The request was routine but carried a commanding edge, a reminder of the unequal dynamic that had defined our five years together. Every interaction had been a choreographed dance around Lewis, her first love who remained the center of her world.
Her indifferent tone left me momentarily disoriented. The searing pain from the fire that had consumed me was now a distant memory. I realized with a jolt that I had been reborn.
"Sofia," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos within, "I'm tired of being your scapegoat. You can't keep running back and forth. He needs you, yes, but it's time for a divorce."
The words hung heavily between us and I ended the call abruptly, the click of the phone echoing in the silent room. I turned to face my reflection in the mirror, grappling with the reality of my transformation.
Just moments ago, my body had been engulfed by flames, my flesh scorched and twisted in a nightmarish conflagration. It was all because of Lewis.
The memory of that inferno was branded onto my soul. Lewis, languishing in his terminal illness, had sought release from his suffering. Sofia, driven by her desperate love for him, had dragged me into the fire.