His leather vest remained around my shoulders.
Inside the lining, stitched where strangers could not see it, was a small firefighter’s memorial ribbon and one name.
Michael Bennett.
My father.
Part 3 — The Flame Behind Me
The fire marshal reconstructed the incident the next morning.
A decorative candle had been placed too close to the aisle. The chapel prohibited that arrangement, but a temporary event assistant moved the stand after the coordinator’s final inspection.
My train passed over the flame.
The outer lace ignited first.
Because the fire began behind me, I continued walking without seeing it. Guests hesitated during the first seconds because several mistook the orange glow for reflected candlelight.
Hammer recognized it immediately.
He had arrived early and inspected the exits from habit. He noticed the crowded aisle, the dry floral arrangements, and the candles. He considered saying something to the coordinator but decided not to interfere with a wedding where he barely knew the bride.
That decision haunted him.
By the time the flame became visible, the distance between us was nearly forty feet.
He ran.
A burning train can be frightening without creating graphic injury. The immediate danger came from flame traveling toward additional fabric and from panic inside an old chapel packed with guests.
Hammer focused on removing the burning material.