The boys' laughter was the first thing I heard when I woke up. In bed, I sat up, curious to what they were doing that had gotten them so happy. A smell of something cooking, or rather burning, set me into alarm as I ran to the kitchen.

"Sorry boys, some are a little darker," Rebecca laughed, piling pancakes onto their plates. "Hope you don't mind."

"Thank you!" They squealed together, eating almost immediately. They always loved pancakes.

"What are you doing here?" I asked my neighbor, leaning against the archway between the kitchen and the den.

Her eyes ran to mine, "I came in early to talk to you, and I found you sleeping in the foyer, the boys let me in and asked me to help you guys make breakfast."

Lucas looked at me, "Food for daddy too!" He had a huge smile, food in all, as he pointed to the array of slightly burnt pancakes that they prepared. "We all helped."

I smiled softly at him, kissing the top of his head, "Good job, I'm sure your father is proud of you," To Rebecca I said, "Come upstairs, I need to talk to you."
We headed up to my room, leaving them alone to eat. It was then I had finally noticed how much of a mess I had looked, hair wild and eyes red and puffy. "Did you hear yet?"

She nodded sadly, "He was on the news early this morning, so I came to check up on you all, to see how you were doing."

"Did you tell the boys?"

"No."
"Good," I paused, "I don't know if I even can."

Rebecca sighed quietly, resting a hand on my shoulder, "I know, Sara, but you have to tell them sooner or later. More sooner than anything. They think he's coming home, if he doesn't, they'll think he abandoned them. I'm sure that won't be any better."

"I know, but how will they react when they find out their father is dead? I don't want them to have to live like I did."
"They won't."

"You don't know that."

"But I do," Rebecca sat me into a chair and took a comb through the thick red roots of my hair, "You are a strong woman, for the last two-three years you've been perfectly fine on your own."

"That was when I was sure he'd be coming back. Like he always did."

"The boys are strong too, they can handle themselves. They have you and each other. I promise you things won't get so hard."

It was an hour later when she left, the boys were playing outside with the neighborhood kids while I cleaned the house. They continuously asked me when Carl was going to come home, but I distracted them with something else so they'd forget for a while.

This act kept up for days, surprising me with how much time I managed to acquire. Though my stomach flew around, my hands shaking with the nerves, the fear of breaking their little hearts. Lucas and Carlisle began to stay inside more, rather than going with their friends. They'd sit in the living room rather quiet, playing with some old toys or watching the television.

It hurt to watch them, frowns stitched into their faces as they're losing hope and patience for their father to return. Everyone around already had gotten their family back, so why couldn't they?

Tears, which seem to be more common now than ever dripped from my eyes. Back in the depths of my mind I see myself on that same couch, many years ago with my frayed doll and hair tied up in ringlets. It was lonely when Carl wasn't home or able to play. Mama always had some new man come over every weak. Each face was different, voice blank. They never stayed, leaving us in the end.

That's how I remember myself, watching people leave me behind. It was just me and Mama. I remembered the story she told me when I was eight. She said that when my father first gone into the war, he had promised to come back as soon as he could, confident that he'd succeed. It didn't quite work that way. He left when I was three, but I never really had many memories of him beforehand, he was always working. He passed three days after his arrival.