After a long nap, Elizabeth finally woke up. But really, she wished that she hadn't. She had lost her husband and her only child. The chances of her getting her family back were slim. And even if she did, things certainly wouldn't be the same.
She walked into the living room and saw her son (the person who had her son's body, she corrected herself) sitting on the sofa, watching TV.
Upon hearing her enter the room, Eric turned and looked at her.
"Why are you still here?" she asked him.
"You need help. I can't just leave you. Not yet, anyway."
"I don't even know who you are," she said.
He stood up and said "Eric Cartwright."
She shook her head, obviously not recognizing the name. Damn Americans, he thought. If he was in Europe, people would recognize him immediately. "I'm a professional football ... uh ... soccer player."
"Oh," she said. "And where ..."
"I was in the UK. Believe me, I'm as shocked by all of this as you are." He looked down at his small body. "Maybe more so."
"Oh. Yes, of course," she said nervously. "I'd imagine that changing bodies like that can be traumatic." Then she began to cry, as she thought about what her son could be going through at that very moment.
Eric walked towards her and brought her to the sofa, helping her to sit down. Then he grabbed a tissue for her.
"Thank you," she said, taking it and blowing her nose. "I just wish I knew where my little boy was."
