We surveyed our house’s carbonized skeleton.

“Remember our wedding night?” Marla said. “Dancing in the living room.”

“Right here.” I pointed to a depression in the charred floor.

“The beginning of our new life,” Marla said.

I wiped her eyes and held her, then whispered, “Can I have this dance?”

Tim Boiteau is a Writers of the Future winner and author of The Nilwere (Grendel Press). See more at timboiteau.wordpress.com.