"Oh God, shut up. You shouldn't have fckin left us. Now i'm stuck with your goddamn child in this rotting apartment while you wake up every morning with a new bitch from the street." She shouted.

"Shut up, shut up. no more excuses, asshole. I never want to see you again. I'm going to raise this child on my own, while you waste your life on cheap prostitutes." She hung up. She was so tired, so, so tired. Being barely 18, she thought he was the one. He had promised her so, so much. She trusted him so, so much. She had not once doubted him. Not when he promised to marry her, not when he took her hand and brought her to this apartment. The quaint apartment was really kind of sweet, with a pastel beige wallpaper, slightly cosy bedrooms and it was always lit by a warm rosy glow by the dying sun of the evening. She always had thought of it as a sweet escape from the alleyways that lay just 3 floors down. She tried not to look out of the window whenever she heard gunfire or shrill voices pleading for help. She still thought ignorance was bliss. She just looked away, and cooed her young baby son to sleep. He would come back from his day job slightly reeking of fresh printed paper and his fading cologne and kiss her on the cheek.

"Let's get married," he chuckled.

"Mm, i'd like that," she murmured. And so it was. They were to be married.

But then, one day, he came back with a slightly different smell. No, this wasn't paperwork, nor his usual cologne. No, this was the seductive fragrance of another woman. She tried to ignore it. "No," she thought "i'm just overreacting. He wouldn't..."

But unfortunately, he would. and did. One day, she recieved a phone call. He said he wouldn't be coming back. Ever. He found 'someone else'. Turns out, things 'weren't working out' between them. As she struggled to choke back her tears, she just listened to what he said in stunned silence. "No, no no no no..." she faintly whispered, "you can't just do this to me, not now, not today."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think things will work out. Take care of our son..." and he hung up.

But she did not stop. She pressed the reciever so hard that her ears started to hurt. She whispered, "No... today's our wedding day..." But these words were forever purged by the indescribable pain and drowned in her tears. She did not sleep that night. She cried like she never did before. And from then on, she knew she was on her own.

Her son found her in a foetal position on the family couch. She was still crying. The couch pillows soaked with her salty sadness. Her son climbed up the sofa, in his little, clumsy way. He struggled a little, but managed to curl up beside her. He held in his hand, his little bedtime story book.

She remembered she had carefully read those words which were typed in large fonts, the pages embroidered with soft pictures. She had come to the end, "and Morty was a hero." she articulated, slowly. He had looked up from his little bed, and asked, "Mommy, what's a hero?"

"A hero is someone who saves someone. Who makes all their pain and suffering go away. A hero will save the one he loves a lot, because he knows that that person is worth saving."

And now, her son sobbed quietly beside her. She felt his little ribcage slightly contracting with every sob, the couch cushions absorbed his tiny tears, and she held him close. Then, her son looked up to her, tears in his small eyes. and said,

"Mommy,

can i be your hero?"