Mark
The night was cold, the chill of winter biting at my skin as I stood hidden amidst the dense woods, watching my childhood home engulfed in flames. The orange glow flickered against the pitch-black sky, casting eerie shadows that danced and swayed with the crackling fire. It was a sight both mesmerizing and haunting, a symbol of everything that had gone wrong in my life.
This house, once filled with laughter and warmth, now stood as a charred reminder of the shattered pieces of my past. It was here that I grew up, surrounded by the love of a father who fought for his country and a mother who used to smile. But the war had changed my father, his return marked by the loss of his legs and the loss of his will to live. When he took his own life, the flames within our lives were ignited,
