Hello and sorry for my long absence! There are many more scenes to come, I assure you! I haven't forgotten you or Aaron. Here is a short, very solemn scene. After this, I'm going to change gears a little and post a scene featuring adult Aaron. Hopefully you will find these interesting! Please review. Thank you!

-LTLS

—-

Mother drove with only one hand. Her free hand reached over and held tightly onto Aaron's.

"It'll be okay," she said over and over. "You'll be fine."

Irrationally, Aaron focused on her soothing voice. His right arm, wrapped in an extra shirt, rested in his lap, and he leaned over it, moaning. His forearm felt splintered, and each splinter felt like a digging blade. His shoulder felt like the target of a steadily swinging sledgehammer.

"It'll be okay. You'll be fine."

He squeezed her hand in return and tried to believe it.

—-

Aaron felt so cold as he sat in the emergency department waiting room. A tech knelt in front of him, holding his arm, examining it, asking questions. Aaron just listened as his mother answered every question for him.

"No, he fell out of a tree... Yes, I tried to stop him... What do you mean there's a dislocation too?"

Aaron just stared past the tech. He shivered. The pain gave him a headache, and he felt so, so cold. The pain became deadening, and he couldn't hear the voices anymore.

His mother's hand felt warm. Aaron did not let go.

—

Now Aaron lost himself in a dreamlike numbness. He sat on the edge of a white hospital bed, staring past the curtain at the nurses station. His right arm itched in a cast and a sling. He could hardly even remember what had happened.

Mother sat beside him, on the bed rather than the available chair. Still she held his hand.

How did he break his arm and dislocate his shoulder?

Didn't Mother...?

Then why was she sitting so close, holding his hand and stroking his hair? Whispering words of sympathy?

He felt so confused, but at least he didn't hurt so much now.

As he gazed around the curtain into the rest of the ER, Aaron noticed a small commotion across the hall. Two people in scrubs wheeled a stretcher out of a room. The stretcher was spread with a sheet which covered a child-sized mound not much more than three feet long. A tiny, babyish hand hung from the side of the stretcher. A toddler's pale hand. Like Sean's, only slightly bigger.

Nearby, a police officer forcefully cuffed a man who must have been the child's father. The man argued, whined, and pleaded. The officer's partner stood by, arms crossed, face ashen, numb with horror or anger.

Aaron felt like he should understand the expressions and what was going on, but his mind was having trouble catching up with his sight.

An ER employee slowly wheeled the stretcher away while a nurse spoke rapidly and angrily. The cops led the restrained man in the opposite direction.

Aaron glanced at his mom, wondering if she had witnessed the same scene. She didn't seem to have noticed, but just continued touching his face and hand affectionately, apologetically.

Aaron realized how easily he could have been killed at home, but he also realized how fortunate he was. He wasn't a three-foot-tall toddler. He could endure a lot more than other children could. His self pity was worthless when he didn't really have any idea what less fortunate youngsters were going through.

He was in a bad situation, but others had it much worse. There must be some reason why. Why did he survive even while others didn't? What was the purpose, his purpose?

The impact of witnessing the lifeless form on the stretcher finally hit him. That child didn't even have a chance. That child didn't deserve to die, while Aaron got away with just a cast a sling. It wasn't right. Why couldn't he do anything for that child, to protect him like he did his own brother? It wasn't right, it just wasn't...

Overwhelmed by the injustice of it all, Aaron began to cry. Mother pulled him close. "It's okay, honey. Mommy's got you. I'll never hurt you again."

He didn't know or care what meaningless words she said, even as he let himself sink into her warm side. He only knew that she had once again stopped just short of killing him, and there had to be a good reason why.

As for that child... that child who now rested in Heaven's embrace... that child without a voice...

All Aaron could do was weep. If he couldn't give that toddler a voice, he could at least shed the child's unshed, unseen tears for him. Someday, he swore, he had to do more.

—-

In real life, about 75% of children who die because of abuse in the U.S. are under 4 years old.