My husband let me burn alive while he held another woman's hand. I just didn't know it yet.

Smoke poured under my bedroom door, thick and stinking of melting rubber. I was nine days from my due date, and my body had picked tonight to tear itself in half.

I dragged myself across the carpet, phone slick in my palm. A cramp ripped through my belly. I looked down. Blood soaked through my pajama pants, dark against the pale fabric.

Two babies. Mine. And the air was already turning black.

I hit redial.

First call. Voicemail.

Second call. Voicemail.

"Pick up. You're a firefighter. Pick up," I rasped, choking on the smoke.

Third call. Ringing, then ignored.

Fourth call. Declined.

Another wave of agony folded me in half. My forehead hit the floorboards.

Fifth call. A click.

"Soren!" I choked out. "Fire... the apartment..."

A woman’s high-pitched wail pierced through the speaker, drowning out my weak voice.

"Please, save me! I'm so terrified!" the woman sobbed on his end.

My husband didn't respond to me. He was talking to her.

"Hold on, Jenna, I've got you," Soren said, his tone gentle, frantic, entirely focused on someone else.

"Soren," I screamed, clutching my swollen belly. "I’m bleeding! The hall is on fire!"

"Eliza, enough." His tone turned icy the second he addressed me. "I am in the middle of a massive rescue operation on the north tower roof. Stop making trouble."

"I'm not making trouble! I'm in labor!"

"Jenna is trapped," he snapped. "I don't have time for your attention-seeking stunts today. Grow up."

"Soren, please, the smoke—"

The line went dead.

I stared at the screen. He hung up. I dialed again immediately, but it went straight to an automated message.

He actually turned his phone off.

"He's busy," I whispered to the empty room. "He's doing his job. I shouldn't add to his plate."

But the dial tone buzzed endlessly against my ear, shattering my excuses. He didn't just dismiss me. He didn't even believe I was dying.

The bedroom door flew open. Wood splintered against the wall.

Juliet, my sister, burst through the wall of gray smoke. She held a soaked towel over her mouth, her eyes watering. Even at five months pregnant, she moved with ferocious speed.

"Eliza!" She dropped the wet towel directly over my face. "Keep this on!"

"Juliet, my baby," I sobbed into the damp cloth.

"We are leaving. Now. Get up!" She yanked my arm over her shoulder.

"You can't carry me, you're pregnant!"

"Shut up and use your legs!" she yelled, hauling my dead weight upward.

We stumbled out of the bedroom. The heat in the hallway blistered my skin. Flames danced fiercely near the electrical shaft. Juliet wrapped her arm tight around my waist, dragging me toward the stairwell.

Every step sent a fresh shock of pain through my pelvis.

"Don't stop, Eliza," Juliet grunted, sweat pouring down her forehead.

"My stomach is tearing," I cried.

"Lean on me! We are not dying in this hallway."

Her face was dangerously pale, her breathing ragged. We hit the ground floor lobby and burst into the cool night air. Red flashing lights illuminated the courtyard.

Juliet lowered me onto the grass, her knees buckling the second my weight left her.

A security guard sprinted over, a flashlight trembling in his hand.

"Hey! Over here!" the guard yelled into his shoulder radio. "I need medics at the south entrance!"

"Where are the fire trucks?" Juliet demanded, clutching her side.

"They're all at the north tower," the guard said. "A hostage situation on the roof."

"Hostage?" I asked, my vision blurring.

"Yeah. But listen," the guard said, lowering his radio. "I checked the electrical room before the smoke got too thick."

"Was it a short circuit?" Juliet asked.

"No. The wires in the main shaft didn't short out. They were severed."

"Severed?" I repeated.

"Cut clean through with bolt cutters. Someone set this fire on purpose."

A sharp, guttural cry tore from Juliet's throat.

I turned my head. She was curled on her side in the grass, both hands gripping her five-month bump. Her knuckles were stark white.

"Juliet!" I reached out, my fingers brushing her shoulder.

"It hurts," she whispered, her eyes wide with absolute terror.

Blood began to pool beneath her dress, staining the green lawn a horrifying crimson.

"Help us!" I screamed at the guard. "Get a paramedic right now!"

The world spun out of focus. Sirens wailed, growing deafeningly loud, until unfamiliar hands were lifting me onto a stretcher.

The back of the ambulance smelled of rubbing alcohol and sterile gauze.

