I Left Them in the Fire

The room key lingered in the air between us. It seemed to be suspended by hesitation while Madison kept her hands stubbornly at her sides.

My wrist started to ache, so I reminded her again, "Ms. Anderson, your room key."

"I'll take it."

A clear, calm voice came from behind her, breaking the silence.

It was her legally married husband, Gerald Henson.

My eyes traced the wedding band on his finger before colliding with a gaze I knew too well, the same eyes that had haunted my darkest nightmares.

"I told you to wait on the couch," Madison murmured. "You never listen. You made me worry."

She immediately gathered his things and melted into his embrace. Her voice turned gentle, softer than I had ever heard it.

"Good. Your fever has gone down. Are you feeling tired? Take Noah upstairs first; I'll go get you something to eat."

Gerald nodded gently. When his eyes passed over me, there was a quiet, measuring look in them. "Okay. I'll wait for you."

I tore my gaze from them just as a delivery guy appeared, lugging in an enormous bag of cat litter.

When I checked the pickup code, Madison had already bent down to pick it up. "I'll help. Where does it go?"

"It's fine." I reached out and took it from her, deliberately keeping my distance from her.

I noticed the dust streaking her skirt. So, I turned to the counter, pulled out two bills, and offered them. "It's for dry cleaning. Cash is easier."

"Don't worry about it. I offered to help." Madison reached out to stop me.

As her fingers neared my wrist, I recoiled.

Her hand froze in the air. Her voice carried a faint tightness she probably thought she had hidden. "Really, it's fine. I have something to do."

When she turned, she almost bumped into Ana Moss, one of the inn staff, who had just come back holding a bag of roasted chestnuts.

Ana watched Madison disappear, then seized my arm, her eyes alight with excitement.

"Travis, wasn't that Madison Anderson from Havenport? She's gorgeous! I've seen her interviews. Self-made, powerful, and she always talks about her husband. Successful and loyal? That's rare."

A few guests nearby joined in.

"Right? I heard her ex-husband was insane. He attacked someone with a knife and should've gone to prison."

"She was kind enough to pay him a fortune in compensation. She only divorced him because she couldn't take it anymore."

Those lies washed over me, leaving not a ripple.

Inside, I was as still as stagnant water.

Only the scar between my thumb and index finger began to throb. I traced its twisted length, and the past surged up to meet me.

Madison had never been some self-made business legend.

Back then, she was just a poor scholarship girl, bullied and ignored by everyone.

On a bitterly cold afternoon, a pack of rich kids trapped her against a wall. Blood trickled down her forehead, soaking her worn school uniform in crimson.

I happened to pass by.

I snatched up a wooden stick and rushed in, ready to defend her.

Amid the chaos, shards of glass slashed the web of my hand, the wound so deep it revealed bone. Eight stitches finally stemmed the bleeding.

Madison vanished from the hospital without a single word.

When I ran after her, the reason became clear.

She could not even afford the cost of my stitches.

At home, she faced an alcoholic father and a mother lost to her own mind.

From then on, protecting her was second nature.

She was still quiet and distant, but after school, she started helping me catch up on math.