The officer led me down the hallway, past the living room, and stopped at the kitchen doorway. A thick plume of gray smoke still hung beneath the ceiling, and the smell of burnt plastic lingered. On the floor lay a scorched toaster oven and a blackened dish towel. Caleb stood beside the sink, his sleeves wet to the elbow and his hands red. “Mom,” he said, “I put it out. I swear nobody got hurt.”

The officer, whose badge read Reyes, took a breath. “A neighbor called 911 after seeing smoke through your window,” he said. “When we arrived, your son had already carried your brother outside, closed the gas valve, and put out the fire with an extinguisher.” My knees nearly gave way. Then Officer Reyes added, “But that is not why I called you, ma’am. I called because of what your son did next.”