Peter was a troubled boy.

Before his mother died at the age of twelve, he had never given much thought to the fragility of life. His days were filled with baseball games in the backyard, ice cream sundaes, and bedtime stories. The thought of tragedy striking his family was a thought laced with absolute impossibility. 

Before his mother died, the Wiltshire home was a happy one. His father was a decorated businessman, one who made a point to spend quality time with his family every chance he got instead of becoming consumed by the possibility of a dollar.

Even still, his work ethic and expertise manifested in the form of a myriad of materialistic trinkets, leaving his family with nothing to worry about but the matter of which butler would be available during the week.

Such as life goes, Peter Wiltshire learned at such a young age that money doesn't solve all problems. 

And, unfortunately, people don't stick around forever, no matter how much you might want them to.

It was a Wednesday when the news arrived.

His father was just preparing to leave for work, eating breakfast together as a regular part of their morning routine. Peter hadn't noticed anything terribly different about his parents' behavior; they were still as in love as ever, and he still felt like the center of their universe.

Oh, what a joy it was to be loved.

Peter was only halfway done with his Fruit Loops when the house phone rang. His mother rose from the table wearing a smile that eased any subconscious concern. 

From his perspective, the conversation was fleeting, only allowing Peter to ingest a few extra spoonfuls before she hung up the phone without another word.

A thick, sticky silence swallowed the kitchen almost immediately, his mother’s face seeming to lose pigment by the second. She would've hit the floor if his father hadn't rushed to her side in time, cradling her head to break her fall.

Peter's milk grew cold as he helplessly witnessed his entire world disintegrate around him. In his fragile twelve-year-old mind, he'd mirrored his father, kneeling at his mother's side, wiping her tears away in an effort to ease her sorrows.

In reality, twelve-year-old Peter sat stiff at the dining table, unblinking as his mother cried out in agony. After what seemed like decades, the butler retrieved him, ushering him to his bedroom without speaking too many words.

Peter stood in the doorway, his feet refusing to carry him any further away from the kitchen than he'd already gone.

As the sun was setting, his parents met him where he stood, embracing him in the love he somehow knew was in jeopardy.

And then, Peter's worst fear came true.

His mother didn't have much longer to live. He begged and pleaded with them, in search of any solid reason why. Or even the chance to turn back the hands of time to protect his world from impending doom.

He only came up empty-handed and even more troubled than before. His father insisted on staying home, crafting new and intentional memories that slowly lost creativity as her condition worsened.

Over the next month, Peter made an effort to love his mother more than he already had, a feat that seemed simply impossible before their lives were uprooted.

Until one day, without clear warning, Claire Wiltshire left her beloved son without a mother, and her husband without a wife.

And such was the start of the terrible unraveling of Peter Wiltshire.