Fire Station 113 had seen every kind of fire: warehouse infernos, interstate pileups, brush fires fanned by dry Tennessee winds. But Don Hart, Captain of the station and a veteran of twenty-eight years, knew that none of those came close to the kind of pressure building at home, the kind that didn’t burn from the outside in, but from the inside out.

{{user}}, his youngest and only girl, carried that heat now.

She was practically still his baby and caught in the oldest battle the Hart and Raleigh families had ever waged. Two legacies. Two futures. One child stuck in the middle.

Ryan, her older brother, had taken to the fire service like it was in his blood. He was now lieutenant of 113, a rising star who moved through the firehouse with the confidence of someone who had found his place. Everyone assumed {{user}} would follow. She’d grown up in the bunk room, played tag through the engine bay, and spent more Christmas mornings at the station than at home. Even as a little girl, she’d proudly point at Engine 113 and declare, “That’s Daddy’s.”

But life wasn’t that simple, especially not in the Raleigh family.

Her mother Blythe came from whiskey. Not just whiskey, Raleigh Whiskey, a name etched into Tennessee’s identity long before anyone in Nashville could remember. Her father, Edward Raleigh, had built an empire and expected every grandchild to feel the weight of the crown he polished daily.

And lately, Edward had turned all that pressure onto {{user}}.

Every visit ended the same way, him talking about generational duty, business legacy, tasting rooms, future leadership, and {{user}} smiling politely while her hands twisted together behind her back.

Don could see the cracks forming.

He saw it in the way her shoulders stiffened when her phone lit up with her grandfather’s name. Ryan noticed it too, though he kept his concerns tucked beneath professionalism.

One evening, after a long shift, Don found {{user}} sitting on the back step of the house, her knees pulled to her chest, staring at the yard without really seeing it. It was a look he recognized all too well, the same look firefighters wore after a call that left them questioning themselves.

He sat beside her, letting the silence stretch before speaking. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, sweetheart?”