The smoke clung to my clothes as I stood barefoot in the freezing night air, holding my daughter Luna close. My baby, Mateo, was cradled by a firefighter, A. Calderon, who protected him from the cold. Everything happened so fast—the fire, the sirens, the neighbors whispering. One moment, I had a home; the next, it was gone.
Luna asked, “Mommy, where will we sleep now?” I had no answer. My husband had been gone for months, and now there was no home left. Calderon stepped forward, holding Mateo, and handed me a key to a small, warm apartment. “It’s yours for as long as you need,” he said, explaining that he understood what it was like to lose everything.