Gone was the home Katy’s father had grown up in. Gone were the videos of Katy and her brother John’s first steps. Gone was the dining room table where the family celebrated countless birthdays.

As her home of eight years went up in flames, sophomore Katy Wonder watched barefoot on the cold grass across the street.

Three weeks after the fire, Katy now lives in a rental house that smells “like old people,” with walls so thin she hears every sound and furniture so monotonous it’s identical in every room.

The night of the fire, while her uncle was repairing the family’s Cadillac, the engine backfired, immediately igniting the insulation in the garage.

Katy was half asleep in her room when she heard her father’s screams to call 911. She sprinted downstairs and grabbed two of her dogs. As she found her dad, she noticed the thick, black smoke pouring into the family room.

By the time Katy, her dad, uncle, brother and two friends had sprinted outside, half of her house was up in flames. In less than an hour, the garage, kitchen, family room, living room and her brother’s room were destroyed.

Katy’s mother, Michele, was driving home when she saw the smoke. She immediately knew it was her home. Cars full of curious gawkers and emergency vehicles blocked the entrance to the neighborhood, so she parked her car in the middle of State Line Road, got out and sprinted.

After discovering her family was safe, Michele’s knees buckled as she looked at her destroyed home.

After the flames had died and the firemen had left, Katy slowly walked toward what was left of her home. She fell, exhausted and angry and grieved. She began to pray.

That was the moment things started to get a little better.