She was unbelievably proud of her son. The Marines. Just days away from heading to South Carolina for training, eventually specializing in, perhaps, artillery, amphibious assault, even air combat.
All to prepare him to fight somewhere where they’d undoubtedly resent his sacrifice—sent by a country that, inevitably, saw him as a number, a political pawn. She couldn’t imagine losing him for any reason—especially not that one.
She gazed at her beautiful son, lying in his childhood bed in a medically induced coma, the stump where his right foot belonged already healing, knowing that in the long run, he’d thank her.