'Mr James?'

Charlie didn't move. He was stuck, as if he was rooted to the chair in the waiting room, staring in to space.

'Mr James?' He heard the voice a little louder this time, and turned to look at the figure standing next to him. 'DCI Turner.'

It took him a few seconds to realise that the detective was holding out his hand. Charlie stood up, and shook it firmly. 'Sorry.'

'It's fine.' DCI Turner said firmly. Charlie examined his facial features. Soft skin, combed hair, clean shaven. He didn't look much over 30. How could he be tasked with such an important job as this, when he was so young? As soon as he thought it, Charlie shook the thought from his mind. Most of his platoon had been younger, and he would have trusted any one of them with his life. Who was he to decide whether this detective was old enough to do his job?

If the detective could tell what Charlie was thinking, he didn't let it show.

'Come this way.' He said.

Charlie followed him down the corridor. Everything was so grey and clinical. The smell of disinfectant got caught in his throat and he had to clear it. It reminded him of the last time they were here, the day Olly was born. Full of hope, full of forevers.

'Are you sure you're ready?' The detective asked, sensing the hesitancy in his body language.

No, Charlie thought, but he just nodded. How could he ever be ready?

When they got to the right door Turner stopped, and put his hand on the door handle before turning to Charlie.

'I just need a yes, or a no.'

Charlie nodded. 'I understand.'

'Her injuries are significant, so she might not look exactly as you remember. Just take your time, it's important that you are sure. If you need to stop at any time, just say so.'

Charlie nodded again. As he heard the click of the door handle opening he closed his eyes tightly shut. He could see Georgie and Olly cuddled up in bed in their pyjamas just a few days before, reading one of his favourite books. 'Daddy, can't you stay home today?' Olly had pleaded, his most persuasive grin plastered across his face. How Charlie wished he had given in and stayed at home with them. How could he tell their little boy that his Mummy would never be coming home?

Charlie had seen many dead bodies, none of them peaceful. At first he'd found it hard, but as time went on he almost became conditioned to it. He no longer saw them as the bodies of people, lives lost, but learnt to see them as part of the war, he was almost immune to the shock of it. But nothing could prepare him for seeing the body of someone he loved, and as much as he tried to put his captain face on and pull himself together he just couldn't picture his life without Georgie in it, and that made it impossible.

He sensed that the detective had moved forwards in to the room, and followed him inside. Everything was silent and still. When he opened his eyes he saw her, feet away from him, almost entirely covered by a clinical white sheet all the way up to her neck. Her long dark hair was spread across the pillow behind her head, just like she was sleeping. Charlie couldn't see her face close enough from that distance but his heart was thumping in his chest like a war drum, so hard that he could hear it raging in his ears.

'Take your time.' The detective said. 'I'll be just outside.'

'Ok.' Charlie choked. He couldn't breathe. The air felt suffocating. He wanted to leave the room, leave the entire hospital, never come back. Never have to face this. It had been so long since he felt so completely lost. At his lowest point Georgie had been there, ready to pick up the pieces and put him back together. They had done it together, they had been happy. Life had become so comfortable, so normal, it had never occurred to him that he could be so close to losing it all.

As Charlie stepped forward his chest became tighter and tighter, and he didn't have the strength to breathe. 'Georgie?' He croaked, as he got close enough to the bed to see her face. He was worried that he wouldn't be able to tell, but it was so unmistakable he only had to look at her for a second.

'Fuck.' He cried, staggering backwards and slamming against the door as he scrambled around trying to leave the room. He felt vomit rise up from his stomach in to his throat and he clamped a hand to his mouth as he staggered in to the hallway and in to the detective, before forcing his way in to the toilets and throwing up violently. Tears ran down his face and his heart was thumping so hard he felt like he couldn't breathe in enough oxygen to keep up.

Once he was done he clawed at the tissue dispenser to clean himself up, but his hands were shaking so hard he could barely find the strength in his fingers to grab any out. He splashed water over his face and leant on the sink for a few seconds before taking a deep breath. As he stood up and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, he saw the panic in his eyes as the realisation of what this really meant hit him.

'Are you alright?' Turner asked softly as Charlie emerged from the bathroom.

'Fine.' Charlie lied.

'Did you... are you able to confirm?' The detective asked.

Charlie nodded. 'Yeah. It's not her.'

'It's not?' Turner asked, a little confused. 'Are you sure?'

'It's not my wife, it's not Georgie.' Charlie breathed, his heart still thumping in his chest. 'So where the fuck is she?'