Scars Deeper Than Fire

"Captain! There's a couple burned and fused together!"

I sprinted inside.

There was Axel Cheatum, my husband, clinging to some woman.

Their bodies had fused from the heat.

Axel was sobbing, begging,

"Save my wife first, please!"

His wedding ring flashed on his finger.

"It's my fault," he cried. "We drank too much... didn't even notice the fire."

"It's not your fault, honey," the woman whispered. "We hadn't seen each other in so long... we couldn't help it."

Axel clawed at his scorched skin, trying to free her.

That's when I saw her swollen belly.

And Axel, throwing everything away for her.

In the end, I lost my baby.

Axel Cheatum was the biggest baby about pain. No one knew that better than me. Dude could get a paper cut and act like he needed a hospital.

I did all the cooking, all the chopping. Always careful. Always thinking about those hands—the same ones that used to kill it on the piano.

And now? For her? He was ready to snap his own bones and rip off his own skin.

Blood poured down his arms, but he didn't even flinch. Just looked at us and said, "Please. Take care of her. She's almost full-term."

Full-term.

I froze, head spinning.

My oxygen tank was almost dead, and the fire outside was getting ugly fast.

Junk around the building went up in flames. A wall of fire exploded right in front of me.

Axel, all beat to hell, was still clutching her like she was the only thing that mattered.

"Axel!" she gasped.

He brushed her hair back. "Told you I wouldn't let you get hurt. Not even a little."

He stood there, bloody and wrecked, shielding her from everything.

Tears filled his eyes as he shoved her into my arms. "Go! Get out! Save her, please!"

He dropped to his knees, grabbing at my boots. "Take her with you! There's no time!"

The wedding ring on his finger made me sick. Five years—what even was that now?

"Put out any visible flames. Get the team moving!"

Some of the guys hustled her downstairs. I grabbed the others and hit the fire head-on.

When I made it to the bedroom, the piano was toast. Flames eating it alive.

The walls were covered with photos—Axel and her, smiling through every season, every country.

Axel, the guy who hated cameras, had left a whole museum of memories here.

Even the night before our wedding, he'd been off at some hot spring with her.

I watched it all burn. Didn't even feel a flicker of satisfaction.

This place? It was theirs. Every inch.

Not like the house I lived in with him, where I built everything alone.

He always said, "Whatever you want is fine."

And now he had the nerve to shout at me, all desperate and pissed. "Can you get our photos out of there?"

The photos were buried deep inside. Going in meant getting swallowed whole.

Nobody moved.

Axel shoved me.

"Aren't you the captain? Go get them! Those are our anniversary photos! I can't lose them—and the album too! Please!"

He kicked me, hard.

I was dead tired from two runs already. Couldn't even brace myself. Hit the floor hard.

Flames jumped all over me. Only my gear kept me from lighting up like a match.

"Captain!"

"Captain, you good?"

I waved them off, dragging myself up.

In the background, Axel was still losing it, screaming like a maniac.

The fire kept getting worse. I had no choice. "Evacuate!"

Axel grabbed one of my teammates. "What do you mean you're leaving my stuff? Those are my memories with my wife! If I lose them, I'll just die here! I'm not leaving!"