"We're losing the fetal heartbeat!" a paramedic shouted.

"Get the IV in her left arm," the second medic ordered.

"Eliza, you need to push right now!" the first medic yelled, pressing down on my knees.

"I don't have the strength!" I screamed.

"Harder! The baby is stuck!"

"It hurts too much!"

"Do you want to save your child or not? Push!"

I pushed until blood vessels popped in my eyes. I pushed until there was nothing left inside me but hollow, tearing agony.

Then, the immense pressure vanished.

I fell back against the pillows, gasping for air in greedy lungfuls. I waited for the sound. The beautiful, piercing cry of my babies.

Silence.

"Why aren't they crying?" I asked.

The medics stopped moving.

"Why aren't my babies crying?" I demanded, my voice cracking.

The medic didn't answer. He didn't look me in the eye. He simply reached for two small, white thermal blankets and draped them over the tiny, motionless forms in his hands.

No.

"Let me see them," I begged, trying to sit up.

A nurse gently pushed my shoulders down. "I'm so sorry."

Tears tracked through the soot on my face. My chest hollowed out, leaving a gaping void where my heart used to beat.

On the stretcher next to me, Juliet stared blankly at the ambulance ceiling. She was hooked to an IV, her hands still locked over her flat, empty stomach. We had both lost everything in the span of a single hour.

Through the open back doors of the ambulance, I could see the towering silhouette of the north building.

Up on that roof, Soren and Juliet's husband, Zach, were playing hero. They had ignored our desperate calls. They had left their wives to burn in a fire someone intentionally set.

I stared at the two tiny blankets resting on the metal tray.

Who exactly was Jenna? What kind of woman gets tied to a rooftop and makes two men abandon their own unborn children to save her?

"Soren, please pick up," I whispered into the phone.

The double maternity ward room was deathly quiet, save for the steady beep of Juliet's heart monitor. I hit dial for the fifth time.

The line connected.

"No! Don't come closer!" Jenna McLeish’s shrill voice pierced the speaker. "Let me jump! I can't take this anymore!"

"Jenna, look at me." Soren’s tone was a soft, frantic caress. "I’m right here. I won't let you fall. Just give me your hand."

"I ruin everything!" Jenna sobbed.

"You ruin nothing. You hear me? You are everything."

I sat in the sterile hospital bed, staring straight ahead. A clear plastic belongings bag rested on the visitor’s chair in the corner. Inside lay my yellow maternity dress. The bottom half was a stiff, dark crimson. Pints of my blood. The physical evidence of the twins I just pushed into the world, gone.

"Soren," I croaked.

The line went silent for a fraction of a second.

"Eliza, are you still playing this game?" Soren’s voice turned to ice. "I told you I am busy."

"The baby is dead."

"Stop faking."

"I was in the fire. They rushed me to the maternity ward."

"You always pull these stunts when I'm working."

"Soren, I am in a hospital bed. Our daughter didn't survive the delivery."

"If you're really sick, find a doctor. I don't have time for your pathetic attention-seeking today. Grow up."

"Soren, I am bleeding. I pushed our baby out and she didn't cry."

"Enough!" he barked. "Jenna is having a severe panic attack, and you're making up horror stories because you can't stand not being the center of attention for one night."

"I'm not making it up! The apartment burned down!"

"Find a doctor, Eliza. Do not call this number again tonight."

The dial tone buzzed in my ear.

I lowered the phone. My hands shook violently. He didn't believe me. He looked at my five missed calls, heard my raw, broken voice, and decided I was lying.

Juliet lay motionless in the bed next to mine. The IV pole beside her dripped clear fluid into her bruised arm. The heart monitor tracked a slow, agonizing rhythm.

She blinked at the fluorescent ceiling lights. Her chest rose and fell in shallow increments.

"Did you reach him?" she asked, her voice raspy.

"He hung up."

Juliet rolled her head toward me. Her eyes were hollow, stripped of the fierce panic from the fire. Her pale lips barely moved.

"My heart is broken too," she said.

"Juliet, I'm so sorry."

"They took him out," she whispered. She dragged her right hand across the white sheets, resting it flat against her stomach. "He was so small. They didn't even let me hold him."

"The doctors said you were bleeding internally. They had to operate fast."

"I carried you down thirteen floors," she murmured. "I thought we would both make it. I thought if I just kept moving, my baby would stay safe inside."

"You saved my life."

