My Son Burned, Now I’m the Scapegoat

After our son suffered severe burns in a fire, I gave up everything to care for him and my wife, who was on the verge of a breakdown. However, all she ever told me was to get out. Then, one night, I woke to the sharp smell of gasoline. My wife stood at the foot of the bed, with a lighter clenched in her hand. “Now we’ll be even.” Chapter 1 After the kitchen explosion, I rushed to the hospital. However, my wife, Wendy, was nowhere to be found. Every time I called, the automated message said her phone was out of service. My in-laws and I spent the entire night sitting outside the ICU. My son, Cyrus, had burns covering forty percent of his body. He lay inside, hovering between life and death. The doctor said it would be a miracle if he survived. However, even if he did, his beautiful face was gone forever. My mother-in-law’s incessant sobbing drilled into my skull. I buried my face in my hands, gripping my hair as regret tore through me. My wife, Wendy, finally arrived early the next morning. Before I could say a word, she started beating me. She told me she had spent the entire night at the police station. The fire department had released its preliminary findings. The cause was a gas leak in the kitchen that ignited, causing a flash fire. She pointed at me. She looked at me like I was her sworn enemy, not her husband. “Caleb, you were the last person to leave the kitchen. Cyrus ended up like this because of you! Give me my son back!” I stood there, frozen. Desperately, I tried to remember whether I had turned off the stove. However, my mind was completely blank. The harder I tried to remember, the worse the pounding in my head became. “Wendy, I…” “Shut your mouth!” She screamed and lunged at me again. I fell silent, slumping against the wall and letting her take out her rage on me. She finally stopped when the police officers arrived to take my statement. My head was a complete mess. I answered their questions mechanically, barely processing what I was saying. After the officers left, I turned around. Wendy was gone. My father-in-law, Desmond, let out a sigh. “Cyrus was cleared for visitors while you were giving your statement. She went to see him. “Caleb… this whole thing…” I knew what he wanted to say. I was not just Cyrus’ father anymore. I was the culprit who had destroyed this family. I rushed to the billing office and emptied every cent in my bank account to pay for Cyrus’ hospital bills. When that was not enough, I maxed out my credit cards. I had to do something, anything. When I returned to the ICU, I saw Wendy through the glass, leaning against the window, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs. I walked over, wanting to hold her. The instant my hand brushed her shoulder, she jerked away as though I had hit her with an electric shock. “Don’t touch me!” Her voice was low and vicious. “You disgust me.” I slowly pulled my hand back. The guilt in my chest was so suffocating I could barely breathe. Cyrus spent half a month in the ICU before he finally pulled through and was transferred to a regular ward. For those two weeks, I slept on a folding bed in the hospital and never left his side. Neither did Wendy. However, between us was a distance that felt like an entire galaxy. She refused to speak to me, and she would not even look at me. Whenever I handed her a glass of water, she would knock it straight out of my hand. If I peeled an apple for her, she would throw the whole thing into the trash. I lost twenty pounds. My beard had grown wild, and I barely looked human anymore. She was not any better. We were like two wild animals trapped in the same cage, hurting each other, yet powerless to escape. The day Cyrus was discharged, I carried him out, wrapped tightly in blankets, while Wendy followed behind. The new place was tiny. There were two bedrooms and a living room. I found it in a hurry after the fire. Our old home, along with everything inside it, had been reduced to a charred pile of rubble. I settled Cyrus into the smaller bedroom and stayed until he finally fell asleep. When I stepped back out, I found Wendy sitting on the couch, staring blankly out the window. “Honey, eat something. You haven’t eaten all day,” I said carefully. She did not respond. I went into the kitchen and cooked a bowl of noodles, topping it with two sunny-side-up eggs. I carried it over and set it in front of her. She did not even look at it. “Wendy, I know you hate me…” My voice came out hoarse. “But Cyrus needs us. We need to get through this together…” That finally got a reaction. She slowly turned her head and stared at me, her expression strangely vacant. “Get through this?” Her voice was quiet. “Caleb, what makes you think we can still get through this? Cyrus’ face is ruined. His entire life is ruined. How are you ever going to make up for that?” I had no answer. “I’m telling you now. Stop calling me honey. You did this to Cyrus. I will never forgive you. Not for the rest of my life.” Then, she stood and walked into the other bedroom. The door slammed shut. I stood there alone. The bowl of noodles slowly went cold. Chapter 2 From that day on, our lives fell into a strange routine. During the day, I ran myself ragged, taking care of Cyrus, cooking, cleaning, doing whatever needed to be done. Wendy shut herself in her room. She only came out for meals, ate in silence, then disappeared back behind the door. At night, after Cyrus was asleep, I would sit alone in the living room, smoking one cigarette after another. I devoted myself entirely to the family. I thought that if I gave enough, sacrificed enough, maybe someday I could finally atone for what I had done. However, I was wrong. In Wendy’s eyes, my attempts at redemption were nothing but a joke. She began tormenting me in increasingly cruel ways. Sometimes, she would storm out of her room in the middle of the night, knock the ashtray off the table and scream at me for daring to smoke. Other times, when I was not looking, she would dump Cyrus’s medication down the drain. Then she would stand there coldly and watch