As a single mother working at a café, I had to bring my son, Micah, to work when the babysitter canceled. It was Halloween, and Micah was excited to wear his firefighter costume. I gave him crayons and a sandwich to keep him occupied while I worked.
Mid-shift, I noticed he was missing. Panic set in as I searched the café, only to find him in the kitchen, held by a firefighter who was quietly crying. Micah looked up and calmly told him, “It’s okay. You saved them. My daddy says you’re a hero.”
The firefighter, visibly shaken, asked, “Who’s your dad, buddy?” Micah proudly said, “My daddy’s name was Jason Miller. He’s in Heaven now.” The firefighter’s face drained, and he collapsed to his knees, revealing that Micah’s father, Jason, had saved his life during a fire the year before.
The firefighter, Daniel, thanked Jason for his sacrifice, and Micah, with the wisdom of a child, reassured him, saying, “He’s happy you’re okay.” Daniel, overwhelmed with emotion, promised to make Jason proud.
From that day on, Daniel became a regular part of our lives, helping Micah with school and honoring Jason’s memory. Every Halloween, they dressed as firefighters together, one learning and the other honoring a hero who never truly left us.
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