Danielle studied Ronnie's face closely, the face of a broken woman, standing shaking in front of her as she delivered the fateful words, "get out"; the crevices of her brow creasing up in pain, her eyes widening with fear and anguish. As Danielle finished her short speech, she stared straight into Ronnie's eyes, into the eyes of her mother. Her mother.

The word 'mother' should have meant so much, but now Danielle tossed it over and over in her head it caused her nothing but pain. For years she'd had a 'mother', a real mother, who had loved and cared for her as best a woman could; bathed her, clothed her, dressed her knee when she fell and grazed it in the school playground – not once, but many times, again and again she had helped her to her feet and set her straight. She had done everything she could, and for years she had been everything Danielle could ever have needed. But then suddenly she was there no longer. She was gone, and the position of 'mother' for Danielle was vacant once again.

There had only been a few short minutes in Danielle's life when she had had no 'mother'; those fleeting seconds between being taken from a devastated Ronnie's arms and being placed in the open arms of her adoptive mother. Danielle had, of course, been too young to know anything of what was happening the first time around, but when everything she had ever known as 'mother' was taken so cruelly away, she was most certainly old enough to understand grief. To understand what it felt like for something so special to be taken away. For your 'mother' to be taken away.

Now, staring straight into Ronnie's wide, pleading eyes, she felt that feeling again; she hated herself for it, for having seemingly replaced the woman who had been there for so many years with the woman in front of her. But she could not help it. Ronnie had become so important to her in the last few months, even more so in the last few days, but Danielle had known that opening herself up to this feeling, to this 'love' of a mother, would only mean trouble. And she had been right. Ronnie had betrayed her. The fact that she loved her more than anyone she could remember – perhaps even more than she had ever loved her adoptive mother - made this so much more difficult. But she had to do it; she had to send Ronnie away. She could never see her again, not after this.

Ronnie was speaking now, saying something that Danielle would not listen to. She would not let herself care about what Ronnie had to say. It had been mere seconds since the nurse had revealed that her father had died, albeit reluctantly; Roxy had not been surprised, so she must have known. Everybody knew, yet Ronnie had not thought to tell her. She'd thought about number one, about herself, like she always had and always would. Danielle could not bear to look at Ronnie any longer; she could not look at this figure of a 'mother' looming over her like a bad dream. Now she had no father, but she had no mother either. They had died together.

Danielle surveyed Ronnie's face one last time, certain this would be the last opportunity she would give herself, before turning away, twisting her body pointedly away from Ronnie and clutching her good knee to her chest, hugging it as close as she could manage. Her fingers, bundled into fists, grabbed her leg so tightly that they would leave a red indent where they had been when she eventually took them away. Closing her eyes, she tried to block out all of the sound in the room she could manage, closing off all of her senses. Danielle hoped that sleep would swallow her up, but she knew that with the continuous clamour of Ronnie's pleas filling the room now, and no doubt, ringing in her ears if and when she ever left, she would not sleep for a very long time.

Now Danielle could hear someone else's voice, not Roxy's, so by process of elimination, the nurses', Danielle assumed. It was a welcome rest from hearing Ronnie's drone of pleading banalities, Danielle thought, allowing herself to listen to what was being said. To her relief, it seemed as though she was asking everyone to leave, finally.

"Please, I think maybe this would be a good time to let Danielle get some rest", the nurse was trying to sound authoritative, but apparently failing. She wanted to be able to make everything better, to help heal this broken family like she could help to heal Danielle's broken leg. But, confronted with a distressed mother and a grieving teenager, she felt helpless.

"Please, Danielle really needs to get some rest", she said, holding her hand out to Ronnie, who shook of her approach. She pleaded under her breath, addressing her words to Ronnie only, "Look, Danielle is still in a lot of pain. We need to respect her wishes. Come on, please"

Ronnie span her head towards the nurse, opening her mouth in automatic preparation for coming back with a quip in reply, but then she remembered where she was. That she needed to put Danielle first. If this was what Danielle wanted then maybe the nurse was right, she had to respect her wishes. She was not a child any more. And maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe Danielle just needed time. Reluctantly, Ronnie nodded in reply instead, standing slowly to her feet, picking up the plastic carrier bag she had brought for Danielle and placing it on the end of the bed, before making her way towards the door.

Passing Roxy, Ronnie shot her a fleeting look, catching her off guard; for the whole of Ronnie and Danielle's emotionally charged exchange she had stood, almost invisibly, in the corner of the room, wishing that she was somewhere else. Unsure what to make of Ronnie's glance, what exactly it meant, she returned it with what she thought was a supportive smile. Roxy was sure, however, that Ronnie would not construe it that way. That after this she would be able to do nothing right.