me tear the house apart looking for it. “What are you looking for? He’s going to be like this for the rest of his life anyway. What difference does it make if he takes his medicine? “You probably think the same thing deep down, don't you? I'm just saying it out loud for you.” Her words cut like knives. I finally snapped. “Wendy, have you lost your mind? That's our son!” “Our son?” She laughed, the sound raw and bitter. “The moment you forgot to turn off the stove, you lost the right to call yourself his father.” I trembled with rage, but I could not argue with her. What she said was true. My parents and my in-laws came over several times, hoping to make peace between us. Wendy pointed straight at me and tore me apart in front of everyone. “Ask him! Ask this murderer! He destroyed my son. He destroyed our family! Every night, I dream about that fire. I dream about Cyrus crying for his mommy while he was trapped in the flames! And him? How does he still sleep peacefully at night? Why wasn’t he the one who burned? He’s nothing but a murderer!” My parents lowered their heads in shame. My in-laws held Wendy as she sobbed. In the end, everyone looked at me with the same mixture of disappointment and blame. I was completely alone. Then my boss called. He carefully explained that, given my family situation and mental state, the company thought it would be best for me to take an indefinite leave of absence. I knew what that really meant. I had been fired. The neighbors started whispering about me too. Wendy told them I was an irresponsible man with something seriously wrong with my head… someone who had wanted to kill his own son. Whenever I walked through the neighborhood, I could feel countless eyes staring daggers at me. To everyone, I had become a monster, a sinner. Wendy had become the poor, broken woman who was left to suffer alone. I tried to explain but no one believed me. “He’s a monster who wouldn’t even spare his own child.” “There’s no smoke without fire. A man like that can’t be any good.” I could not defend myself. I went to Wendy and begged her to stop. I told her I would spend the rest of my life taking care of her and Cyrus. I would spend the rest of my life making up for what I had done. “What do you want from me?” I begged, my voice breaking. She stared at me coldly. The look in her eyes sent a chill from head to toe. “What do I want? I want you to know what it feels like to wish you were dead.” I was completely broken. I felt like I was slowly being broken down from the inside, drowning in guilt and misery until there was barely anything left of me. I stopped sleeping. Night after night, when I closed my eyes I heard Cyrus screaming for his daddy from inside the flames. I heard the neighbors cursing me and Wendy’s accusations echoing in my head. “Why don’t you just die?” “Why are you still alive?” I would jolt awake from nightmares again and again. Eventually, I became afraid to sleep at all. Then, one night, I was struggling through another nightmare when the sharp, overwhelming stench of gasoline hit me. My eyes flew open. Wendy stood beside my bed, holding a red plastic gas can. Gasoline streamed from the opening, soaking my blankets, and me. Chapter 3 The air reeked of death. Panic ripped through me. I tried to bolt upright, but my body would not move. “Wendy, what the hell are you doing?!” My voice shook with terror. She said nothing, her face blank as she continued pouring gasoline over me. The cold gasoline soaked through my clothes and clung to my skin, making me shiver uncontrollably. When she was done, she tossed the empty gas can aside. Then she pulled a lighter from her pocket. Click. A tiny flame flickered in the darkness, casting an eerie glow across her expressionless face. She looked terrifying. “Now we’ll be even.” She finally spoke, but her voice was frighteningly calm. “This is how you pay your debt to Cyrus…” I stared at the flame, my mind completely blank. Was I really going to die? By my own wife’s hands? “No… please…” The words barely escaped my throat. She looked at the terror on my face. Then, somehow, she smiled. That smile was more terrifying than anything I had ever seen. She raised the lighter and slowly stepped toward me. I could feel the heat of the flame. I could even smell the singed ends of my hair. Just when I thought I was going to die, she suddenly stopped. She brought the lighter right up to my face, forcing me to look at the dancing flame. Then she blew it out. “Dying would be too easy for you. Someone like you deserves to stay alive and suffer.” She dropped the words like a curse, then turned around and walked out. I collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes, already drenched in gasoline. I did not dare to close my eyes again that night. As soon as the sun came up, I called the police. When they arrived, they were even startled by the overwhelming smell of gasoline filling the apartment. When they questioned Wendy, she suddenly broke down sobbing. She clutched her head and curled up in the corner, insisting she did not know anything. She claimed that she had been under so much stress over our son that she had apparently done it in her sleep. “I love him more than anything. Why would I ever hurt him?” She sobbed like her heart was breaking. The officers looked at her tear-streaked face, then at me, the man everyone believed was responsible for what happened to Cyrus. Their expressions grew complicated. In the end, they merely lectured me. They told me to be more understanding of my wife’s emotional state and suggested I take her to see a therapist. Then they left. That was when something inside me finally died. This was not love. It was hatred, and pure, naked revenge. I confronted Wendy. “Let’s get divorced.” The moment I said those words, it felt like I had finally dropped a thousand-pound weight from my shoulders. Wendy was giving Cyrus his medication. Her hand trembled. The spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the floor. She looked up. For the first time, I saw panic in her eyes. “What did you say?” “I said I want