The air smelled of summer rain while the sun peeked out between the clouds. Everyone was excited because my brother had ended his tour of duty in the war zone and was coming home. We expected his call from the airport at any moment.

 “Hello, son," said Father, picking up the phone. "I'm happy to hear your voice, too. What did you say? You want to bring a friend with you, and he's disabled. You want him to live us until he's able to get around on his own. Why do you want to tie yourself down to a cripple? It would be too much of a burden on the family. You'll call me back? All right, son."

Two days passed and we worried about Rudy. He hadn't called again and we didn't know his whereabouts. Suddenly, the phone rang and I picked it up. It was the police, calling to inform us that Rudy had committed suicide. At the funeral, Father cried inconsolably in front of Rudy's coffin. Rudy looked so handsome. No one could tell he had two missing legs. The note Rudy left behind read: "I'm sorry dad. I didn't want to be a burden to anyone."

© 2009 Mary Vela. Original for CCF. Mary grants CCF first electronic rights for one month; CCF may archive the material indefinitely and include it in an eBook anthology.