Burning Love to Ashes

Is there really nothing going on between you two?

I questioned Aiden in my mind, and I questioned myself.

Over the past year, Aiden’s work phone has been ringing constantly, day and night.

Even when he was woken up from a deep sleep in the middle of the night, he’d rub his tired eyes, throw on his coat without a word, and rush out the door.

I thought it was just the demands of his promotion.

But then I noticed that the same name kept popping up on his phone.

Ivy.

A woman’s intuition told me something was off.

So, I secretly checked Aiden’s recent call logs.

There were only a few genuine work-related calls.

But Ivy’s name? It was everywhere.

My boyfriend of five years would drop everything to help another woman in an emergency.

But when I made the one desperate call for help, I got nothing but scolding and insults.

How ironic.

I heard the busy tone in the receiver.

Aiden had hung up on me.

The flames crept closer, and while I was still conscious, I hurriedly reported the fire.

As I expected, after the operator confirmed my address, they transferred the call to Aiden’s station.

Wait, what? Everyone’s on duty, but they’re too far away? Why not send help from a nearby station?

Nonsense! Aiden would never make such a hasty decision!

I don’t know what reply he got, but he seemed annoyed, impatiently tapping his fingers on the table.

Suddenly, the operator’s voice cut off.

He realized I could hear him and quickly hit the mute button.

A moment later, he picked up the line again and regretfully informed me, “I’m sorry, ma’am, the nearest fire station is currently on another emergency call. Please stay on the line, and I’ll coordinate with other rescue teams immediately.”

My head was getting heavier and heavier.

I pinched my thigh hard twice, just to stay alert. I asked hurriedly, “How much longer do I have to wait? I’m not sure I can hold on much longer.”

The operator carefully chose his words.

The rescue teams have been dispatched, and they’ll arrive one after another. The fire station near you has the best high-rise rescue equipment in the city and should be there in about half an hour.

He then mentioned some self-rescue tips.

I looked helplessly at the bathroom filled with water, the wet bedsheet at my feet, and the damp towel in my hand.

I was sorry to tell him that I had already tried everything.

In a daze, I saw a news notification that the fire captain had mobilized all rescue forces and successfully saved a suicidal and depressed girl.

I laughed bitterly.

If I remember correctly, this was Ivy’s 99th episode of depression.

I’m so tired of this excuse.

A month ago, Aiden and I had a huge fight.

That day was supposed to be our engagement party.

On my left was my mom, who had traveled for hours by train to be there.

On my right was my future mother-in-law, who looked down on me, glaring with disdain.

Other relatives surrounded us, exchanging awkward glances.

The table was filled with all my favorite dishes, which Aiden had pre-ordered.

The waiter brought out a cake with a ring hidden inside, specially arranged by Aiden.

The officiant, holding Aiden’s written vows, awkwardly raised the microphone.

But Aiden never showed up.

I wasn’t sure if he was even serious about it.

Two hours later, after the party ended, Aiden sent a cold, emotionless text: [Sorry, emergency call, I’ll be back once it’s done.]

He didn’t come back all night.

At 2 a.m., Ivy updated her social media with a post on her private account:

[Every time depression hits, I just want to escape from the world. But then you’re there, making me stay and forget everything else.]