My Wife's Former Lover Set Our House on Fire When I Got Cancer

When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital ward. But Serena wasn’t there. Instead, an unfamiliar man stood beside me.

"You're awake? I’m your neighbor from downstairs. I went up to check on the fire and that’s when I saw you lying there alone. So I sent you to the hospital."

His voice was filled with concern as he asked, "How do you feel?"

I tried to move my limbs, my entire body sluggish and unresponsive. As I glanced down, I caught sight of the gauze wrapped tightly around me. My hands stilled.

The man hesitated before speaking again, his voice softer this time, "I’m sorry. When the doctors brought you in, they said the burns were severe. Most of your skin..."

I forced a bitter smile.

"It’s not your fault. Even if you hadn’t saved me, I wouldn’t have lasted much longer."

"But … thank you for bringing me here."

Even a stranger could see that I was barely holding on.

Yet, my Serena, who I had been married to for five years, hadn’t even bothered to look at me.

My downstairs neighbor who sat beside me grew agitated.

"I don’t understand what’s wrong with that rescuers. Why didn’t they help you?"

He shook his head in disbelief.

"If I hadn’t gone up there, you would’ve died! Where’s your family? Does your wife even care about you?"

"If you give me her number, I can call her for you. You shouldn’t be alone right now."

"I already reported that rescuer unit. People like them are a disgrace to society!"

I exhaled weakly and whispered, "My wife is dead to me."

My neighbor fell silent, his expression shifting from anger to sympathy. He offered to take care of me until I was discharged, but I refused. Instead, I transferred the hospitalization and surgery fees to him and urged him to leave.

But even after he was gone, the fire wasn’t just a memory. It had become a scandal. In the online world, the story exploded.

The fire at the head of the rescuer unit’s home had become the number-one trending topic in the internet. My neighbor had posted a photo of me lying unconscious on the ground in the comments section. Immediately, the internet erupted in outrage.

People were furious. They questioned whether the rescuer units only existed to put out fires. If that was the case, shouldn’t they just be called firefighting teams? They ignored a living, breathing human being. Was that truly their duty?

I read through the relentless storm of criticism. And yet, I felt it was still too light of a punishment for Serena. I opened my phone, ready to send her a message asking for a divorce.

But before I could, a message from Roman popped up.

It was a photo. He was in the same hospital as me, just a few floors below. And in that photo, Serena was sitting beside his bed, carefully feeding him porridge. She even blew on it gently to cool it down before bringing the spoon to his lips.

Her eyes held warmth. Tenderness. I had seen this picture a thousand times before. And yet, this time, it evoked nothing in me.

I silently closed the chat and called Serena. It wasn’t until the fifth call that she finally answered. Her voice was sharp, impatient.

"You have the nerve to call me?" she angrily berated me.

"What do you want? Are you asking if Roman is dead? Well, I’m so sorry to disappoint you! He’s alive and well, thanks to me!"

"James, I’ve known you for years, but I never expected you to be this kind of person. Do you even realize what you’ve done? You tried to kill someone! Have you lost your mind?"