I Left Them in the Fire

The day I found out my wife, Madison Anderson, had a secret three-year-old son with someone else, was the day I wired our house with explosives. I was prepared to end it all, with her by my side.

Only that night, Madison never came home.

I sat hollow and numb until my 10-month-old daughter suddenly called out, "Da-da."

That single word shattered my resolve.

She breathed life back into me.

And so, I grabbed the most expensive car in the garage and sped away, detonating the explosives from beyond the gates.

I drove straight to the airport, uncaring of the fiery wreckage that I left behind.

From that night forward, the man Havenport had ridiculed as the Anderson family's worthless son-in-law vanished without a trace.

Five years later, our paths crossed again at a boutique inn in Bellmont.

Madison stared at me as I politely handed her the room key. For a moment, she looked lost. "Travis.... you seem different."

I simply smiled and wished them a pleasant stay as a family of three.

The Wife Who Buried the Truth

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