Laying a hand carefully upon the door to Danielle Jones' hospital room, a young woman pushed the door back, careful to make as little noise as possible, so as not to disturb her patient, and shut it quietly behind her. Moving to Danielle's bedside, she lifted her fragile hand into hers, checking for a pulse, before laying it back on the bed, watching as each finger, small and curled, committed itself to the crisp, white hospital sheets. Next, nurse Jenkins rearranged the monitor attached to Danielle's index finger, which had been torn from its position as Danielle moved in her sleep.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Danielle had shown signs of waking an hour before, but had not spoken at all; her eyes had opened momentarily, before closing again heavily as a sleepy child's might on a late evening. Danielle had been unaware of her own attempts to wake up from her anaesthetic, still feeling the effects of the drugs she had been given upon arrival to hospital and during her operation. Still she did not know where she was, still she had no answers and no wish to answer the why and where and who questions, which would soon come horribly to the forefront of her mind. But, it was only a matter of time.

As the nurse, Jessica Jenkins, finished her observations with Danielle, she glanced at the clock above Danielle's hospital bed; it read 12 midnight. All was quiet on the ward, and she had now finished her rounds, so she sat briefly down on a seat next to Danielle, thankful for a moment off her feet. Staring at the body of the young girl in front of her, all of the reasons she had decided to become a nurse came back to her; she had wanted to help people, help people who were hurting and in trouble. Danielle looked so helpless, so alone; Jessica had heard the story of her father, and squeezing Danielle's hand as she got to her feet, she prayed that it would not be her job to break the difficult news.

Turning back towards her patient before she left the room, nurse Jenkins watched as Danielle shifted onto her side, moaning loudly. The monitor she had rearranged seconds before removed itself from her hand once again, and Jessica sighed, smiling to herself, before moving back to Danielle's side. As she fiddled with the wire which had got itself caught under Danielle's small body, she noticed one of her eyes opening, just the slightest bit, before closing again almost as quickly as it had opened.

"Hello there, my love", Jessica said, softly, almost certain that Danielle would be able to hear her, but not so sure that she would respond, "Can you here me?"

Danielle moaned again, but said nothing, before shuffling her body into the middle of the bed. She had heard a voice, a female voice, soft and friendly, but she had no idea who it belonged to or, more importantly, where she was. She felt uncomfortable, her legs heavy and painful, her back twisted, her head sore, but in her groggy state, Danielle still didn't feel the need to ask what was going on, and kept her eyes shut, as this was a lot less effort than forcing them open.

Danielle's movements told the nurse that she had, in fact, woken up, so she continued to speak to her, "Just lay back for me, let's get you a bit more comfortable", Jessica told Danielle kindly, rearranging her sheets so they lay straight over her twisted body. Unconsciously, Danielle took hold of the sheet with both hands, which were tucked under her chest, and pulled it close to her body, hiding from the world around her; still she didn't know where she was, who was talking to her, but somehow she knew that she didn't want to know just yet. That she didn't want to face the world.

Pressing the call button above Danielle's bed, Jessica continued busying herself with organising her bed covers and sheets, reattaching monitors and taking various waking measurements and readings, as a doctor and another nurse arrived in answer to her call. Minutes later, Jessica heard another pair of footsteps along Danielle's corridor, which sat at a secluded end of her ward. Approaching the door, Jessica was surprised at the appearance of two women whom she did not recognise; one was a porter, Jessica presumed, while the other was a tall, blonde woman, who looked, even from a distance, to be in an awful state.

The porter reached the window to Danielle's room first, but as the tall blonde woman joined her outside she stopped much more abruptly, a couple of foot away from the door. Jessica watched a short exchange between the pair, before the porter left, leaving the other woman standing alone, now leaning all of her weight against the wall on the other side of the corridor. She did not take her eyes off the door to Danielle's room, and even from the other side of that door, which held a window covered with blinds, standing slightly open, Jessica could see that her eyes radiated pain and longing.

Behind her, Danielle was beginning to wake up properly, and had turned onto her back, before attempting to open her eyes. She could feel her breathing quickening slightly, out of her control, as she began to comprehend the words of the people around her. They were talking about her 'condition', her 'state', her 'monitors', and instinctively Danielle knew that that could mean only one thing. She was in that place again, she had returned.

Danielle could feel her hand being gripped within another, and suddenly she felt a shot of pain run like lightning down the right hand side of her body. Her eyes flew open, a sudden reaction to the pain, which she had been yet to feel so acutely since waking. The room around her felt small and dark, it felt like it was closing in. Danielle could see no further than the immediate space around her, her eyes still fuzzy, unable to focus.

And suddenly she could think of nothing but her mother. She remembered the car, the accident and bits and pieces of her rescue. But foremost in her mind was how she had longed for her mother; for Ronnie.

Where was Ronnie.

---

Staring straight towards the wall ahead, Ronnie suddenly felt a huge gulf of space open up between herself and the door in front of her; attempting to step forward, Ronnie could not move a muscle. Downstairs in the hospital waiting room she had been certain of what she was going to do and say when she saw Danielle, and as she walked up the stairs those thoughts of protection, of being Danielle's everything, had only intensified. But now her daughter was firmly within her grasp, she could not even bring herself to look through the window in front of her; she could see a couple of figures within the room, and she could see the outline of a bed to the centre. Open that bed lay a crumpled figure, but Ronnie could not bare to move closer and take in every detail of that person.

That person was Danielle; that person was her daughter, her child. And yet she felt helpless. All her life she had done nothing but hurt Danielle, even when she was so many miles away, and Danielle was completely unaware of who she was. Yet, now it was her job and her job alone to support her child. It was her job to be Danielle's mother. And it was all too much.

Ronnie turned away suddenly, and lay her head, within her hands, against the wall. Suddenly there was nothing she could do but run. And she did.