A/N: This is the second part of the previous chapter. Janette is trying to cope with new parenthood alone and wondering what it is that she's doing wrong. Some of this is from personal experience but not all of it. I wrote this out of emotion, not factual or grammatical accuracy, so apologies if both occur, they are my own. Again it's told in flashback. All thoughts appreciated as always :) Again, thanks to Mary T for the ideas and the inspiration :)

Chapter Twenty:

It was hard from the very beginning. Nicholas cried a lot, from morning til night and nothing seemed to pacify him. Even when he did eventually sleep, he seemed very restless, as though he was uncomfortable in his own skin. She told herself that all newborns found it hard to be in the outside world, that he would need time to find his place, his rhythm and when he did, he would become more centred but it never seemed to happen. He barely slept at night as it was and the lack of sleep slowly turned her into a walking zombie, and because she was doing this by herself, she had nobody to take up the slack. Nobody wanted to take care of this wriggling, restless screaming child. Her doctor and her paediatrician told her that some babies were like this, had more energy than other children and she had to accept that he was a challenge. That made her feel resentful because all she wanted to do was to love him and to take care of him but he was making it so difficult.

By the time he turned a year old, he changed again as the anger seemed to disappear. Nicholas became quiet, detached and almost apathetic. Janette got the impression that now he'd gotten his anger at the outside world out of his system he was just going to let it pass him by.

She waited for the milestones. He walked at a year old, just got on his feet and tottered across the living floor without a clue to his intention. He hadn't cruised or crawled, he seemed to have made up his mind that he was going to walk, and walk he did.

It was a little later that she realised that he almost always didn't speak. He communicated by grunting at her, if he wanted something specifically then he would grasp her by her wrist and take her towards what he wanted and he would use her hand to point at the desired object. If she called him by his name, he didn't turn his head, he barely acknowledged her. He carried a wooden red building block in one hand. It went everywhere with him and she would watch him as he stared at it intensely, as if waiting for it to reveal its secrets to him. God help her if she tried to take it off him, he flew into the most terrifying rages.

If she had to be honest, then she had known almost from then that he was different but knowing and accepting were two entirely different things. He kept to himself in the park, he wasn't curious in the slightest about the other kids and he was especially territorial about the sandbox. He didn't like to share anything within his grasp and often she had to lift her raging son out of the sand, filled with humiliating anger as he'd yet again reacted with outrage if another child had dared to enter his sandbox. Whatever was closest was thrown at the intruder and Nicholas was never ever remorseful.

There were many nights where Janette sat in their tiny little apartment and she would just cry. She was scared of what the future would hold for them both. She was terrified that there was something wrong with her son and that she wouldn't be able to fix it. She loved him with every ounce of her being but she wondered whether he knew that she existed outside of the fact that she saw to his every need and whim. Did he know that she was his mother? Did he really know? If she disappeared, would he miss her?

Nobody knew what was wrong with him. Some thought that it was a phase and she argued with them that if it was indeed a phase then it had started with his birth and showed no signs of disappearing. The more hopeless the answers then the more desperate she became and equally more disenchanted. She didn't know how much of this she could endure. She wanted this remote little boy to acknowledge her in some way, even if it was just a smile, a look or a hug, she didn't care. She just wanted a sign, or something, anything to know that she mattered to him.

He was a big boy by the time he turned three and strong with it. He still didn't sleep through the night; he still wore diapers and wouldn't entertain the idea of potty training. He alternated between complete passivity and rage tantrums that left her exhausted and the apartment in tatters. She had no idea what to do next.

She thought about Bobby on and off, wondered what he was doing with his life, whether he ever thought about her and their one night together. She doubted it; one-night stands were best left forgotten. She often thought about making a concerted effort in looking for him, to tell him about their son and ask him to take on some of the responsibility. She never took the thought any further than that. More than likely he would deny being his father anyway and that was a battle she could do without in her life.

