And there, just for a second, Cody’s face at the window, his eyes finding mine through the flames.
One heartbreaking moment of connection before the fire claims him completely, taking everything I ever loved.