After My Husband Killed Our Daughter

Through the thick glass window of the fire simulation chamber, my four-year-old daughter, Lily, was frantically pounding her tiny hands against the door.

Choking black smoke had turned her little face a terrifying shade of purple. The heart rate monitor next to the glass was blinking wildly, the numbers screaming at 190. The piercing alarm cut through my ears like a knife.

"Open the door. Let her out. Now." I screamed, my voice cracking.

But Carter held my wrist in a vice grip, pinning my hand away from the emergency stop button. "Her training session isn't over yet."