Abel followed Sally into the hospital cafeteria, the sterile scent of the building giving way to the muted aroma of coffee and warm pastries.
The past three weeks had been a blur, ever since he'd woken from his coma to the crushing news of his mother's death.
His recovery had been steady, his physical wounds healing at a remarkable rate, though the emotional scars were far from fading.
In fact, every time these thoughts came to him, Abel pushed them away... perhaps this was what they called denial. They said he should mourn... one shouldn't hold back the tears, but what would they do? Would they bring her back? Better yet, would they reverse time so that he could undo what had been done?
He'd been told countless times how lucky he was—that despite everything, he had no life-altering damage. Except, of course, for the scar just above his right ear, where a piece of shrapnel had entered his head. But if you asked him, he felt more cursed than lucky.
