Vanessa let out a wretched, high-pitched wail, burying her face in her shackled hands. “He planned it all! He forced me! He said Eleanor deserved it for treating him poorly! I never touched the gas, I swear to God!”

“You treacherous bitch!” Arthur lunged across the table, his hands reaching violently for Vanessa’s throat, a feral, guttural roar ripping from his chest.

Two burly officers immediately tackled him from behind, slamming him back into his metal chair and pinning his arms. He thrashed like a wild animal, completely unhinged.

As he struggled, his carefully constructed reality broke. He began confessing in disjointed, screaming fragments. He blamed the crushing corporate debt.

He blamed Vanessa for demanding an expensive lifestyle. He blamed my mother for being cold. He even blamed me. He screamed that I was supposed to sleep through the smoke, that he hadn’t expected me to wake up and ruin everything.

I stood slowly, smoothing the wrinkles from my navy suit. I looked down at the man who had given me life, and who had tried to take it away. I felt nothing for him.