Chapter 2

Daniel placed a paper bag on my small kitchen counter. The smell of the fancy pastries he used to buy for me filled the air. It was a peace offering, a gesture that felt hollow and years too late.

"I brought you breakfast," he said, his voice attempting a gentleness that only grated on my nerves. "Your favorite."

"I'm not hungry," I said, turning my back to him and continuing to wipe down a counter that was already clean.

"Eleanor, don't be like this."

Before I could respond, a sweet, high-pitched voice cut in. "Auntie Eleanor, you should eat something. Uncle Daniel was so worried about you."

I flinched at the word 'Auntie'. I had told Olivia a hundred times not to call me that. It felt like a mockery, a label for a role I was never truly allowed to fill. I was his wife, not some peripheral family member.

I turned around slowly. Olivia was standing close to Daniel, her small frame making her look fragile and childlike, a performance she had perfected over the years.

"He worries about you a lot more, Olivia," I said, my voice cold.

She bit her lip, her eyes welling up with tears. It was a practiced move. Daniel immediately put his arm around her.

"Eleanor, that's enough."

Olivia picked up a croissant from the bag. She broke off a small piece and held it up to Daniel's lips. "Uncle Daniel, you eat first. You didn't even have dinner last night because you were taking care of me."

My stomach twisted. He accepted the piece of croissant from her fingers, his eyes never leaving her face. It was such an intimate gesture, a casual display of possession on her part and acceptance on his. It was a scene that had played out in a thousand different ways, each one a small cut to my heart.

"You know," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, "I think I'll make some coffee."

I walked into the kitchen, a tiny space that suddenly felt suffocating. I could hear them whispering behind me. I pulled the coffee grounds from the cupboard, my hands shaking slightly. I needed to focus on a simple task, something to ground me.

A sudden crash made me jump. I spun around to see a canister of flour overturned on the floor, a white cloud dusting Olivia's shoes. She had a look of pure panic on her face.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I was just trying to help, and it slipped!" she cried out.

Daniel was by her side in an instant, kneeling down to brush the flour off her clothes. "It's okay, Liv. It's just an accident. Are you hurt?"

He didn't even glance at me. He just looked up from his position on the floor, his brow furrowed with annoyance. "Eleanor, can't you see she's upset? She was only trying to help. You're always so hard on her."

The accusation hit me like a physical blow. Me, hard on her? After all the times I had cleaned up her messes, both literal and figurative? After all the times I had bitten my tongue while she manipulated every situation to her advantage?

"She's eighteen, Daniel," I said, my voice trembling with a rage I could no longer contain. "She's not a child. She needs to learn to take responsibility for her own actions."

"She's sensitive!" he shot back, his voice rising. "Her parents died in that car crash, have you forgotten? She's been through enough trauma. She needs our support, not your judgment."

It was the same excuse. Always the same excuse. The car crash had been ten years ago. It was a tragedy, a horrible, life-altering event for Olivia. But he used it as a shield, a permanent justification for her behavior and a weapon against anyone who dared to question it. My own pain, my own needs, were always insignificant in the face of her past trauma.

I was so tired. The anger drained out of me, leaving behind a familiar, bone-deep weariness. I had heard this speech a thousand times. I had fought this battle a thousand times. And I had lost, every single time.

"I'm going to be late for my last shift," I said, my voice devoid of any emotion.

Daniel's face softened, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He stood up, leaving Olivia pouting on the floor. "Eleanor, wait. Let's talk about this later. After your shift, we'll figure it all out. I promise. I'll make it all public. Our marriage, everything. We can have the life we always talked about."

A promise. Another one. They were like counterfeit coins, shiny and worthless. I had a whole collection of them, stored away in the empty corners of my heart. I looked at him, at the man I had loved with every fiber of my being, and I felt nothing. The well of hope had finally run dry.

"I have to go," I said again, grabbing my bag from the chair.

Just as I reached for the doorknob, a shrill, piercing sound filled the apartment. The fire alarm from the station, a call to duty.

My training kicked in instantly. The personal turmoil, the anger, the exhaustion-it all vanished. My mind went clear and sharp.

I turned, my eyes meeting Daniel's for a split second. There was no time for goodbyes, no time for one last argument. There was only the call.

Without another word, I ran out the door and down the stairs, the sound of the alarm pulling me toward the fire and away from the slow, suffocating burn of my own life.