Publishing this story has been one of the scarier things I’ve done in my life. Reading the works of others is far different than narrating a creation of my own. Honestly, I haven’t written fiction since high school—but I’ve always wanted to. It was only the recent advances in AI that allowed me to take one of the stories rattling around in my brain and give it real form and substance. The story is entirely mine, but AI gave me a wise collaborator to help bring it to life. I hope to share more, depending on how this one lands.
While this story is purely fictional, it unfolds in the shadow of a real disaster—one that affected communities close to my own family in Asheville, where my mother, sister, and niece live. I want to express my sincere concern and empathy for those who were impacted. That said, this is not a story about the tragedy itself. It’s a tale of personal escape, buried secrets, and a woman who may have used chaos as cover for something darker—or perhaps something justified. The events are imagined, but the setting was chosen for its emotional weight, and I’ve tried to treat that weight with care.
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