Chapter 4 The Blaze

# Chapter 4: The Blaze

The hospital waiting room had that peculiar smell—antiseptic overlaying human suffering. I sat perfectly poised on the uncomfortable plastic chair, my gala dress exchanged for tasteful slacks and a sweater, my face a study in controlled distress. The concerned wife, rushing to her husband's side after a terrible accident.

"Mrs. Carter?" A doctor in scrubs approached, exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes. "I'm Dr. Winters. I've been attending to your husband."

I stood, clutching my purse with white knuckles—a detail I'd calculated would be noticed. "How is he? They wouldn't tell me anything when I arrived."

The doctor gestured to the chairs. "Please, sit." His voice carried the careful neutrality of someone delivering difficult news. "Your husband has sustained severe injuries from the explosion. Third-degree burns over thirty percent of his body, primarily his left side and back. He also has a collapsed lung and multiple fractures from the fall."

I pressed a hand to my mouth, eyes widening. "Oh my God. But he'll... he'll recover?"

"It's too early to make definitive prognoses, but he's stable for now." Dr. Winters paused. "Mrs. Carter, it's something of a miracle he survived at all. From what emergency services reported, he was thrown clear of the main blast by the initial pressure wave. If he'd been a few feet closer to the center of the explosion..."

I nodded, letting tears gather. "Can I see him?"

"He's heavily sedated and in the burn unit. I can allow you five minutes, but I should prepare you—his appearance will be shocking."

As we walked down the sterile corridor, the doctor continued explaining Daniel's condition, the procedures they'd performed, the long recovery ahead. I made appropriate noises of distress and concern, asking the right questions at the right moments.

"Was anyone else hurt?" I asked as we approached the burn unit.

The doctor's face grew grimmer. "I'm afraid there was one fatality. A young woman. The apartment where the explosion originated was hers."

"How awful," I whispered. "Do they know what caused it?"

"Initial reports suggest a gas leak, but the fire marshal is still investigating."

Inside the burn unit, Daniel lay unconscious, swathed in bandages, tubes and wires connecting him to various machines. His face was mostly spared, though angry red blisters covered one side. The steady beep of the heart monitor provided a rhythm to my thoughts as I stood by his bedside.

I reached out, hesitating before gently touching his unburned hand. Up close, I could see the raw, damaged skin beneath the edges of the bandages, smell the distinctive scent of burned flesh beneath the medical odors.

"Oh, Daniel," I murmured, aware of the nurse monitoring from nearby. "What happened?"

For a moment, looking down at him—vulnerable, broken—I felt a flicker of the woman I'd once been. The woman who had loved this man, who had believed in his promises. That version of me had died slowly over years of control and manipulation, but her ghost stirred briefly before I banished her.

I leaned closer, my lips near his ear, my voice pitched so low that no one else could hear. "Till death, remember?"

His eyelids fluttered, but he didn't wake.

---

By morning, news of the explosion was everywhere. I sat in the hospital cafeteria, Emily beside me coloring quietly, as I watched the coverage on my phone.

"...gas explosion in the upscale Riverside Tower has claimed one life and left several injured, including prominent attorney Daniel Carter. Sources tell us Carter was visiting the apartment where the explosion originated, belonging to 26-year-old Natalie Voss, a junior associate at his firm. Ms. Voss was pronounced dead at the scene..."

I muted the video as a nurse approached our table.

"Mrs. Carter? Your husband is awake and asking for you."

I nodded, turning to Emily. "Sweetie, can you stay here with your coloring? I need to talk to Daddy's doctors."

Emily looked up, her dark eyes serious. "Is he going to die?"

The nurse made a small sympathetic sound, but I met my daughter's gaze directly. "No, honey. Daddy's very hurt, but he's going to live."

Something passed between us—an understanding beyond words. Emily nodded and returned to her drawing.

Daniel was more alert this time, his eyes finding me the moment I entered the room. The doctor was checking his vitals, making notes on a tablet.

