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| - by Oliverio Quin smiled at the little girl, up early like he was on this brisk Sunday morning and playing jacks on the stoop of the apartment building. Quin paused, shifting the bag off groceries he'd just purchased to his left arm, so he could bend down and ruffle her blonde hair and give her a conspiratorial wink. She smiled mischievously but was not to be distracted from her game. Quin smiled inwardly and then bound up the stairs. He wanted to get back before Cyntia woke, so he could treat her to breakfast. Opening the door, his eye was caught by a crisp white envelope, propped up on the small table by the door. More exactly, his eye was caught by the hand writing, unmistakeable in its light strokes and tight curves, addressed to the fake name he'd suggested. It was a wave of relief that she'd written him but his guts pinched at what she might have written. Quin put down the bag of bread and cheeses, and sat down on the nearby steps, plucking the letter of the table. He slipped his finger between the folds and popped open the letter. He read, I don't think I can tell you how it felt to get the letter from you and to know you are alive. The Marines have been looking all over for you - and, Quin, I fear what Ramirez will have done to you if the y find you. Mom and Dad are worried to death, as you'd expect. To be honest, so am I. They have come by the house asking questions. You didn't explain what happened that night with Ramirez' son - and that's just like you, protecting your little sister. That didn't stop me from asking around (which you must have known I would - since that's just like me, isn't it?). No one knows much, but I know at least that he was a cur of a man and that even so you would not have fought him without being provoked. But I miss you Quin, and with the way things are, I wonder if you'll ever be able to come home! With you just back from a tour of duty, Mom especially thought you were home safe and sound. With all this trouble, I just don't know. Please be careful Quin. Quin closed his eyes and let out a slow breath as he folded up the letter. His sister, his parents, friends - he hadn't thought of them that night with Cyntia and Ramirez. He'd been so intent on righting a wrong and helping Cyntia that he hadn't thought of them. Tucking the letter into his shirt pocket, he glanced upwards where Cyntia was likely still sleeping, and, despite his concerns, he smiled slightly. Honestly, he thought to himself, even if he'd sat and thought long and hard before acting that night (if there'd been time), would he have done anything differently? He knew in his heart that saving Cyntia was something he needed to do, and couldn't imagine a world where he hadn't, no matter the cost. But the weight of responsibility for the consequences on his family weighed on him. If only he hadn't killed Ramirez. Maybe if he'd tried to talk the man out of ... He sighed heavily as he stood, picking up his bag. He'd had to make choices like that in combat, and had to live with the consequences - but those consequences had never affected his parents or Maria before. He didn't rue the choice he'd made at all - in his heart, he knew it was the right one, and truly he loved Cyntia - but that didn't mean he didn't think he could have done better. He went up the stairs, thinking what he'd write next to Maria and wondering if he would ever see her or his parents again ...
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