Lucy Sheriff stood in the doorway of her apartment, the faint hum of the evening air carrying with it the scent of smoke, thick and acrid. She was eight months pregnant, her body swollen and heavy with the life growing inside her, yet in this moment, the weight she felt wasn't just from her child. It was the weight of uncertainty—the terrifying unknown that loomed just outside her door.

The phone call had come hours ago: mandatory evacuation. The fire, still miles away, had moved faster than anyone could have imagined, creeping up the hills like an unstoppable tide. Lucy had grabbed what little she could—her journalistic instincts kicking in, knowing she would need evidence, stories of those caught in the chaos. But even as she packed, she felt the hollow pit of fear in her chest. It wasn’t just her life she was worried about. It was her home, the place that had become a sanctuary, a place where she had built memories, and where her daughter would be born.

Her neighbors, all the familiar faces in the hallway, had scattered, but there was a quiet sense of disbelief in their eyes. Lucy hadn’t expected to leave. How could she? This place was her foundation. Yet here she was, a woman on the verge of motherhood, fleeing a fire she couldn’t outrun.

As she drove through the winding streets, the smoke thickened, and the sky turned an ominous orange. The air was heavy, pressing against the car window, suffocating. Her phone buzzed incessantly, texts from friends and colleagues asking for updates, but Lucy could barely manage the words. “On the way out... don’t know what’s left.”

Hours passed, and the fire raged, jumping from tree to tree, encroaching on the edges of her neighborhood, consuming everything in its path. Lucy had no choice but to head toward safety, leaving behind the familiar buildings, the streets she had walked every day for years.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Lucy was able to return, her heart beating erratically as she navigated the charred roads. The sky was still filled with smoke, though the worst of the fire had passed. She thought, in the quiet hum of the car, that maybe—just maybe—her home had survived.

But when she reached the end of her street, she stopped. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes blurring as she took in the sight before her. Where her cluster of condos had once stood, there was only ash and charred remains. The concrete foundations were barely visible beneath the destruction, and the remains of her neighbors’ homes were nothing but piles of rubble, twisted metal, and broken glass.

Lucy sat in her car, the engine still running, the heat of the day now unbearable. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. She couldn't breathe.

"This can't be real," she whispered aloud, but the empty space before her only confirmed what her mind had refused to accept.

She was silent for a long while before her phone buzzed again, a message from her neighbor: “Lucy, we’re back. It’s gone, isn’t it?”

Her fingers trembled as she typed her reply, but the words felt hollow, like they were floating outside of her reality. "It’s all gone."

Lucy opened the door of the car and stepped out, feeling the weight of her pregnant belly and the weight of the loss pressing down on her. As she walked through the charred remnants of her building, the sight of the empty space where her apartment had once been felt like a cruel punch. But it wasn’t just the destruction of her home that cut the deepest—it was the realization that her community, the people she had known for years, had lost everything too.

She tried to find some sign of life—a pet, a neighbor, anything—but the silence was deafening. The only sound was the crackling of dying embers and the distant wail of sirens. She went door to door, knocking on what was left of the walls, telling her neighbors, one by one, that their homes, their memories, were gone.

Some took it with stoic silence, others with tears. One woman, still in her pajamas, crumbled at the news, clutching a photograph to her chest. Lucy could only stand by, helpless, as her own heart shattered.

When the last person had been informed, Lucy stood there, staring at the destruction. The fire had taken everything—homes, belongings, photos, dreams—but it had also taken something more: the spirit of this place, the essence of a community.

The words she'd typed earlier echoed in her mind, and they felt more true now than ever: "There is literally nothing left to come back to."

Lucy’s eyes blurred with tears, the grief settling in her chest like a stone. She had lost her home, her community, and yet the greatest loss—the one that stung the most—was that of the life she had imagined, the future that now seemed uncertain.

In the midst of the destruction, Lucy placed a hand on her stomach, feeling her baby shift within her. A strange sense of peace washed over her, not from the ashes that surrounded her, but from the life still growing inside her.

She was grieving. But somehow, she knew—there would be something to rebuild.