My Wife Chose the Doll Over Me

I held onto my wife’s shoulders, begging her to save my mother first. But she just stared at me in silence, her eyes filled with an unbearable pain. "I understand how you feel," she finally said, "but the dead come first." It was then I remembered that the wooden chest, trapped under the fallen beam, contained my mother’s most cherished mementos. A sudden fire had engulfed our home, trapping my mother and that old wooden chest in the room. The breaking beam crashed down, pinning them both. Ben’s voice, tear-streaked, repeated the cruel truth beside me.