A week after my first mission I sat with my mother and father at dinner. I told them all about the mission, showing little emotion in my words as I spoke.

“That’s all so wonderful. We are so proud.” said my mother with a wide grin.

I didn’t see it as wonderful and I didn’t feel very proud. They didn’t care at all that one of the little girls died. Not that I had really expected them to care anyways but her words stung and I felt a pang of anger.