It was the summer before his fifth birthday that she finally reached her limit. The mild depression that had continually hovered over her finally swamped her and enveloped her. She couldn't find her way out of it, every day was an ordeal that never changed, didn't seem to want to change and this time she was powerless to fight it off. It was so black and overpowering that she just didn't have the energy to fight it. She had given up finding answers to her questions, she wanted it to stop, to go away and never come back. The love that she felt for her son was slowly turning to resentment. She had tried her best, she had loved him and tried to be the perfect mom for him but it was becoming a wasted effort; Nicky was so deeply entrenched in his own world that nothing else, nobody else mattered to him, he was unreachable.

Wendy Foster saw the desperation in the young woman's eyes, observed her son's behaviour and realised what was happening. It was Wendy Foster who mentioned the possibility of Nicky being autistic.

Janette sat and listened as the Child Welfare Officer explained the disorder, the symptoms and the prognosis and tears flooded her eyes and slipped down her face when she realised that they fit her son to a tee. She had seen countless doctors and physicians who had been completely baffled and it had taken this lady to recognise her son as having a disability. Anger mixed with the desolation and quickly faded to be replaced by ever familiar numbness. As Wendy went on to explain, autism was a 'last resort' diagnosis, once upon a time it was very rare but nowadays it was becoming more recognisable as the root to a lot of behavioural problems. She had been incredibly unlucky in not getting her son diagnosed before now; some children weren't diagnosed until they were much, much older.

"Does Nicholas's father have any part in his son's life?" she asked her. She watched as she wiped at her face.

"He…he doesn't know about him…" she admitted in a husky voice and this made her frown.

"He doesn't know or doesn't want to know about him?" Janette lifted her head and looked at her and Wendy saw the flare of guilt.

"He doesn't know" The older woman sighed raggedly.

"Maybe he should be told? Then he can help out and take some of the weight off you. You're very depressed and you desperately need help in this situation, maybe his presence will help somehow?"

"Why would he want to help him? I mean, look at him, he's damaged…he barely acknowledges me, he doesn't speak, he doesn't know I exist, how is the presence of his father going to change that?" the angry words burst out of her and she slapped her hand across her mouth to halt them.

"He might not be able to help your son, but he could help you. You are what is important here. We can make inroads in getting a diagnosis for Nicholas and once that's underway then we can make enquiries about getting you some help, financially, with his future education…with…" her words faltered when Janette started to shake her head fiercely.

"I…can't….I can't do this anymore" she admitted and that seemed to be the undoing of her.

"What do you mean Janette? Of course you do, you're Nicholas's mother, he needs you" Janette rolled teary eyes in disbelief. Wendy shuffled forwards in her chair and fixed her with an intense look.

"He might not show it in the most conventional of ways, but he does need you. He relies on routines, things being the same…"

"Then let his father do that for him. I…can't. I just can't do it anymore…"

"Yes you can, you have to" Janette shook her head.

"No I don't. I don't have to do anything anymore. His father's name is Robert Goren; he's a cop here in New York. You find him and you tell him about his son"

"Janette!" she breathed in shock. Janette seemed to take a very deep breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm so…so... sorry but I've had enough, I'll sign any papers you want…I'm done…here…" Wendy reached towards her and grasped her wrist as she made to stand up.

"You can't walk away from your son, you'll live to regret it. Right now, you're extremely tired, very depressed and let down by society as a whole. You need to rest. How about we look for Mr Goren, explain the circumstances and maybe he could have temporary custody until you feel ready to resume your responsibilities?" she suggested.

"He would never agree to that. He might be married with a family of his own now, we were never married or in a relationship, he might decide to have nothing to do with him!" she argued. Wendy regarded her, so Janette did care what happened to her child, even just a little bit.

"He also might step up to the plate and embrace his responsibilities Janette. I can make preliminary enquiries into his whereabouts and his situation. In the meantime, what about short term foster care for Nicholas?" She watched Janette Cole look at her son, who sat on the floor between them, oblivious to them and to his surroundings, a bright red juice bottle in his hand that he stared at. The look she gave Wendy Foster became clearer then.

"Okay. Find his father. Do whatever it takes." She looked back at her child and her pain was visible to those who cared to look.

"I'm sorry Nicky," she whispered.