To make it to my childhood friend's birthday party, fire captain Ethan Shaw locked me inside our house. And that day, a fire really did break out. I covered my nose and mouth and dialed my husband's office, crying for help: "Help... I'm locked inside the house, the fire's already spreading—" But the voice on the other end was ice cold: "Mrs. Shaw, Captain Shaw warned us in advance that you'd definitely report a false alarm today. Stop making a scene." The call was disconnected. I dialed again. After verification, the dispatcher said hesitantly: "Ma'am, your number has been flagged for malicious emergency calls. We need to confirm with your family first." When they called Ethan, he only said one thing: "She's losing it. Ignore her." Thick smoke filled the bedroom. I shattered the window and jumped from the second floor. I survived. But the doctor told me: "You were pregnant, but the baby didn't make it." "Help! My house is on fire! I'm locked inside!" I crouched in the corner covering my nose and mouth, dialing 911 over and over on my phone. The fire in the kitchen had already reached the upper cabinets. The range hood was making a piercing electrical noise, and thick smoke was rolling into the living room in waves. The call connected. I immediately said: "My house is on fire! The door's been locked from the outside, I can't get out! The address is—" I'd just finished giving the address when there was a pause on the other end, then a familiar male voice came on. "Mrs. Shaw, Captain Shaw said if you called tonight, you'd just be throwing a tantrum." I froze. "It's not a false alarm! There's really a fire! The kitchen exploded, the door won't open, please come quickly—" The person on the other end impatiently cut me off: "Mrs. Shaw, fire emergencies aren't something to play around with. We're very busy here." The call was disconnected. I stared at the darkened screen, my fingers stiff. The next second, there was a "bang" from the kitchen, like something had exploded. The living room curtains instantly caught fire. A wave of heat hit my face. I was forced back two steps, then immediately dialed again. "I'm not joking! Please send a truck! I'm really going to die—" "Mrs. Shaw, Mr. Shaw already told us you'd act up today." Beep— The call was cut off again. My phone immediately vibrated. It was a message from Ethan. [Emma, are you done yet?] [It's just going to Violet's birthday party. Do you really have to make a scene all the way to the fire department?] [If you keep this up, I'm not coming home tonight.] I stared at those lines, my throat tightening. The fire was real. And I really was about to die. But the fire department didn't believe me. No—Ethan wouldn't let them believe me. Gritting my teeth, I dialed 911 instead. "Emergency services, go ahead." "Help... my house is on fire, I'm injured, I'm locked inside, please hurry..." The dispatcher quickly logged the information. "Please give the specific address." As soon as I finished, the person paused for a few seconds, their tone changing. "Ma'am, the system shows you just had a suspected false report on record. We need to verify with your family." My voice was hoarse: "I didn't make a false report! I really am locked in my house!" "Please hold." The line didn't disconnect. A few seconds later, the dispatcher dialed another number. The background was noisy, with music playing and people singing happy birthday. Then I heard Ethan's voice come through. "Is it her?" The dispatcher asked: "Sir, can you confirm if the patient's current situation is accurate? She says there's a house fire and she's trapped—" "She's throwing a fit." Ethan coldly interrupted. "Don't send a truck." "Understood, sir." The call ended. I clutched my phone, hearing my own labored breathing. Thick smoke poured in, choking me until I bent over, tears streaming down uncontrollably. The living room was already impassable, the door wouldn't budge, and the kitchen fire was growing fiercer. If I stayed any longer, I'd be burned alive. I rushed into the guest bedroom and grabbed a chair, smashing it into the window. With a crash, glass shattered everywhere. This was the second floor. Below was a small street. Jump, and I might end up crippled. Don't jump, and I could only wait to die. I gripped the window frame and shouted down: "Help! Fire! Help—" Someone looked up, someone stopped walking, and someone was shouting. The fire had rolled into the bedroom. The curtain edges were turning black, and the bedsheets were starting to smoke. I was out of time. I gritted my teeth, climbed onto the windowsill, closed my eyes, and jumped. The instant my back hit the ground, my whole body felt like it was splitting apart. Sharp pain shot through my leg bones and abdomen simultaneously, and everything went black. Chaos erupted around me. "Quick, call an ambulance!" "The upstairs really is on fire!" "She's bleeding!" I lay on the ground, barely able to move, blood running down my legs. Before I lost consciousness, I was still clutching my phone tightly. The screen was frozen on the chat with Ethan.
