Red Roses and Regret

The acrid smell hit me first, then our fourth-floor apartment shook. My boyfriend, Mark, was already at the door, his eyes wide.

"Chloe," he muttered, and just like that, he was gone – running through the chaos, not to check on me, but to his childhood friend, Chloe.

I stumbled out into the smoke-filled hallway alone, my heart pounding. When I found them, he was stroking her hair, murmuring reassurances while she leaned heavily on him, perfectly fine. He hadn't even looked for me.