Elisabeth Masen's PoV.

"What have I done? What have I let my baby do?" I asked aloud into the big old empty house in which I was situated on the living room floor. I was all alone as usual, my husband Edward Sr. was at a five-week conference on mining in the northern side of Chicago at the Northern Valley Inn.

My son left three and a half weeks ago to go to war. What a silly, stubborn boy he is, and oh how silly I am for letting him go, slip away from me and into the grasp of all those dangerous things out there in that big world. Why, he is only seventeen! He has no business out in that war! "What have I let him get into?" I called once again into that big empty house.

"I should hope nothing too dangerous my dear?" came the booming voice of my husband as he made his way down the hall. His emerald green eyes and sandy blond hair overtaking my senses as per usual as he entered the vast room.

"Oh dear, what are you doing home so early?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.

"The CEO's son Max, I think his name was, got drafted to war not seven weeks ago and the CEO received a letter or confirmation from a man, I can't remember his name, E.M. were his initials I believe, about young Max's death!" he paused for a brief moment before continuing with his tale. "Ghastly thing! Shot front on as he was heading out to engage the enemy, the man who wrote the letter was a friend of his who turned back and tried to help him. Apparently he was shot in the side and is in hospital at the moment, was in there for a sliced open leg as well about a week ago!"

Just then our front bell sounded as the mailman and the milkman made their daily rounds. The two brothers, Michael and Eric would usually race each other in order to return first and receive sweets from their aunt who cared for them and the local post office/convenience store but today, Eric waited to hand me a letter which was written to myself and Edward Sr. In my dear son's hand.

I opened the letter and there in his ever delicate and well scripted hand was a letter begging for our understanding, forgiveness and love:

Dearest parents,

I'm sorry. I needed to do this and serve my country. I hope you can somehow understand that. But I am safe and alive. Please, I ask that you not worry about me too much. I have a strong feeling that I won't be fighting much longer and that everything will turn out as it is meant to be. Father, I know you must be disappointed in me and I only hope that you can one day see me as a man. Maybe not the man you hoped I would be but a man nonetheless. And mother, again, please don't worry for me. I miss and love you both,

Edward

I read the letter over and over again in my head knowing that this all fit now but not wanting to believe it at all.

There were three things that stuck out most of all in my head as the main things that I did not want to acknowledge because it meant that I had failed as a mother to protect my son and they were:

Edward was not fine and well, he was in the hospital dying.

My only son and child had attempted to save the life of the son of his father's CEO.

My Edward was dying in a hospital in the middle of a battleground and it was all my fault!

That was it! I had to tell Edward what had happened to his son whether it killed me inside to do it or not! I walked into the lounge and was making my way over to my husband when he suddenly clutched at his chest and was rendered unconscious. In the shock of it all I remembered to call the hospital and was received by a darling nurse at the trauma centre.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" I asked into the receiver

"Hello, can I help you? What is the problem?" asked the woman

"Oh hello dear, my husband, Edward Masen Sr., he has collapsed on my living room floor!" I replied, my words now fighting for coherency over the wrenching sobs which wracked my body.

"Okay, Mrs Masen is it? I am going to have to get you to tell me your address so that the ambulance knows where to go in order to pick your husband up okay?", instructed the girl carefully.

"92 Emerald avenue in the west end of Chicago" I replied quietly which surprised even me who was usually the loud, outspoken one in this small family.

"Thank you Mrs Masen, now I need you to go out to your front lawn and instruct the officers where to go okay?" she instructed again and I answered rather meekly that I would.


What have I let my life come to? First my son leaves for the Army and I have no way of knowing if he is truly alright because he would never let on in one of his letters, feel less guilty if she thinks I am alright and all that jazz, and then secondly my husband decides to keel over in my front room not half an hour after he returns from a business trip which led to the first dilemma coming into occurrence. I thought as I sat there waiting outside my husband's hospital room waiting for his results for the blood tests and alike that the nurses took.

"Mrs Masen?" asked a tall, blond doctor with almost could it be amber or topaz? eyes who looked to be only in his twenties if not early thirties at a stretch as he approached me chair

"Please call me Lizz" I replied to the kind, angelic man in front of me

"My name is..."

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP his pager sounded and he was instantly in 'speedy doctor' mode as he looked at the cause of the noise to see that it was only a code blue in the ICU and that a closer doctor would be able to attend faster.

"Sorry, My name is Dr. ..."

Yes I know you all hate me for this cliffy but it will get better! I PROMISE!!!!!

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