MY SISTER LAUGHED WHEN SHE SAID THE FIRE STARTED ACCIDENTALLY LAST YEAR
Her voice was too light as she recounted that night and I felt a chill run down my spine. We were sitting by the fireplace, reminiscing about last winter. The one that took down Mom’s old garden shed, the one she loved so much. The intense heat from the roaring logs felt suddenly suffocating, pressing in on me.
She was smiling, describing the flames, how fast it went up. “Nobody expected it to catch *that* quickly,” she said, a strange lilt in her voice, “especially not *that* specific corner.” Her eyes seemed to glitter with something sharp.
I pressed her, my own voice tight. “What do you mean ‘that specific corner,’ Claire?” She just shrugged, picking nervously at a loose thread on the rough couch fabric, and changed the subject quickly.
But the way she said it, the look in her eyes… it wasn’t casual. It clicked into place then. The expensive camera equipment Dad had finally bought, stored safely inside. The sudden, unexpected insurance payout that followed flashed sickeningly through my mind.
Everything she’s been able to afford since that fire felt tainted. The trip, the new car, the suspiciously large down payment on her apartment. It wasn’t carelessness; it was planned.
Now Mom is talking about building her new art studio right next to *my* garage.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*My heart leaped into my throat. Mom’s art studio. Next to *my* garage. The image of her precious shed engulfed in flames, the chilling nonchalance in Claire’s voice – it all collided in my mind. My garage wasn’t just a shed; it held everything I owned that mattered, including irreplaceable family heirlooms. The thought of it being threatened by Claire’s casual disregard, or worse, her calculated malice, sent a wave of cold panic through me.
I stared at Mom, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Oh, that’s… interesting, Mom. Right next to the garage?”
She beamed, oblivious to the turmoil inside me. “Yes! Isn’t it perfect? Easy access, and I can finally spread out. I’m thinking big windows, maybe a skylight…”
Her words faded as I pictured it: a new wooden structure, potentially full of flammable art supplies, a few feet from my property, with Claire potentially anywhere nearby. Was this another opportunity? Another asset to leverage? Or just a terrifying coincidence?
I excused myself, the heat from the fireplace now making me feel genuinely ill. I needed space to breathe, to think. Claire was still chatting with Mom, her laughter echoing, bright and hollow.
Up in my room, I paced. What could I do? I had no proof, just a gut feeling and a few unsettling words. But that feeling was screaming at me now. Claire had burned down Mom’s shed, maybe for the insurance money from Dad’s equipment. And now Mom was planning to build a new structure, a potentially vulnerable one, right next to *mine*.
I couldn’t confront Claire directly again; she’d just deflect. Telling Mom would be devastating, impossible to prove, and might just sound like I was accusing Claire out of jealousy over her recent purchases.
The only thing I could control was protecting myself. I pulled out my laptop, my hands trembling slightly. I started searching, not for insurance fraud or arson laws, but for fire-resistant building materials. For sprinkler systems. For ways to harden the side of my garage that would soon face Mom’s new studio. It felt extreme, paranoid even, but the look in Claire’s eyes as she spoke of the fire was seared into my memory.
I knew, with a chilling certainty that settled deep in my bones, that I could never look at Claire the same way again. And I had to be ready, because whether it was deliberate or just incredibly reckless, the potential for fire seemed to follow my sister like a shadow, and now that shadow was creeping towards my own doorstep. The warmth of the house, the cheerful sound of Mom’s voice, Claire’s light laughter downstairs – it all felt like a fragile facade over a smoldering danger I now had to constantly guard against.