"I lost my son." Juliet closed her eyes. "I felt him stop kicking in the ambulance."

"Juliet..."

"I tried to protect him. I really tried."

A sharp ringtone shattered the quiet. Juliet's phone vibrated on the metal tray table. The caller ID flashed: *Zach*.

She snatched the device with trembling fingers. She pressed it to her ear.

"Zach? Zach, where are you?" she cried. "We lost the—"

"Keep your mouth shut," Zach Lennon snarled.

His voice was loud enough to carry across the gap between our beds. I sat up, clutching my ribs.

"I am warning you, Juliet," Zach continued. "Stay away from Jenna."

Juliet flinched. "What?"

"You heard me. You and your sister need to back off."

"Zach, I just had emergency surgery," Juliet begged. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, tracking into her hairline. "Our baby is gone."

"I don't care about your imaginary drama!" Zach shouted. "Jenna almost died on that roof tonight! She is fragile, and you two are making it worse with your constant harassing calls."

"I called you because the apartment was on fire!"

"Stop lying! You're just jealous because I had to leave your stupid dinner party last week to help her."

"Zach, my stomach is empty. Our son is dead!"

"Don't you dare contact her or me again until you learn some basic human decency," Zach said. "Jenna needs peace right now. She doesn't need your toxic jealousy."

"Zach, please listen to me—"

"We are done talking."

The call ended.

Juliet frantically tapped the screen. She pressed redial and held the phone to her ear.

A robotic voice filled the room. *The number you have reached has restricted incoming calls.*

She lowered the phone. "He blocked me."

"He didn't even ask," I said, my chest tightening. "He didn't ask a single question about the fire."

Juliet dropped the device. It bounced off the mattress and hit the floor.

She didn't scream. She didn't throw her pillow.

Instead, she reached up with a shaking hand and adjusted her plastic oxygen mask. A thin layer of white fog coated the clear shield with every ragged exhale.

She pressed both palms over her empty womb.

"He hasn't been home in a month," Juliet said softly.

I pulled my knees to my chest. I buried my face against my hospital gown.

For the first time since the smoke filled my hallway, I didn't cry out loud. I just curled into a tight ball, letting the silent tears soak into the thin cotton.

During Zach's call, beneath his yelling, I had heard another voice. Zach had turned his head away from the phone for a split second.

*You're safe now, Jenna,* Zach had murmured. *We've got you.*

We.

Soren and Zach.

They weren't just misunderstanding a rescue mission. They weren't just protecting a friend.

They were working together. They had turned my sister and me into a massive, pathetic joke. They ignored our screams, let our homes burn, and sacrificed their own unborn children—all to play the devoted saviors to Jenna McLeish.

I wiped my face. The sadness vanished, replaced by a cold, hard knot in my chest.

How long had they been lying to us?

Morning sunlight cut through the hospital blinds, casting harsh white lines across the linoleum floor. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence.

Then, a sound cut through the rhythm.

A laugh.

I turned my head. Juliet sat up slightly, staring at her phone screen. It wasn’t a happy sound. It was sharp, brittle, and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Juliet?" I asked.

She didn't answer right away. She just kept staring at the glowing rectangle in her palm, her chest heaving in short, jagged bursts.

"Look at this, Eliza."

She thrust the phone across the gap between our beds. My fingers brushed hers as I took it. Her skin felt like ice.

I looked at the screen. It was Jenna McLeish’s social media page.

A high-resolution photo dominated the feed.

Soren hung suspended from a thick rescue rope, rappelling down the side of the north tower. His heavy turnout coat was gone. He was shirtless, his muscles straining, soot smeared across his chest.

Tucked securely against him was Jenna. Her arms wrapped tight around his neck.

Below them, sprinting across the rooftop edge with his arms outstretched, was Zach. His police uniform was unbuttoned at the collar, his face twisted in absolute panic and devotion.

I read the caption beneath the image.

*If I had to do it all over again, should I choose the firefighter or the cop?*

Below it, the comment section exploded. Hundreds of replies.

*Oh my god, they’re both so hot!*

*Choose both! They clearly worship you!*

*True heroes saving their queen.*

"They left us to burn," Juliet whispered, her voice cracking. "They let our babies die so they could stage a photoshoot."

"Soren told me he was in the middle of a massive operation," I said, tracing the edge of the phone. "Zach told you she almost died."

