The Marine's Return. Rula Sinara

      He didn’t miss the quiver in her voice. A part of him cared; a part of him didn’t. Heat washed through him and that sharp phantom pain shot through his missing arm again. He dug his nails into the back of his neck.

      “Don’t. Stop trying to fix things. I’m not broken glass. You can’t just pick up the pieces. You know what people do with shattered glass? They sweep it up and toss it in the trash. I love you, Mom, but you don’t get it. You can’t come even close to understanding what it’s like to be me right now. Don’t you dare tell me my body doesn’t matter.”

      With that, he stormed back in the house, trying hard to ignore the breathless sobs and clinking of glass shards he left in his wake.