My Son Burned, Now I’m the Scapegoat

After the kitchen explosion, I rushed to the hospital.

However, my wife, Wendy, was nowhere to be found. Every time I called, the automated message said her phone was out of service.

My in-laws and I spent the entire night sitting outside the ICU.

My son, Cyrus, had burns covering forty percent of his body. He lay inside, hovering between life and death.

The doctor said it would be a miracle if he survived. However, even if he did, his beautiful face was gone forever.

My mother-in-law’s incessant sobbing drilled into my skull. I buried my face in my hands, gripping my hair as regret tore through me.

My wife, Wendy, finally arrived early the next morning.

Before I could say a word, she started beating me.

She told me she had spent the entire night at the police station.

The fire department had released its preliminary findings. The cause was a gas leak in the kitchen that ignited, causing a flash fire.

She pointed at me. She looked at me like I was her sworn enemy, not her husband.

“Caleb, you were the last person to leave the kitchen. Cyrus ended up like this because of you! Give me my son back!”

I stood there, frozen. Desperately, I tried to remember whether I had turned off the stove.

However, my mind was completely blank. The harder I tried to remember, the worse the pounding in my head became.

“Wendy, I…”

“Shut your mouth!” She screamed and lunged at me again.

I fell silent, slumping against the wall and letting her take out her rage on me.

She finally stopped when the police officers arrived to take my statement.

My head was a complete mess. I answered their questions mechanically, barely processing what I was saying.

After the officers left, I turned around.

Wendy was gone.

My father-in-law, Desmond, let out a sigh. “Cyrus was cleared for visitors while you were giving your statement. She went to see him. “Caleb… this whole thing…”

I knew what he wanted to say.

I was not just Cyrus’ father anymore. I was the culprit who had destroyed this family.

I rushed to the billing office and emptied every cent in my bank account to pay for Cyrus’ hospital bills. When that was not enough, I maxed out my credit cards.

I had to do something, anything.

When I returned to the ICU, I saw Wendy through the glass, leaning against the window, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

I walked over, wanting to hold her.

The instant my hand brushed her shoulder, she jerked away as though I had hit her with an electric shock.

“Don’t touch me!” Her voice was low and vicious.

“You disgust me.”

I slowly pulled my hand back. The guilt in my chest was so suffocating I could barely breathe.

Cyrus spent half a month in the ICU before he finally pulled through and was transferred to a regular ward.

For those two weeks, I slept on a folding bed in the hospital and never left his side.

Neither did Wendy.

However, between us was a distance that felt like an entire galaxy.

She refused to speak to me, and she would not even look at me. Whenever I handed her a glass of water, she would knock it straight out of my hand.

If I peeled an apple for her, she would throw the whole thing into the trash.

I lost twenty pounds. My beard had grown wild, and I barely looked human anymore.

She was not any better.

We were like two wild animals trapped in the same cage, hurting each other, yet powerless to escape.

The day Cyrus was discharged, I carried him out, wrapped tightly in blankets, while Wendy followed behind.

The new place was tiny. There were two bedrooms and a living room. I found it in a hurry after the fire.

Our old home, along with everything inside it, had been reduced to a charred pile of rubble.

I settled Cyrus into the smaller bedroom and stayed until he finally fell asleep.

When I stepped back out, I found Wendy sitting on the couch, staring blankly out the window.

“Honey, eat something. You haven’t eaten all day,” I said carefully.

She did not respond.

I went into the kitchen and cooked a bowl of noodles, topping it with two sunny-side-up eggs.

I carried it over and set it in front of her. She did not even look at it.

“Wendy, I know you hate me…”

My voice came out hoarse.

“But Cyrus needs us. We need to get through this together…”

That finally got a reaction. She slowly turned her head and stared at me, her expression strangely vacant.

“Get through this?”

Her voice was quiet.

“Caleb, what makes you think we can still get through this? Cyrus’ face is ruined. His entire life is ruined. How are you ever going to make up for that?”

I had no answer.

“I’m telling you now. Stop calling me honey. You did this to Cyrus. I will never forgive you. Not for the rest of my life.”

Then, she stood and walked into the other bedroom. The door slammed shut.

I stood there alone. The bowl of noodles slowly went cold.