"Mrs. Shaw, you're awake?" I opened my eyes to a blinding white overhead. The doctor stood by the bed, medical chart in hand. "You have a fractured right arm, soft tissue damage in your left leg, inhalation injury, abdominal trauma, multiple abrasions and lacerations. You're out of danger now." My lips were dry, my throat so hoarse I could barely make a sound. "During emergency treatment, we discovered you were six weeks pregnant." "But I'm very sorry—the baby couldn't be saved." I stared at the ceiling, a ringing in my ears. Pregnant. I'd actually been pregnant. Three years of trying to conceive, every treatment I'd tried. Each disappointment, I'd comfort myself that next time would work. But now, I'd finally conceived. And the child was gone. And the one who killed him was his own father. I turned my head, picked up my phone from the bedside table, and dialed Ethan's number. It rang for a long time before he answered. The private room music was loud, glasses clinking and people laughing all mixed together. Violet's voice was piercingly close. "Ethan, come help me cut the cake." I gripped the phone, my voice hoarse: "Ethan, I'm in the hospital." "So what?" His tone was perfunctory. "Are you done making a scene?" "I was pregnant." The other end went quiet for a second. I continued: "The baby's gone." The next second, he actually laughed coldly. "Emma, you're really something." "First harassing my colleagues, then making false reports, now you're even making up pregnancy and miscarriage?" "Why don't you exaggerate a bit more and say you almost died?" I closed my eyes: "I jumped from the second floor." "Keep performing." He scoffed. "It's Violet's birthday today. You won't be happy until you've ruined it, right?" My voice was soft: "Just come to the hospital and see for yourself." "I don't have time for your drama." After saying that, he hung up directly. I put down the phone and opened social media. Violet had just posted a new update. In the photo, she sat in front of a birthday cake smiling radiantly, Ethan standing behind her, his hand on her birthday hat, his eyes as tender as if he were looking at a treasure. The caption read: [Someone said they'd spend every birthday with me from now on.] I looked at it for two seconds, then exited and messaged Lisa. [Help me draft divorce papers.] She replied instantly. [You're finally ready to let go?] I replied: [The sooner the better.]
The next morning, the hospital room door was pushed open. Ethan had come. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, with Violet following behind him. When I saw the bouquet clearly, my fingers paused. Lilies. I'm allergic to pollen. As soon as Violet entered, she said with a smile: "Emma, Ethan brought me first thing in the morning to check on you." Ethan walked to the bedside and carelessly tossed the flowers onto me. "Feeling better now?" The flower stems hit my chest, several petals falling onto my hospital gown. The pungent fragrance rushed over, immediately tightening my throat. I raised my hand and swept the flowers to the floor. "Take them away." Ethan's expression darkened. "What are you throwing a fit about now?" I looked at him: "I'm allergic to pollen." He didn't even furrow his brow. "Who remembers all that." Violet immediately crouched down, picked up the flowers, and said in a soft voice: "Emma, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were allergic to lilies. It's all my fault. I just wanted to buy the most fragrant ones." After saying that, she leaned closer to me and spoke in a low voice: "But Ethan took me shopping at the baby store today. He said he loves children the most." "Too bad some people just can't get pregnant." I raised my eyes to look at her. She was smiling, her eyes full of provocation. I grabbed the water cup from the bedside table and threw it directly at her. "Get out." "Ah—" The cup smashed near her feet, water splashing everywhere. Violet screamed and immediately shrank behind Ethan. "Ethan, I just wanted to check on Emma..." "Shut up." I stared at her. "This is a hospital room, not your stage." Ethan grabbed my wrist, his face ashen. "Emma, can you act like a normal person?" I pulled my hand back and took out the divorce agreement from under the pillow, throwing it at him. "Sign it." The room went quiet for a moment. Ethan looked down at it, his face darkening terribly. "Say that again?" "Divorce." My voice wasn't loud, but it was clear. "I don't want the assets, I don't want the house. I just want to be done with you." A flash of joy crossed Violet's eyes, but she hastily tried to persuade him: "Ethan, Emma just had a miscarriage, her emotions aren't stable. Don't hold it against her..." I suddenly looked at her. "How did you know I had a miscarriage?" Violet's face stiffened. Ethan also turned to look at her. She quickly explained: "I... I guessed." I let out a cold laugh and looked at Ethan: "Do you believe her, or the medical records?" He grabbed the agreement and tore it up bit by bit in front of me, paper scraps falling on my face. "Emma, threatening me with divorce won't work." "You want to make a scene, I'll humor you. But don't think I'll indulge you forever." I raised my hand to brush the paper scraps off my face, my voice turning cold. "Fine." "Then I'll see you in court."
