Between Flames and Promises

My husband, Lorenzo Bradley, was a firefighter. He was the kind of man who always showed up when people needed him most, rescuing those trapped in peril and giving them a second chance at life. To many, he was a hero. But somewhere along the way, he stopped being "my" hero.

I still remember the first time I met Lorenzo-it was a blind date.

After turning 25, I noticed a shift in the questions my relatives asked during family gatherings. The casual "What do you do for work?" gradually turned into "When are you getting a boyfriend?"

In recent years, my parents took it to the next level. Armed with my photo and personal details, they secretly signed me up on a bunch of matchmaking websites. Clueless about their antics, I was bombarded with dating invites from strangers online and spent a good week thinking I'd been targeted by scammers.

Finally, unable to endure my parents' relentless pressure any longer, I caved and agreed to one of their arranged blind dates.

That day, it rained. We were set to meet at a cozy coffee shop. I arrived early and took a seat by the window, watching the hurried passersby through the rain-streaked glass.

A moment later, I noticed an elderly couple walking past. The man held an umbrella in one hand and clutched his partner's hand tightly with the other. They strolled leisurely through the rain, his shoulder half-drenched while hers stayed dry. He didn't seem to care about himself, his eyes glowing softly as he looked at her with quiet devotion.

The sound of raindrops pattering against their umbrella felt less like a cold drizzle and more like a quiet symphony, creating a moment that was uniquely theirs.

I couldn't help but wonder, "Where is my moment of magic?"

Just then, the café door swung open, and a tall figure stepped in. He wore a crisp white shirt and a pair of casual jeans. His short haircut framed clean, sharp features, giving him a fresh, approachable appearance.

This was Lorenzo, my date for the day.

He scanned the room briefly before making his way toward me. We'd exchanged photos beforehand, so it wasn't hard for him to pick me out.

Though I had only agreed to the date to placate my parents, I couldn't deny a touch of nervousness-it was my first blind date, after all.

But to my surprise, Lorenzo seemed even more nervous than I was. He barely made eye contact throughout, fidgeting with his coffee cup as if it were a lifeline. In his attempt to hide his nerves, he drank cup after cup, prompting the waiter to refill his coffee three times.

I had to stifle my laughter the entire time. When we finally said goodbye, his hurried steps as he left made it look like he was fleeing the scene. Watching his retreating figure, I couldn't hold back my laughter any longer. This guy's probably not sleeping tonight, I thought.

I was right. Because that night, at 2 a.m., I received a text from him, "I can't sleep."

I stared at the message, picturing his clean-cut silhouette in my mind. A grin spread across my face as I burrowed deeper into my blanket. What I didn't tell him was that, even without drinking any coffee, I couldn't sleep that night either.

I didn't expect our second encounter to come so soon.

On my way home from work one evening, I passed a residential building surrounded by a crowd. Two bright red fire trucks were parked at the entrance, their lights flashing. Curious, I joined the onlookers to see what was happening.

It turned out that there had been a fire in one of the apartments. The firefighters had already rescued the residents, but the flames were spreading, and there was a gas cylinder inside the apartment.

For safety reasons, the firefighters had evacuated all the residents from the building. I stood at a distance, watching as a firefighter emerged from the smoke and flames, carrying the gas cylinder on his back.

Behind him, the inferno raged on, licking at his gear like a venomous serpent intent on consuming him. Yet, he didn't stop. Step by step, he ran to an open, safe area far from the crowd before finally dropping the cylinder.

He then dropped to the ground and pressed his body flat against the pavement, extinguishing the flames on his back. I couldn't even imagine the pain he must have felt.

Two other firefighters rushed over with extinguishers and unleashed a torrent of foam on the gas cylinder, working frantically to ensure it wouldn't explode.

While most of the crowd focused on the thick smoke and fire spewing from the upper floors, my eyes stayed glued to the figure who had risked everything to carry the gas cylinder out.

Although his face was hidden beneath his helmet, something about his silhouette felt eerily familiar.

His teammates helped him to his feet, and at last, he removed the heavy protective helmet he had been wearing. His face was flushed and slick with sweat, and he bent over, gasping for air. The moment I saw his face, my eyes widened in shock-it was Lorenzo!

That night, every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lorenzo racing out of the fire with that gas cylinder on his shoulder. The image haunted me, and I couldn't stop imagining the worst-What if the cylinder had exploded?

For the first time, I realized I couldn't sleep-not because of fear, but because of worry for Lorenzo. At the time, I didn't fully understand what those feelings meant.

Over time, Lorenzo and I became closer. We got to know each other better, but our relationship remained strictly platonic-until that day when everything changed.

That day, the sky I saw was a brilliant, cloudless blue. But the sky Lorenzo faced was a burning red, thick with smoke and ash.

It was a weekend, and I had turned on the TV out of boredom. A breaking news report flashed across the screen, "A major fire has broken out at a large gasification plant in Cloudhaven's outskirts due to outdated machinery overheating. First responders are on the scene."

I immediately reached for my phone and dialed Lorenzo's number. It rang endlessly with no answer. I knew then-he must have been called to the scene.

On TV, the footage showed the inferno raging uncontrollably, punctuated by explosions from the gas tanks. Everyone else was retreating, but the firefighters in their bright orange gear were charging forward, armed with heavy hoses.

Clutching my phone, I felt a growing sense of dread. Was he there? Was he among them?

The entire day, I couldn't focus on anything else. I anxiously followed every update on the fire, each report making me more uneasy.

A gasification plant fire was far more dangerous than a residential fire. The plant was full of highly flammable and explosive materials, and every moment spent fighting the blaze carried the risk of catastrophic explosions. For the firefighters, it was a battle waged at the cost of their lives.

Time seemed to crawl unbearably slowly. Every minute stretched endlessly, my heart pounding with worry. By late afternoon, I still hadn't heard from Lorenzo.

In that moment, my heart was in turmoil. I couldn't calm myself or stop thinking about Lorenzo being at the gasification plant fire. All I could do was repeat to myself over and over in an attempt to find solace. "It's fine. It's fine. Lorenzo will be okay."

At 8:26 p.m., my phone finally rang. It was Lorenzo.