My Husband the Firefighter Let My Paralyzed Father-in-Law Burn

He froze. “This is…?”

Sophie bounced over to claim credit, repeating her spiel about “cleansing the bad luck so he can rest easy.”

“Captain, how did I do?”

Michael picked up a red marker and added a few more strokes on the skull—his own father’s—before nodding in satisfaction.

“Nice work.”

“The dead carry bad vibes. Drawing protective symbols really does keep things safe. Good thinking, Sophie.”

Then he deliberately turned to me.

“Emily, you’re not going to blame us again, are you?”

A heavy ache clogged my chest.

Even if it weren’t my father, no one’s remains should be desecrated like this.

I forced my anger down.

“Michael Johnson, you’ve gone too far.”

He shrugged, a thin smile curling at his lips.

“This is for your dad’s own good—so he can move on.”

“Who knows, maybe he’ll even look out for you in the next life.”

“Michael!”

My eyes burned red; my voice trembled.

“What did my father ever do to you, that you’d mock him like this?”

People were gathering around.

I drew a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

“This is the Fire Safety Exhibition Hall, a place that deserves reverence. And you turned a dead man into a grotesque prop. Aren’t you afraid he’ll come find you at night?”

My last words cracked with fury.

Sophie stepped up first to “clarify.”

“Sister-in-law, don’t stir things up just because there are people watching… I meant well. I drew a blessing symbol to help him rest.”

Michael chimed in loudly at her side.

Watching him beam with excitement, my grief felt almost pointless.

Fine.

If the son doesn’t care, what right does the daughter-in-law have to protest?

I pressed my lips into a smile and nodded.

“Right. You’re absolutely right.”

“Please—go on.”

Seeing me stand aside and toy with my phone, Michael’s expression turned oddly wary.

But the commotion at the door pulled his attention away.

A group of shabbily dressed homeless people suddenly rushed in—

laughing wildly, smashing whatever they could reach.

The stench drove the crowd back, and they stormed straight toward the display.

They were getting closer to Robert’s remains.

I, meanwhile, walked in the opposite direction.

The move looked strange to Michael and Sophie.

He tried to push through the crowd to stop me.

“Where are you going?”

“Outside. Waiting for someone.”

Michael frowned, like he’d just heard a joke.

“There’s no one left in your family. Who are you waiting for?”

A sharp scream split the air.

Ah—

The homeless had already reached the display. They lifted the casket of mixed ash and bone and slammed it to the floor, hard.

As if settling a vendetta, they stomped on the scattered fragments.

Someone burst out laughing.

“Guy probably did bad things when he was alive—no wonder he’s getting trashed after death!”

“Exactly! If he’s on display like this, his son must’ve abandoned him!”

Sophie laughed even louder.

“Told you—Uncle Robert’s death had nothing to do with me. He brought it on himself.”

Michael chuckled, ground the toe of his shoe into a hand bone that had rolled to his foot, and crushed it.

“Sophie’s right.”

I let out a small, mirthless laugh.

“Let’s see if you’re still laughing in a minute.”

His eyes darkened. “What do you mean?”

The doors swung open again.

A familiar voice rang out—