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!’

“I’m going to be careful. But if you follow me, I’ll be thinking about you and her at the same time.

I need you safe. Right here. Can you do that for me?”

He blinked hard, then nodded.

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

Then I turned and walked back into the building that everyone else was running out of.

The stairwell going up felt smaller and hotter. Smoke hugged the ceiling. The alarm drilled into my skull.

By the ninth floor, my lungs hurt, and my legs shook.

Mrs. Lawrence was already in the hallway in her wheelchair. Her purse sat in her lap.

Her hands trembled on the wheels. When she saw me, her shoulders sagged in relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she gasped. “The elevators aren’t working.

I don’t know how to get out.”

“Dear, you can’t roll a wheelchair down nine flights.”

“I’m not rolling you. I’m carrying you.”

Her eyes went wide. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’ll manage.”

I locked the wheels, slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, and lifted.

She was lighter than I expected. Her fingers clutched my shirt.

“If you drop me,” she muttered, “I’ll haunt you.”

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