I Left Them in the Fire

The Wife Who Mistook Debt for Love

The year Madison took the high school entrance exam, she scored first in the entire city and was accepted into the best private school in Havenport.

She never enrolled.

She couldn't afford the tuition.

I begged my father to sponsor her education, and he did, all the way until she started working part-time in college.

During her senior-year internship, the same rich kids who had bullied her in middle school kept making trouble for her. My father made an exception and brought her into our family company, teaching her everything himself.

Madison had a gift for business.

The financial reports that gave everyone else headaches made sense to her at first glance.

I used to sit beside her with my chin in my hand, watching the serious curve of her profile. To me, she was the most amazing person in the world.

My father saw through me.

Even though he knew Madison only felt gratitude toward me, he still helped her start her own company after graduation.

Madison carved out her own place in Havenport's story in just a year.

Later, my father made a desperate business decision while trying to raise money for her treatment when my mother fell ill.

Our company nearly went bankrupt.

It was Madison who pulled us back from the ledge.

My father always called her our family's savior. He told her the debt between us was settled, and she should live however she wanted.

Instead, Madison bowed deeply and pledged with full sincerity, "Mr. Gunn, I can never repay what you've done for me. Please entrust Travis to me. I will care for him for the rest of my life and ensure he never suffers, not even a little."

That old scar between my thumb and finger began to throb, as if remembering too.

I stared at the jagged scar, a bitter laugh rising in my throat. 'So, it's possible for someone to confuse gratitude with love.'

After that, I started acting like her husband even though I didn't possess that title.

I became a quiet fixture at her company, silently staking my claim.

Madison never corrected me. She even let me choose her personal assistant, only reminding me, "Pick a smart one. That's enough."

On the day of the interviews, I noticed Gerald right away.

It was not his resume that caught my eye. On paper, he was unremarkable: divorced, no children, nothing to set him apart.

It was his eyes. They mirrored the gentle gaze of Madison's late mother.

When her mother had still been lucid, she had treated Madison well. She had been the only light in Madison's miserable childhood.

So, I didn't ask questions.

I hired Gerald on the spot.

The instant Madison saw him, her eyes brimmed with tears.

That night, she clung to me and wept until her body trembled, whispering her thanks again and again.

I felt sorry for her.

So, I made sure Gerald was often at our home. I came up with all sorts of reasons for them to share quiet moments.

I thought I was helping her heal.

I had no idea I was paving my own road to ruin.

...

When the last whispers faded, I finally resurfaced from my memories and reached for my daughter's photo, my fingers automatically caressing the glass.

Ana came over with her roasted chestnuts and asked casually, "Travis, roasted chestnuts are so good. Why don't you ever eat them?"

My hand went still in midair.

A tide of painful memories swept me under.

Chestnuts had once been a small joy my mother and I shared.

Every time my father came home from work, he would bring back a warm paper bag full of them.

My mother would peel each chestnut, cool it with a gentle breath, and place it in my waiting hand.

The year she got sick, during her last brief moment of clarity, she kept saying she wanted chestnuts.

My father drove out to buy them.

Halfway there, he got the call that my mother was dying.

In his panic, he sped through the road and crashed head-on into a semi truck.

He died at the scene.

The warm chestnuts tumbled from the bag, rolling through a pool of his blood.

That winter, I lost both parents who had loved me more than anyone else, all in a single day. I spent the first snow mourning.

Ana's eyes filled with tears as she listened to my tale. She seemed adrift before she silently slid the chestnuts out of my reach.

Her voice softened as she murmured, "Travis, don't be sad. Lily and I will always be here with you."

She paused, then tried to change the subject. "School should be out soon. Why don't we take Lily around town tonight and—"

Before she could finish, her eyes suddenly locked on my daughter's photo.

More specifically, on my daughter's eyes.

Ana's mouth fell open in shock. "Travis... Lily's mother, the one who disappeared... it isn't..."