Althea and Andrew had an argument.
It was 2:30 am.
There were shouts and loud noises, like something was being thrown.
They threw pretty much everything at each other that night.
Some neighbors were disturbed and called the cops to come check on the quarreling couple.
But the cops dismissed it and didn't show up because they were fucking tired of interfering in married couples argument.
The quarrel continued and the shouts were even more louder…not one of the neighbors wanted to interfere either because this wasn't the first time.
The world might as well come down today.
Suddenly, there was a scream. A blood curdling one followed by a fire.
The neighbors called the fire department and they said they'd be there in a few minutes…
In a few minutes, Althea came out of her house alone. With a few scars and burns and without Andrew.
The fire department and the police came, put out the fire and found Andrew already dead. His body barely recognizable. The police took Althea into custody.
The doctors…they couldn't perform an autopsy on him because there was nothing to search for.
The doctors and the police suspected another factor to his death but there was no proof of it. And Althea, was let out of jail with all the charges against her dropped.
And so Althea became a widow.
And like every other widows, the widow association, offered to help her get through her grief. They brought her in, and then she became part of them.
This was the story everyone knew. The one whispered in hushed tones and shared over countless cups of coffee. But no one knew the real story.
Althea knew it. Only she knew the truth, buried deep beneath the surface of the flames that had consumed her life and her husband.
Or so she thought…