Pride 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.