Carnifex

14/9/467 AC, Cruz Apartment, Ciudad Balboa

Cara sighed, helplessly. Ricardo had his eyes on the television screen, a bottle of rum in one hand, a glass of some local cola in the other. Nothing she'd been able to do had pulled his attention from either rum or television since the Legion had commenced operations in Pashtia. Sometimes, she thought she saw him rub at his eyes. Tears? She didn't know and really didn't want to find out.

God, what have I done to him? she wondered. He doesn't eat. He isn't studying. He won't pay any attention to me or the children. I thought he would learn to be happy . . . happier, here with us. Why aren't we enough for him?

Was I just selfish, demanding he get out of the Legion? I don't know. I do know that if he'd stayed in he'd probably be over there now and it would be me watching the television for any sign of him and worrying myself sick. So what did I do? I substituted his misery for mine. Maybe that wasn't fair.

But he's my man, not the Legion's. I own him. My rights are superior to theirs.

Again she sighed. But are they superior to his?