When the fire trapped my daughter and his childhood dog, my firefighter husband chose to save the dog first. He listened to Chloe's tears, not our 3-year-old's cries for Daddy. I watched Lily's tiny hand disappear into flames. Later, Chloe whispered, "Stop struggling—he'll never believe you." She was right. Until police called about Lily's death certificate. Until he overheard her laughing: "I set that fire. Locked the girl's door. Now Ethan's mine." The truth came too late. Some choices burn everything down.
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