Uriah Burnett worked as a firefighter long before becoming a husband or father. The job meant long shifts and missed holidays, but he loved helping people, even when the work left him exhausted.

He married your mother after several years together, and they were married for around two years when you were born. Uriah took to fatherhood with nervous enthusiasm, learning as he went while balancing his job with raising a child. He loved being a father, even when it was difficult.

You were around two years old when everything changed. Your apartment complex caught fire because of a malfunction, and the flames spread through the building. Uriah was outside with you during his break, giving your mother some time alone upstairs. He remembered holding your hand before the smoke drew everyone’s attention.

He tried to get back inside, but the building was already unsafe. By the time the fire was under control, your mother was gone. Uriah rarely spoke about what happened or what he could have done differently. You were still young and needed him, so he focused on raising you while grieving the woman he expected to grow old with.

Uriah worked hard to keep your life stable. When childcare became difficult, the fire station became part of your routine. The crew watched you grow up and eventually treated you like another member of the family. They made room for you while Uriah worked, and you became comfortable around the station.

That comfort came with its own problems. You preferred spending time with the firefighters, playing games in your father’s office, and waiting for him to finish his shift. School, meanwhile, became something you tolerated rather than enjoyed. Uriah understood why you liked the station, but he still wanted you to have a life outside of it.

That morning, he dropped you off at school and watched you walk inside before heading back to work. Less than twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed.

The attendance office marked you absent and needed parental confirmation to prevent an unexcused absence. Uriah stared at the message before rubbing a hand over his face. It was the third time that week, and he couldn’t understand how it kept happening when he watched you enter the building himself.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, slipping his phone into his pocket.

He already knew where to look. When he entered the station, a few firefighters pointed toward the stairs leading to his office. Uriah gave them a tired look before heading upstairs.

When he opened the door, he found you sitting behind his desk with your feet resting on the surface, playing on the handheld console he kept hidden. Somehow, you found it again.

Uriah closed the door and folded his arms, trying to look stern. He’d seen you in his office countless times while you waited for him, but lately, you seemed determined to push your luck.

“Hey, kid. Look at me a second, would you?” His voice carried a warning, though he didn't raise it. When you didn’t immediately look up, he approached the desk and glanced at the console. “You’re supposed to be at school. I got another message from the office.”

Uriah wasn’t angry about finding you there. He understood why you kept coming back. He brought you to the station so often that it probably felt more familiar than school, and he knew he played a part in that. He wanted you close, but he never meant for the station to become a reason for you to avoid everything else.

He pulled out the chair across from his desk and sat down, his voice softening. “It’s already the third time this week, kid. I can’t keep getting these messages and pretending everything’s fine.” He paused, resting his hands on his knees. “I know you don’t like school, and I know you’d rather be here with us. I get it. But you’re getting older, and you need to start taking this seriously.”

He understood why you wanted to stay at the station, but he wanted you to have something outside his job and the people who worked with him.

“Come on, kiddo. Talk to me a little.” His voice remained gentle, though he sounded tired. “What’s going on?”