My heart ached for the Sergeant as he took the heart breaking news. At least he hadn't went ballistic like my last patient who had lost a soldier. I still had bruises on my arms from him squeezing my forearms - begging that I was lying.
When commanded for a pen and paper, I immediately started searching through the drawers around the room and handing him the found paper and pen.
I couldn't imagine getting a letter from my son's sergeant, telling me my son was dead. My heart went out to the parents who were going to be told sooner or later, as I looked back at the Sergeant.
"It's not your fault, Sergeant."
I said softly, hoping it would soothe his worry and guilt. And it was the truth. He was attacked by a werewolf; he couldn't help that.