"Look at her face, Eliza. Does she look like she’s dying?"

Jenna was smiling. It was a small, secret curve of her lips, pressed directly against Soren’s bare shoulder.

I zoomed in on that smile. The image enlarged, bringing Jenna’s collarbone into sharp focus.

A silver chain rested against her skin.

I froze.

"What is it?" Juliet asked, leaning forward.

"Her necklace."

"I don't care about her jewelry."

"No, Juliet. Look." I handed the phone back, pointing at the screen. "Look at what is hanging on that chain."

Juliet squinted. Two heavy, platinum bands dangled from the silver link.

"Rings," Juliet muttered. "So what?"

I raised my left hand. The hospital lights caught the edge of my wedding band. It was a thick, unadorned circle of brushed platinum.

"Soren told me he wanted matching bands," I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "He said he liked the heavier, masculine style. He insisted we both wear this exact design."

"Zach said the same thing," Juliet replied, glancing at her own left hand. She wore an identical thick band.

"Look at the rings on Jenna’s necklace, Juliet."

She stared at the screen again. Her brow furrowed.

"They have diamonds," she said. "Tiny diamonds set into the rim."

"Yes."

"But Zach’s ring is plain. Just like mine."

"Soren’s is plain, too," I said. My stomach twisted into a violent knot. "Or at least, the one he wears around me is."

"I don't understand."

"Juliet, those rings on her neck aren't men's bands. They are the women's versions of our rings."

Juliet blinked. The phone trembled in her grip. "What are you saying?"

"I’m saying we are wearing the men’s rings." I pulled my hand back, staring at the heavy metal digging into my finger. "They swapped them."

"Swapped them?"

"Soren and Zach bought the bridal sets," I explained, the pieces snapping together with sickening clarity. "They kept the women’s bands. They gave them to Jenna."

"And they gave us the men's bands," Juliet finished, her voice barely audible.

"Jenna is wearing their actual wedding rings. They pledged themselves to her."

The silence in the room became suffocating. The reality of the metal on my finger burned hot. It wasn't a symbol of Soren's love. It was a placeholder. A joke.

Juliet stared at her own hand. Her thumb rubbed frantically against the thick platinum band.

"He put this on my finger in front of my family," Juliet said. "In front of a priest."

"They lied from the very beginning."

"He looked me in the eyes and promised to protect me."

"Juliet—"

"He gave my ring to her!" Juliet screamed.

The sound tore through the room, raw and agonizing. She ripped the ring off her finger and hurled it across the room. It struck the wall with a sharp clink and bounced into the corner.

She grabbed her hair, pulling at the roots. "He let my son die! He let my baby die for a woman wearing my wedding ring!"

Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. She rocked back and forth, her hands clutching her empty stomach. Her wails echoed off the sterile walls, a mother mourning a child and a wife mourning a marriage that never existed.

I didn't cry.

The sadness had burned out completely, leaving only cold, hard rage.

I threw my legs over the side of the hospital bed. My bare feet hit the cold floor. Pain flared in my pelvis, but I ignored it.

I walked over to Juliet's bed and gently pried the phone from her clenched fists.

"Eliza, it hurts," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "It hurts so much."

"I know," I said.

I swiped out of the photo app. I didn't need to see Jenna’s smug face anymore. I didn't need to see Soren acting the hero.

I flipped the phone over and slapped it face down on the bedside table. The screen went dark.

"Stop crying," I told her.

Juliet hiccuped, looking up at me through red, swollen eyes. "What?"

"We are leaving this hospital today." I reached down and grabbed the plastic belongings bag containing my bloody yellow dress. "We are cutting our losses."

"Where are we going to go? The apartment is gone."

"We will figure it out. But we are not staying here, waiting for them to finish their little game and come check on us."

"Zach blocked my number."

"Good. Let him keep it blocked." I turned my back to the door, gripping the rail of her bed. "We are getting a lawyer."

Juliet wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "A lawyer?"

"Yes." I twisted the heavy platinum band off my left ring finger. I didn't throw it. I dropped it directly into the trash can beside the bed. "They want to play house with Jenna? Fine. They can have her."

I stared at the blank back of the phone.

When exactly did they plan this? Did they coordinate the ring swap while we were picking out wedding dresses? Did they laugh behind our backs while we wrote our vows?

They thought they could throw us away like trash. They thought we would just disappear into the ashes of that fire.

They were wrong.