***

The consensus had always been that toilet training was an absolute pain. Expect messy floors. Expect messy clothes. No one had ever mentioned smoke inhalation or conflagration.

As one who had witnessed the flames, I only felt relief as I surveyed the minimal damage. A patch of bubbled linoleum and a slightly scorched cabinet—it could have been a lot worse. However for someone not knowing anything had happened, a delicate touch was needed.

The sound of an engine accompanied a crunch of tires turning into the driveway. I leaned casually against the doorframe as my husband exited his car. J.J. watched me quietly from his tricycle in the living room. He seemed frozen in place, his wide blue eyes staring at me as though he had never seen me before. I turned my attention to his father as he strode up the front steps.

“J.J. lit the bathroom on fire today,” I said, “and it’s really bad…”