Burnt Vows and Bitter Truths

The smell of scorched hair and medicinal smoke still clung to my skin when I watched my husband carry another woman out of the wreckage. He didn’t look back for me. While I knelt on the pavement, clutching a stomach that would never grow round again, Jake was whispering promises to Sophie—the woman he called a "sister" but treated like a queen. He left our unborn son to die in the heat of that clinic fire because he couldn't bear to see her suffer a scratch. They think the tragedy is over. They think I’m the broken, childless wife who will fade quietly into the background while they mortgage my life to pay for their sins. They’re wrong. The fire didn’t destroy me; it forged me. And by the time I’m done, Jake and his precious Harringtons will realize that the flames I’m bringing for them are far more lethal than the ones he left me to die in.