On the third day of hospitalization, the doctor finally relented and agreed to let me be discharged for home recovery. He said I had a leg bone fracture, abdominal soft tissue contusion, had inhaled quite a bit of smoke, and needed at least another week of observation. But I didn't agree. I just asked quietly: "Can I leave now?" The doctor looked at me for a long while, then finally closed the medical chart, his tone cooling: "You can sign the papers, but if anything happens after discharge, you bear the consequences." I said: "Okay." When Lisa came to pick me up, she was still carrying a stack of freshly printed materials. Divorce agreement, asset division list, draft complaint. She placed the items in my lap, her gaze falling on my leg in its plaster cast. She held back once, twice, but finally couldn't help herself: "Emma, have you really thought this through? In your condition—" "I can't wait." I interrupted her. My throat, damaged by the smoke, still carried a tearing hoarseness when I spoke. "The property management just called. They said the fire scene has been logged. Residents can go back to inventory their belongings. If I wait any longer, once they start cleaning up and repairing, my things will be even harder to find." Lisa frowned: "Are you sure there's anything left?" I lowered my eyes to the documents on my lap, my fingers slowly tightening. The fire had started in the kitchen. That night when the fire was at its worst, the kitchen, living room, and guest bedroom were almost completely destroyed. The walls were scorched black, curtains and furniture burned and curled, even the floorboards were warped from water damage. But the fire department had extinguished it relatively quickly. The master bedroom hadn't been completely burned through—it had only taken in smoke, and most of what was in the cabinets should still be there. My ID, household registration, property deed. And the wooden box my mother had left me. Inside were her belongings, the only things I couldn't bear to damage all these years. More importantly, all the original documents I needed to file for divorce were in there. One step later, who knows if I'd still be able to get them back. "Let's go there first." I raised my head and looked at Lisa. "I'll leave right after I get them." Lisa was silent for a few seconds, but finally sighed and helped me into the car. After the car pulled out, she kept her eyes on the road ahead while saying in a low voice: "The spare key is with the property manager. Don't worry, I'll go in with you. I won't let you stay there alone for too long." I hummed in acknowledgment and turned to look out the window. The afternoon sky was heavily overcast, the roadside plane trees rustling in the wind. The sunlight clearly wasn't harsh, yet my eyes still felt gritty, as if the smoke from the fire had left a residue that wouldn't dissipate. That house—I had once spent a long time decorating it. The color of the sofa, the style of the dining table, the pattern of the curtains, that warm lamp in the living room, even every single dish in the kitchen—I had picked them all out one by one. I thought it was home. Later I learned it was just a house I'd funded, worked on, invested my feelings in, only to have someone else move into it in the end. And now, going back wasn't about "going home." I just needed to take out what belonged to me before everything completely rotted away. When the car stopped downstairs, the wound on my leg was already throbbing with dull pain. Lisa got out first and came around to help me. The stairwell still carried the faint burnt smell left after the fire. A new safety inspection notice from the property management was posted on the wall, abandoned debris bags were piled by the elevator entrance, and the air was damp and oppressive. I slowly climbed the stairs. Each step felt like my abdomen and back were being torn open again. Lisa was afraid I couldn't handle it and cursed under her breath: "That bastard better never fall into my hands." I said nothing. When we reached the door, she inserted the spare key from the property manager into the lock and turned it gently. The door opened. What hit us wasn't just the lingering burnt smell. There was also a thick, stifling smell of alcohol. My brow twitched. Lisa froze too, instinctively reaching out to block me. The living room was even more devastated than I'd imagined. Large patches of gray-black smoke stains still marked the walls. But in this place that had nearly burned me to death, the table was littered with empty bottles, takeout containers, and ashtrays. A woman's shawl and stockings were thrown on the sofa, along with a pair of glaringly bright red-soled high heels. It was as if someone had turned this post-fire disaster zone into a pleasure den. I gripped my crutch tighter and tighter, my knuckles turning white. Lisa's expression also darkened as she muttered: "She really moved in?" I didn't respond, just propped myself against the wall and walked step by step toward the master bedroom. The door was ajar. Inside came