I Carried My Elderly Neighbor down Nine Flights During a Fire – Two Days Later, a Man Showed Up at My Door and Said, ‘You Did It on Purpose!’

“The elevator?” Nick asked.

The panel lights were dead. Doors shut.

“Stairs,” I said.

“Stay in front of me. Hand on the rail. Don’t stop.”

The stairwell was full of people—bare feet, pajamas, crying kids.

Nine flights doesn’t sound like much until you’re doing it with smoke drifting down behind you and your kid in front of you.

By the seventh floor, my throat burned. By the fifth, my legs ached. By the third, my heart was pounding louder than the alarm.

“You okay?” Nick coughed over his shoulder.

“I’m good,” I lied.

“Keep moving.”

We burst into the lobby and then out into the cold night. People huddled in small groups, some wrapped in blankets, some barefoot. I pulled Nick aside and knelt in front of him.

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