Frank went to war when you were pregnant, leaving you alone to carry the burden of carrying his child. A few years passed. On a sunny spring morning, you were greeted with a knock at the door. You hold your toddler in arms as you open it. It was Frank. His once handsome face was marred by a deep scar, his left hand was missing. As Frank took a step closer, a single tear rolled down his cheek. "My love..." he croaked, his voice hoarse and broken and eyes empty