the sound of light breathing. The moment I pushed the door open, I froze completely. On the master bedroom's large bed, Violet was sleeping wrapped in my comforter. She was wearing my nightgown, her hair spread across my pillow, and on the nightstand sat half-drunk milk and unopened imported fruit. She looked exactly like the mistress of this house. And I stood at the door with my leg in a brace, pale-faced, still carrying the faint smell of disinfectant and smoke, as disheveled as an intruder who'd stumbled in by mistake. Probably hearing the noise, Violet slowly opened her eyes. When she saw me, she first looked startled, then raised her hand to touch her flat abdomen and gave me a lazy smile. "Emma, you're out of the hospital." Her tone was as light as if she were greeting an uninvited guest. "Why didn't you say something ahead of time? Ethan's not here today, no one made you soup." Lisa angrily stepped forward: "Do you have no shame—" I raised my hand to stop her, but my gaze was locked on Violet. She sat up from the bed, deliberately pulling the comforter up around her shoulders, exposing the ambiguous red marks on her collarbone. Men's clothing was scattered at the foot of the bed. I didn't need to look to know whose it was. She followed my gaze and her smile deepened. "Don't look at me like that." She said softly. "Last night Ethan was afraid I'd sleep poorly alone, so he specially came back to keep me company." My chest felt like something had stabbed it hard, the pain numbing. Last night. When I jumped from the second floor and lay in my blood waiting for the ambulance, he was celebrating Violet's birthday. And now, having barely salvaged half my life from the fire, he'd let her sleep in my bed. I stared at her, my voice terribly hoarse: "Get up." Violet tilted her head as if she hadn't understood. I immediately spotted the pale yellow blanket beneath her. That was the baby blanket I'd bought for our future child. Now it was covered in red wine stains and a large patch of vomit. My expression went cold. "Get up." Violet looked down at the blanket and laughed. "It's just a blanket. Why are you so worked up?" I walked over and yanked the blanket out from under her, holding it to my chest. The blanket was filthy beyond recognition, its edges burned through by cigarettes. Violet nearly fell off the bed, her expression changing too. "Emma, are you sick?" I held the blanket and turned to leave. But she stood up and blocked my way, her voice dropping: "Do you really think you're still anything?" "Ethan doesn't love you anymore. He just doesn't." "While you were in the hospital, he took me to dinner, shopping, stayed overnight with me. When you were lying in that hospital bed miscarrying, he was buying me breakfast." "Tell me, what are you?" Lisa had already raised her phone to record. "Keep talking." She said coldly. "Say more, save you from denying it later." Seeing the camera, Violet's eyes flashed. She suddenly raised her hand and slapped herself twice hard, then sat down on the floor. Tears instantly started flowing. "Emma, I already apologized. Why did you still hit me?" "I didn't mean to sleep in your bed, I really didn't mean to—" At that moment, the door was violently pushed open. Ethan had returned. He'd just finished a call-out, hadn't even changed out of his firefighter uniform, sweat still on his forehead. As soon as he entered, he saw Violet sitting on the floor covering her face and crying. "Violet!" He rushed over in a few strides and helped her up. Violet grabbed his sleeve, crying so hard she could barely breathe: "Ethan, don't blame Emma... it's all my fault, I shouldn't have touched her things..." Lisa immediately spoke up: "I recorded the whole thing, she just—" "Shut up!" Ethan didn't listen at all. He turned and slapped me across the face. "Smack—" I was knocked into the cabinet, my fractured arm immediately shooting with pain. The blanket in my arms fell to the floor. Lisa was furious: "Ethan! Have you lost your mind? She just got out of the hospital!" But Ethan stared at me, grinding his teeth: "Apologize to Violet." I steadied myself against the cabinet and slowly stood up, blood at the corner of my mouth. "You want me to apologize to her?" "Yes." He stared at me. "I'm counting to three." "Three—" I bent down to pick up the divorce agreement from the floor, shook it out, and held it in front of him. "Ethan, let's divorce." He snatched it away and tore it up again. "I told you, I won't sign." "Then I'll file in court." After saying that, I picked up my suitcase and walked out. Just as I reached the door, a sudden sharp pain shot through my abdomen and everything went black. Cold sweat instantly broke out on my back. Lisa's face changed: "Emma!" I gripped the door frame. My legs gave out and I collapsed straight down. Before losing consciousness, I heard her shouting: "Call an ambulance! She's hemorrhaging!"
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "NovelMaster" app ? search for "390568", and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster