The words hit like blows. I let them land. He needed to say this, needed someone to hear it, and the least I could do was stand here and take it.
"Seven foster homes." His voice rose, cracking on the numbers. "Seven. The first one, they only wanted the check. Barely fed me and locked me in my room when their real kids had friends over. The second one, the dad hit harder than mine did."
I flinched.
"The Hendersons." His face twisted. "They were good. They actually wanted me. For two years, I thought maybe..." He laughed, hollow and broken. "Then Mrs. Henderson got pregnant. Suddenly, they couldn't afford me anymore. I got sent back like a defective product."
The smoke was getting thicker. My eyes burned.
"Group homes after that. Aged out at eighteen with a garbage bag of clothes and sixty-three dollars." Tommy stepped closer. "Nine years, Ms. Cummins. Nine years of being invisible. Of being shuffled. Of being forgotten by everyone who ever promised to help."
His eyes met mine.
"You were the first," he said. "The first person who made me think someone might actually give a damn. And then you proved that no one does. Not really. Not when it matters."
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
This was my fault.
Not the fire. Not the gasoline. But the boy who was holding the lighter. The rage that had hollowed him out. The nine years of suffering that had led him here, to this hallway, to this moment.
I’d started this?—
One phone call, nine years ago. I'd told myself I was saving him. I'd told myself the system would take care of him.
Tommy was still talking, still crying, still listing every way the world had failed him. But all I could hear was the echo of my own voice from nine years ago.
‘I'll make sure you're okay.’
I'd been the one to teach him that promises meant nothing.
Instead of running, I stepped toward him.
"You're right."
Tommy blinked. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't that.
"I made you a promise," I said. "And I broke it. I reported the abuse, and I'd do that again, Tommy. I would. Because those burns on your arms, what your father was doing to you..." My voice cracked. "You deserved to be safe. You deserved better than what you had."
"Then why didn't you make sure I got it?"
The question hung in the smoke between us.
"Because I failed you." The words scraped out of my throat. "I told myself I couldn't save everyone. That I had other students, other problems, my own daughter to worry about." I took another step toward him.
"I tried, Tommy. I called CPS a few weeks after they took you. Asked how you were doing, where they'd placed you." My voice cracked. "They wouldn't tell me anything. Said it was confidential. Said I wasn't family."
His jaw tightened. "So you just gave up."
"Yes." The word scraped out of me. "I told myself I'd done everything I could. That the system would take care of you. That once I made the call, my part was done." I shook my head. "But I should have tried harder. I should have found another way. I should have shown up at every office, made a nuisance of myself, refused to leave until someone told me you were okay."
Tommy was crying harder now. The anger was draining out of him, leaving something raw and wounded underneath.
"You were the only one who was ever nice to me." His voice broke like a child's. "And you just... You left. Like everyone else. Like the Hendersons. Like my mom."
"I know." I was close enough to touch him.
I didn’t. Not yet
