“Mr. Wilson, I’m Detective Armstrong,” he said reaching out his hand to me as he nodded to my wife, “Mrs. Wilson.” I reached out my hand and...took his, somehow drawing a bit of strength from his firm handshake. Not noticing my other daughter standing behind my wife he continued talking, “They aren’t quite ready for you yet but I have somewhere you can go and sit down.” We followed him down the corridor and through a set of double doors. Once away from the commotion of the emergency room the. She used to look at my body as I stood bare. I managed getting friendly to her son by then. On weekends we used to play. He would come over to my house and we used something or the other. I even got a couple of toys for the kid. On most days his mother used to come over to my house calling his son, atul come have food. He would say he is not hungry, he wants to play. He was too smart a boy, when his mother tried forcing him too much, he would say, would you please get the food over here and. More

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