"His condition has stabilized remarkably overnight," Dr. Winters informed me. "Though the recovery will be long and difficult. I'll give you some privacy."

When we were alone, Daniel tried to speak, his voice a painful rasp. "Zoe..."

"Don't try to talk," I said, taking the seat beside his bed. "You need to conserve your strength."

His eyes—the only part of him that seemed unchanged—fixed on me with intensity. "Natalie," he managed.

"I know about her," I said quietly. "The police told me you were in her apartment when the explosion happened. They've been asking questions."

Fear flickered across his face.

"I told them you were helping her with a difficult case," I continued smoothly. "That you often mentored junior associates after hours."

Relief replaced the fear, followed quickly by suspicion. Even in his diminished state, Daniel's mind remained sharp.

"Why?" he whispered.

I leaned forward, my expression composed. "Because you're my husband, Daniel. What would it look like if your wife suggested anything inappropriate to the authorities at a time like this?" I paused, letting the words sink in. "Besides, Emily needs her father."

His eyes narrowed slightly, searching my face for deception. I'd spent years perfecting my mask for him; he found nothing.

"The doctor says you'll need extensive rehabilitation," I continued, my voice caring but practical. "I've already spoken to the insurance company. Everything will be taken care of."

He tried to move his hand toward mine, wincing with the effort. I allowed my fingers to touch his briefly.

"Rest now," I said, standing. "I need to get Emily home."

As I turned to leave, his raspy voice stopped me. "The money..." he managed.

I looked back, my expression perfectly innocent. "What money, Daniel?"

Frustration crossed his features before exhaustion claimed him again. His eyes closed, the medication pulling him back under.

Outside his room, I found Victor waiting, his police credentials hanging around his neck. He'd retired years ago but maintained connections throughout the department. Today, he was using them.

"Fire marshal's preliminary report," he said without preamble, guiding me to a quiet alcove. "Gas leak, as expected. But they found something interesting—the valve showed signs of tampering."

My expression didn't change. "Is that so?"

"They're treating it as suspicious. Questioning the building staff, neighbors." He studied me carefully. "They'll want to talk to you and Daniel, given his connection to the deceased."

I nodded calmly. "Of course. We'll cooperate fully."

Victor glanced around to ensure we weren't overheard. "Zoe, if they find evidence—"

"They won't," I said with quiet certainty. "I was a forensic analyst, remember? I know what they look for."

He sighed heavily. "This isn't over. Daniel survived."

"I'm aware." I met his gaze steadily. "But he's in no condition to stop what's coming next."

Victor reached into his jacket and pressed a small package into my hand. The burner phone he'd promised. "Time to go," he murmured. "Tonight. I've arranged everything we discussed."

I slipped the phone into my purse. "Thank you, Victor."

His weathered face softened slightly. "You were like a daughter to me. I couldn't protect you then, but I can help you now." He hesitated. "Just tell me one thing—was it worth it? Taking this risk?"

I thought of Daniel lying helpless in the hospital bed, of Natalie who hadn't survived, of the years I'd lost to fear and control.

"Ask me again when Emily and I are safe," I replied.

As I walked back to the cafeteria, my phone vibrated with a text message from an unknown number:

*Package delivered to DA's office as instructed. Confirmation received.*

The final piece was in place. While Daniel fought for recovery in his hospital bed, evidence of his financial crimes—the offshore accounts, the client funds he'd misappropriated—would be landing on the District Attorney's desk. The USB drive Emily had helped me prepare contained everything needed to ensure that even if Daniel physically recovered, his career and freedom would not.

I found Emily where I'd left her, but she wasn't coloring anymore. Instead, she was watching the news playing silently on the cafeteria television. Images of the damaged building, emergency vehicles, Natalie's professional headshot from the law firm website.

"Ready to go home, sweetheart?" I asked.

She looked up at me, her expression unreadable. "Is it over?"

I brushed her hair back from her forehead. "Almost," I promised. "Just one more night."