And I became the biggest joke in our circle.
Until tonight's academic gala, when Dustin Vance—newly risen powerhouse of the research world—shielded me behind him in front of everyone:
"She's my wife. She's not someone any of you get to touch."
That was when Les finally understood: the girl who used to have eyes for no one but him, he'd thrown her away himself.
……
On the eighth day of the international conference, Les Gilbert finally came home.
He dragged his suitcase through the door in designer casual wear, still riding the high of a week on the international stage.
When he pushed the door open and saw the soot-blackened living room, his brow barely creased.
"Madge, what the hell happened? If you can't use the appliances, don't use them. You're a researcher. Don't you have basic safety awareness? Look what you've done to the place."
I was sitting on the couch, still in the same clothes from the night of the fire. Light burns marked my arms and shins. My face was paper-white, my lips cracked and split.
I raised my head slowly, looked at this man I had loved for three full years, and felt nothing but the shock of staring at a stranger.
Home.
He had the nerve to call this home.