Anna slouched back in her seat, desperate to remain hidden from view. She didn’t know what she would do if she was caught.  

Tonight was one of her sleepless nights. Yearning to feel something, she had travelled to Peter’s house. Her car was parked inconspicuously outside, under the shield of the grand elm trees; the branches swayed majestically in the night wind. She had noticed the tulips dispersed on the front lawn; they had bloomed well this year, their petals revealing soft shades of red. There was a serenity in these suburban streets that Anna craved: white picket fences, freshly mowed lawns and family dinner at six.  

A singular dome light faintly illuminated the inside of the car. Empty take-out containers, bottles of wine and plastic wrappers littered the floor. Scrunched-up tissues covered every inch of the beige seats, concealing the stains of the carelessly spilt drinks. Despite her efforts, Anna could never properly clear out the mess; it persisted like a bad memory that refused to leave. Yet, when she stared into Peter’s house, none of that mattered because her heart softened, and all she felt was a sense of completion. 

She lifted her head discreetly to watch Peter drag an overflowing garbage bag outside. His daughter followed him swiftly; she skipped down the cobblestone steps and waved her drawing eagerly in his face. Peter crouched down and playfully examined the art piece. A smile tugged at Anna’s lips. She knew how much he wanted to be a father. At least he was happy, she thought to herself.  

Anna’s eyes glanced at the time on the dashboard. It was already so late, but she couldn’t leave now. She hadn’t felt this alive all week. The breeze filtered through the open window, circling around the car. She shivered.  

When the pair returned inside, Anna sat up properly to get a better view of the house. It was beautiful. A double-storey brick house stood proudly before her, with brightly lit glass windows offering a view into the family’s blissful life. Anna felt a pang of jealousy in her stomach and inhaled sharply; all she wanted was to be able to have this. She cradled a half-drunk bottle of wine in her arms and took a long gulp. She was sick of drinking alone. But Peter wasn’t.  

Through the house window, she saw him and his wife pouring glasses of wine in the living room, basking in each other’s company in front of the homely fireplace. The carefully decorated and clean room made Anna chuckle softly as she looked down at the mess surrounding her. She watched on as they laughed together. Anna imagined being that woman — someone healthy enough to share a mundane life with someone. Then, she saw the couple kiss. With that, she slid down her seat, her skin prickling with frustration.  

In her youth, Anna had loved Peter with the ferocity of a thousand fires. Yet, she always waited for him to realise she wasn’t worth all the trouble. She had told him about her mother and how she had this disease as well. 

“It’s genetic. I’m scared that if I have a child, they’ll become broken like me,” she explained. He hugged her, assuring her it would be okay.

Soon, Anna learnt that loving him was too painful, like a knife twisting deeper and deeper. She couldn’t bear his tortured expressions when he found her crying in the bathtub in the dead of night, mascara streaking her pallid face and wine spilt around her. He made excuses for her when she couldn’t leave her bed for days and remained patient when she snapped at him. She was an open wound, bleeding uncontrollably and tarnishing every moment with her mere presence. She refused to pull him deeper into her tortured existence, not wanting to see him choke on the poison that flowed through her veins. 

Blood rushed through her cheeks at the memories of him. Hot tears streamed down Anna’s face, and she shut her eyes tightly. She imagined a life where she had a family…a life where her mind wasn’t her worst enemy. It didn’t matter how hard she tried because she never got better. Now, all she had was this. Her late nights with Peter’s family. The closest she ever got to the real thing. She felt herself drifting off to sleep, slumping deeper into the car seat. 

Anna wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep when she was awoken by the distant sound of sirens. Sprawled on the car seat, she rubbed her eyes to relieve her tiredness. As her vision cleared, she caught sight of Peter’s house. 

Flickers of red and orange flames clung to the brick exterior. The tendrils danced in synchronicity as they surrounded the roof. Anna flung her car door open, stumbling onto the footpath. She stood frozen, basking in the embers of fire that pelted down on her like a thunderous storm. The roaring of the fire continued; it was a ravenous beast consuming the house and its inhabitants. Heavy smoke hung in the air, causing the neighbours who gathered on the sidewalks to break into fits of cough.  

“NO!” Anna screamed, her throat burning from the intensity of her pain.  

This couldn’t be happening. Her dreams were shattering alongside the glass windows that faltered under the heat of the blaze.  

She couldn’t watch this anymore. A sudden shot of adrenaline pumped through her as she ran across the front lawn, her feet trampling the tulips. Anna stopped at the front door and drew a long breath. They were the closest thing she had to a family, a thin string of hope she held onto desperately. She knew she couldn’t lose them; this was her chance to be with them, to prove she deserved something good. Smiling, she raced inside. The flames reached for her, welcoming her to their fold.  

She became ashes.  

But at least they were all finally one and the same.