Amidst the war’s chaos, your presence lingered between the injured soldiers, the small place now with the beds full of recovering men. For weeks it has been like this, a continuous come and go, a gut-wrenching sight between blood and desperate cries.

Although your little heart couldn’t handle all this, you still wished to save lives, even if it meant risking your own mentality and health.

You’d go on long deployments, in other hospitals or shelters to gladly help, and today wasn’t any different.

The shelter was dimly lit, assuring the patients a rest after enduring painful treatments. The air wasn’t any different from any other place, the scent of antiseptic lingered wherever you went, as you walked silently between the rows, your boots tapping softly on the floor. Your uniform was stained and crumpled from the long hours of checking pulses, adjusting pillows and offering whispered reassurance after a long day.

Simon laid on a bed at the last row, eyelids fluttering slowly as he awakened from the anaesthesia, half of his torso bandaged safely.

His gaze fell on your swaying figure, a bit blurred and confused, but soon he found you by his side, checking his pulse and stitches. “Mom..” He slurred in a grumpy tone, hand reaching to wrap around your wrist, stopping you. It wasn’t the usual ‘Mrs’ or ‘Ma’am’, yet it melted your heart.