Part 2Ashes of My Life

The acrid smoke choked me, and the pain in my lungs snapped me back to the present.

I grabbed my phone. This time, I didn't call his personal number. I dialed 911.

I heard the sirens. I saw his truck, Engine 12. I saw him, Owen, my husband, in full gear.

He ran into the burning building. I watched as he carried Chloe out, bridal style.

Only then, when she was safe, did I crawl to the hallway and call for help.

His crew saw me. They thought I was joking.

"Seriously, Mrs. Thorne?" one of them snapped. "A little dramatic, don't you think?"

A piece of the ceiling, a heavy light fixture, broke free and slammed onto my stomach.

I spat out a mouthful of blood.

They just... watched.

I gritted my teeth, dragging myself through the smoke and debris, and collapsed on the lawn.

Every oxygen tank, every cold compress, every paramedic was focused on Chloe.

Owen didn't even look at me. "You got what you deserved," he spat.

I was soaked in sweat and blood. I could feel the baby... I could feel it slipping away.

In the last life, Chloe and I had both called him. He chose me. He chose the baby.

He went back for her, but the roof collapsed.

He'd told me he was fine. He'd comforted me.

And all of it, all that care, was just a long, slow-burning revenge.

Now, he wouldn't even give me a bottle of water.

I saw the pool of blood forming beneath me.

"Help... my baby..." I rasped. "Please..."

The firefighter closest to me, his friend, finally turned. His face was a mask of contempt.

He nudged me with his boot.

"Stop faking, Elara. Everyone at the station knows you hate Chloe. Jesus, you're pathetic. You set a fire while pregnant just to get his attention? Well, he's busy. You'd better pray she's okay, or he'll divorce your crazy ass."

I knew Owen didn't love me. I didn't know his entire crew hated me, too.

A violent contraction seized me. I couldn't breathe. My skin was blistering from the heat.

No one helped.

Finally, I heard a different voice. "Hey... that's... that's a lot of blood. Is she... is she really hurt?"

"Nah," the first guy said. "It's a prop. She's just trying to get the Captain to look at her. Fine. I'll get him."

I didn't get his concern. I got his rage.

His gloved hand cracked across my face.

"Elara! Get up! Stop pretending!"

"Are you insane?" he roared. "Setting a fire and getting yourself trapped in it? You're pathetic!"

I tried to explain. My throat was too dry. My stomach was cramping so hard I saw stars.

I just grabbed his sleeve. Help me.

He hesitated. For one second.

Then he pressed his hand, hard, down onto my pregnant stomach.

"Nice try. Chloe already told me you'd be hiding somewhere, pretending to be a victim. I believed her."

He turned to leave.

"Captain!" one of his men yelled. "She's... she's really bleeding!"

"It's fake, dumbass," Owen shouted back, not even turning. "She's five months along. You can't miscarry that easily. If she wants to play dead, let her."

The pain became a solid, black wall. I fell into it.

I dreamed of him. The cold, brilliant guest lecturer I'd had a crush on. I'd pursued him relentlessly. Flowers, coffee, basketball games.

He finally agreed. I thought it was the start of my life.

It was the start of my nightmare.

The dates he'd cancel. The "emergency calls" that pulled him away.

I found out the truth on our wedding day. An anonymous email. A ten-year email chain between him and Chloe.

He'd been with her the whole time.

I was... I was the other woman. And I'd won.

I was so afraid of losing him, I never even confronted him.

When Chloe "died" in the first life, I was... relieved.

He'd been so kind. He'd bought out every baby store in the city.

All of it... all that "love"... was just a performance. To make sure I was happy and healthy, right up until the moment he could destroy me.