It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.
May Parker bit her lip to fight back tears as she processed what the doctor had told her. The first part was fine, but it was the second part she struggled with.
She thought back on the explanation of what had happened. How the cab she and Peter had been in had crashed. How she had suffered from a concussion and had been unconscious for about two days, and the cabbie was in still a coma. How they were going to keep her in the hospital a couple of days to make sure she recovered alright. That she was fine with.
Then she asked where Peter was, and her whole world slipped away when she heard the answer. She had just wanted to know where her nephew was, what sort of injuries he had endured. She just wanted to know he was alright.
The doctors fell silent for a minute, and the head doctor tried to convince her that they'd explain in time, and that she should just relax for now, but she pressed the issue. She wanted to know what happened to her nephew, and she was not going to be able to rest until she had seen him.
Finally, the head doctor took a breath and spoke. "Mrs. Parker, I don't know how to tell you this, but your nephew was murdered."
Because of the concussion, she was not allowed anything to read or any television or computer, but she got the explanation all the same. Apparently, the crash hadn't been an accident. For some reason, someone had caused it. That horrible Spider-Man. When the crash occurred, he tore through the cab, pulled Peter out of the wreckage, and dragged him off.
The police had hoped to find where he was taken, and had spent the good part of a day combing the city to try to find him, but it was no use. They found nothing until the end of that day when they found the evidence: Peter's clothing, torn up and soaked in his blood, abandoned in a webbing bundle. On it was the note: A message to the Bugle.
As she thought of her nephew, lost to her just as her husband was, she began sobbing again. It wasn't fair. Peter shouldn't have died; he was only sixteen years old. A child for all intents and purposes. Now he had been murdered, just as his uncle had been a year before him.
May already knew this feeling well. She had it after Ben's death, too, and back then she didn't know how she was going to recover. Of course, she did so, and her wonderful nephew had been a major part in her healing from that wound. Peter would always comfort her when she got in this state. He'd try to make her laugh, and his smile would always bring her around. She'd never get to see that smile again.
May wept for several hours, but after a time, she took a breath. His loss hurt, but she wouldn't be honoring Peter's memory to give up on life. She'd have to find a way to carry on without her nephew, just as she found a way to carry on without her husband.
"Ben, Peter," May muttered quietly, "please, help me to have strength."