Mark's POV.

I sat on the floor of the living room and absently sorted out some of my archived film reels, thinking about what just happened to our happy little family. The first minute we were all together and inseparable; the next, each of us were all alone in our thoughts and refused to speak to each other. Or at least, Josh refused to speak to me. He's been harsh on me ever since I told Roger to leave the loft so we could have some time apart. But as soon as those words left my mouth, I regretted them immediately. How could I say that? How could I have asked the love of my life to walk away from me and our son?

Without even thinking, I grabbed the roll of tape that said 'Our Wedding' written on it and loaded it into the projector. I sat back and watched as Roger and I stood in front of each other and recited our vows of love and commitment, before my mom, our friends and Father Gary Moore. I watched as we placed the rings on each other's fingers and shared our most passionate kiss as of yet, my eyes brimming with tears. Look how happy and full of love we were. What happened to us? Where did we go wrong? I gazed at the picture of us on our wedding day, which I carried in my wallet. Roger looked so gorgeous in his punk t-shirt and kohl eyes. I looked my wedding ring, with its three tiny diamonds sparkling in the light, and remembered the look in Roger's eyes as he slipped it on my finger. I curled myself into a ball on the floor and sobbed tearlessly, thinking about how I had ruined everything that was good in my life, my life-partner, and now my son. I offered to take him out for ice-cream after school, but he refused, saying that only Roger did that with him. I looked at the time on the digital clock. 4.30. Josh was supposed to be home by now. Where was he? I got up from the floor and walked over to the kitchen to get myself some juice. Maybe he was hanging out with his friend Sean or something, but he would at least call if he was. I paced back and forth across the kitchen, drinking and watching the clock. Finally at 5.00 the phone rang, bringing me back to the real world. I nervously picked up the phone and said:

"Hello?"

"Hello! Is there somebody by the name of Cohen-Davis I can speak to, please?"

I got a sinking feeling in my stomach at the sound of his voice. I had a feeling this wasn't going to be good. "Yes, this is Mark Cohen-Davis."

"Mr. Cohen-Davis, this is Dr. Hitch from St. Maria's hospital in Santa Fe. I have a 12-year-old boy named Joshua Cohen-Davis in the emergency room. I assume that he is of relation to you?"

I felt my heart skip a beat and my hands tremble. "That's my son! What happened to him? Is he okay? Please tell me that he's okay! Please!"

I was stupefied. What the hell did Josh go to Santa Fe for? To find his Dad, the answer came out of my own head. It was my entire fucking fault. Crying softly, I prayed to God that he'd be alright. I waited for Dr. Hitch to tell me that.

But instead he said, "Mr. Cohen-Davis, I honestly wish I could, but I'm afraid your son has been hit by a car and suffered a severe fractured leg and a cracked skull. He'slost someblood and in currently unconscious. There's no telling when he will wake up. I'm terribly sorry."

I slumped to the floor, my tear-stained face frozen in a silent scream.

Sorry I can't give you any more. I've been horribly sick for the past whole week. And the rainy weather ain't helping me much either.