It was 1939 when the Second War finally began and the world erupted in chaos. Up until then, my life had consisted of order and routine that I had come to loath with every fiber of my being. My mother, the 'ever-so-perfect' Alice Cooper, seemed to devote herself to creating picture perfect daughters she could parade around town and rub in the faces of the neighborhood. Whether that was for our own good or to better her reputation was something I would continue to contemplate for life.

My sister Polly and I had grown up believing that we needed to dress, talk and eat the proper way in order to be seen as a true lady. Resulting in, hopefully, finding a man who would enjoy our company enough to take our hand in marriage.

It makes me sick.

My youth is the reason I had given up on love. I saw no point in parading around like a show dog in order to win the affections of some man just to become a piece of property for the rest of my life. Only ending with more little girls to be subjected to this fate.

Of course Polly managed to find her way out. Despite the situation landing her on her own, on the streets, with a status no one in our family could bear to associate with, it was a way out. I was seventeen when she told me in hushed tones what she had been hiding. The growing bump under her shirt we would later find out to be twin boys, from the man whose identity she would not tell even her closest confidant. When it could not be kept hidden any longer and the secret finally reached my mother, Polly was sent away at just a little over three months pregnant.

I was forbidden to know where she was, or have any contact with her or the boys. I lost my sister, as well as any possible future with my nephews. All the while Polly lost her spot in the Cooper family. Personally, I would rather have the latter.

So when word of the war finally reached our community of white fences, I took it as my chance of escape.

Escape from the firm, cold grasp of my mother. Her watchful gaze never resting, for fear of another "Polly situation." Instead, I wrote my name down on the clipboard of numerous names being passed around. I offered my services as a nurse, and my offer was accepted.

At 19 years old I was sent off, among many others, to tend to our country's wounded. My mother cried and screamed, hanging on to my stoic father as I walked from them.

I did not look back.