a divorce.” “I'll leave with nothing. The house, the savings, everything will go to you and Cyrus.” I expected her to explode, or maybe laugh in my face, yet she did not. She simply stared at me as the color slowly drained from her face. “Caleb, you can’t divorce me.” Her voice trembled. “Why not? What’s the point of staying together like this?” “You owe me! You owe Cyrus!” She flew into another hysterical fit. “You think you can divorce me, abandon your wife and son, and run off with some other woman? Forget it!” I was exhausted. I did not want to fight with her anymore. “I’ve made up my mind. I’ll move out in the next few days. Don’t worry. I’ll still come every day to take care of Cyrus. We just need some time apart to clear our heads. I’m sorry…” I turned around and went back to the bedroom to pack. Behind me came the sound of her screaming and smashing things. I did not look back. I went straight to my parents’ house. They took one look at me, a wreck of a man, and heaved a sigh. “Caleb, Wendy is hurting too,” my mother said gently. “Mom, she tried to burn me alive.” My mother was startled for a moment. I told them what had happened with the gasoline. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. “This is insane!” my father finally exploded, slamming his hand against the table. “She was trying to kill you!” “But… nobody else knows that.” My mother looked deeply concerned. “If you divorce her now, what will people say? They’ll say you abandoned your wife and son when they needed you most. Your reputation will be ruined.” “My reputation?” I gave a bitter laugh. “What reputation do I have left?” From everyone’s perspective, I was the monster who had destroyed his own son and driven his wife to the brink of insanity. My parents understood the situation perfectly. Wendy would never admit what she had done. If I insisted on divorcing her, I would not just be unable to clear my name. I would also be branded a man who abandoned his wife and child. Then my situation would become even worse than it was now. Once everyone believed I was guilty, there was nothing I could say to change their minds. Chapter 4 I let them talk me into it. I decided to endure a little longer. It was for Cyrus, and for myself. I bought a ton of groceries and headed back to the house that made me feel like I was suffocating. I thought maybe, if Wendy and I could sit down and really talk, there was still a chance to fix things. However, the moment I reached the building, I spotted a familiar black BMW parked by the curb. I recognized the license plate. It belonged to Jacob Fields, a former coworker of mine. He came from a wealthy family and had always been shamelessly attentive to Wendy back when we worked together. My heart sank. What was he doing here late at night? I instinctively ducked behind a tree. A few minutes later, a woman walked out of the apartment building and got into the BMW. She was wearing a hat and a mask, but I recognized her instantly. It was Wendy. The car pulled away. I stood there frozen, the grocery bag slipping from my hand. Vegetables and fruit spilled across the pavement. A cold wind swept past me, but I did not feel the chill. So that was why she had been locking herself in her room. She was not grieving. She had been seeing another man. All that hatred and cruelty had just been an act. I did not go upstairs. I stayed outside all night. At dawn, the same black BMW came back. Wendy stepped out of the car looking exhausted, but there was a faint, satisfied smile on her lips. The sight of it made my eyes sting. Only after she went upstairs did I finally drag myself home like a ghost. When I opened the door, Wendy was in the kitchen making breakfast. She froze for a moment when she saw me, then frowned. “You were gone all night?” “Yeah,” I replied and changed my shoes and walked straight into the bedroom. I needed to think. I needed to figure out what the hell was really going on. Was the fire really an accident? Was Wendy’s hatred really just because I had forgotten to turn off the stove? A terrifying thought began taking root in my mind. I turned on my laptop and started researching gas explosions and residential fires. The fire department had concluded that a gas leak caused the explosion, but our stove was brand-new, equipped with an automatic shutoff safety feature. So how could it have leaked? Unless… someone had done it on purpose. I could not bring myself to finish the thought. Instead, I started watching Wendy closely. I noticed that every day, after I took Cyrus out for his rehabilitation therapy, she would leave the house almost immediately. She would be gone for hours. Whenever she came back, there was always a faint trace of men’s cologne on her. It was the same brand Jacob wore. My suspicion grew with every passing day. I needed evidence. I bought a tiny hidden camera and tucked it inside a potted plant in the living room. Then I bought a voice recorder with remote monitoring and secretly slipped it into her bag. When I was done, I felt like some creepy private investigator. However, I had no choice. I needed to know the truth. I did not have to wait long. That day, I took Cyrus out as usual. Halfway there, I pretended I had forgotten something and turned back. I did not head upstairs. Instead, I hid in the stairwell and connected to the camera on my phone. Sure enough, the second I left, Wendy changed her clothes, put on a full face of makeup, grabbed her purse, and walked out. I hurried downstairs and followed her in a cab. She went to an upscale French restaurant. A man was already waiting for her at a table by the window. It was Jacob. He rose to his feet, pulled out her chair like a gentleman, and even took her coat for her. They exchanged a smile. The ease and intimacy between them was nothing like friendship. My heart sank lower and lower. I sat down at a café across the street, put in my earbuds, and started listening to the recordings from the hidden device. At first, it was nothing more than harmless small talk. Then Wendy said something that made the blood drain from my face.