I married into the Harper family together with my best friend. Me to the the older brother, the fire captain, and her the younger brother, a famous surgeon. On our wedding anniversary, I found myself trapped, locked in a room by my husband's first love. Then, chaos erupted upstairs. Flames tore through the house. Seven months pregnant, I was alone, trapped, with no one coming to save me. Smoke choked me, searing my lungs, making every breath a struggle. Trembling, I dialed my husband, praying for help. His voice, impatient and cold, cut through the panic: "Stop making a scene. False alarms are a crime! Megan’s cat is in danger too! I gotta go save an actual life!" In the end, it was my best friend, Leah, who smashed open the door and saved me. Leah, frantic, called her husband, begging him to come over and treat me. But only icy indifference came from the other end. "Megan's cat injured its tail. As a doctor, I have a responsibility to treat it. Leah, can't you two be more gracious? Stop making a fuss over us doing our jobs and have some respect for yourselves." That day, I lost my child. Watching the doctor carry out what had been my baby, fully formed, I felt my soul shatter. "Leah, I want a divorce." Leah hugged me tightly. "If you get a divorce, I'll leave too. Those two pieces of human garbage aren't worth a drop of our tears.” That night, the Harper brothers received the divorce agreements, and panic set in.
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