004 A Fiery End

(Ava)

What do I do now? 

I am a woman who just “kidnapped” her daughter from the hospital and watched her die in my arms. 

The police will be here anytime to take me away. Then I'll no doubt be put in a mental institution forever, courtesy of Sienna.

I don’t want that. 

In fact, I don't want anything in this world that I can't share with Lila.

I should scream. I should rage. But all that’s left is silence.

I head to the shed.

I find gasoline.

I move through the house, pouring gasoline around the perimeter of each room.

I let the gasoline cover the memories I have in each room.

The smell is awful but that doesn’t matter now. Lila can’t smell anything anymore.

I wash my hands and light some tea candles, and I throw them on the floor.

I watch the flames catch and spread slowly.

I go back to Lila.

The other candles I place safely on the sideboard near the window away from the gasoline-soaked floor. For now.

I snuggle into the cushions and blankets and lift my daughter onto my lap and rock her gently.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, broken. “I should have protected you. I should have fought harder.”

I stroke her cheek with trembling fingers, memorizing every delicate detail—the curve of her tiny nose, the way her lashes fan over her pale skin, the softness of her lips.

“They stole everything from us,” I murmur. “I won’t let them take anything else.”

My chest tightens with unbearable grief. 

The minutes tick by, and I stay there, holding her, whispering apologies that will never be enough. 

I can smell the smoke and I feel the heat behind me. 

Soon the flames will reach us.

But not soon enough for me.

Then I hear the sirens. Flashing red and blue lights flash outside. 

I don’t move. 

Not even when I hear the tires screeching to a halt, the doors slamming, the voices shouting. 

The house is in lockdown, they can’t get in easily.

And it’s on fire.

Then I see him. Outside on the pavement, staring through the playroom windows at us.

Zach.

He stands there, his face pale, his eyes wild as they land on the house. 

And then—on me.

“Ava!” He yells, his voice frantic. “Ava, open the damn door!”

I don’t answer. I don’t blink.

I lift Lila in my arms and step toward the window cradling the lifeless body of my daughter. 

My precious Lila.

His eyes lock on her tiny, lifeless form and in that moment, I see it.

Regret. Horror. Pain.

I want this. 

I want him to suffer. 

To feel even a fraction of what I feel. 

And yet—it’s not enough. 

Not even close.

His voice is raw, desperate. “Ava, please! Don’t do this! Don’t murder our daughter.”

Even now, he thinks I’m capable of hurting her. 

When he finds out the truth, that Lila died from what he put her through, he’ll feel the pain I’ve felt.

I shake my head slowly. “You did this, Zach.” I say even knowing he can’t hear me.

“We can fix this—just let us in!”

I laugh bitterly. I pick up the tealight candle beside me.

“Ava—”

I meet his gaze one last time, letting him see the devastation he caused. Letting him feel the terror of it. 

Then I drop the candle.

Zach’s eyes widen in horror. “Ava, no!”

The moment the candle touches the gasoline-soaked floor, the fire erupts in an instant. flames and smoke billow around me.

I hear Zach’s screaming words, but they’re distant now, muffled by the roar of the fire.

The heat engulfs me, my vision blurring, my lungs burning.

I clutch Lila tighter as I collapse. 

I pray. I don’t know who to, but I ask for forgiveness and I ask that in the next life, Lila gets the chance to live and grow.

Then everything fades to black.

***

Light. White, surreal, safe.

It surrounds me, cradling me in warmth that doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever known.

And then I see her. 

Lila! 

She’s standing a few feet away, bathed in a soft, golden glow, her tiny frame perfect and whole, untouched by illness or pain. 

She looks just as I remember her—dark curls bouncing, bare feet pressed against a surface that doesn’t exist, her pink bunny pajamas slightly too big for her small frame. 

My heart lurches. 

I don’t think. 

I run towards her. 

My arms reach for her, desperate to feel her, to pull her close. 

My baby. My beautiful baby. 

And then—contact. 

She smells like vanilla and baby shampoo, like home. 

A sob rips through me. “Oh, God, Lila—baby—I’m so sorry.” 

Her small hands rub my back, soothing, like she’s the one comforting me. 

“Mommy,” she whispers, her voice warm and sweet. “You have to go back.” 

The words slam into me like a freight train, my pulse pounds in my ears. “What? How? Lila, I don’t understand—” 

I’m yanked backward, spiraling, twisting—I don’t want to leave her. 

Not again.

I have to stop it somehow. Lila is the only true thing in my life.

I open my eyes.