A blinding white light hurts my eyes as I try to figure out where I am. "Annabelle? Are you awake?" A woman's voice asks. A thin lady wearing a flowery blouse leans over me, "Oh, yes! Get the doctor, she's awake!" she exclaims excitedly. Soon enough I hear a clatter of feet on tiles, and a man in a white trench coat walks through large sliding doors.

"Well, then you must be Annabelle, I've heard so much about you!" the man says cheerfully. Causing me quite the bit of stress, as I am left wondering what exactly this man has heard about me. I would ask him what he meant, but a plastic mask covers my mouth and nose, it seems to be shoving air into my lungs. Instead of taking the mask off myself I simply point at it, that is all it takes for the man to understand me. "Ah! Yes, the BiPap, one moment!" he exclaims while taking off the strange mask.

"What's going on?" I ask wearily when the mask is off.

"It's really that bad then..." the lady says wistfully.

"You were in a car accident Annabelle. You have a concussion, I am your doctor, you can call me Dr. Roothbee."

"Okay, so if I am Annabelle, and you are Dr. Roothbee, I'm guessing you are my mother?" I ask, slightly un-sure of my prediction.

"Good guess, yes, I am your Mother." the woman confirms.

Who else was in the car crash? I can't help but wonder. Fortunately, the doctor and I seem to be able to communicate telepathically...

"About the car crash, your friend, Maggie, was with you." he hesitates, then goes on, "Unfortunately, she didn't make it."

I can't remember who Maggie is, but if we were in the same car when she died I'm sure we were close. It seems strange that the doctor is the one to tell me this and not my Mother. It was probably too much for her, that would make sense.

I guess this is what hospitals are for, to isolate the suffering and pain so that others don't have to feel it.

Hospitals are where sick people go to get better. Most heal and go home. Some don't. Death is not what I want to think of when it comes to the word hospital. But to some, it does. To me, it's a word of healing and new life. Babies are our most precious source that goes into a hospital and comes out from a hospital. So when the word hospital comes to my mind, I say its a word that we need in our lives.

Cuts is the thing that comes to mind when I see the word hospital. It's like everything from my past just comes to light. The sight of people cutting themselves the sight of someone punching a wall or even worse another person. I see internal cuts, caused by the trauma from those closest to them. What I really see is stories. Stories of a person's life, stories that a person has hidden or at least attempted to until they finally broke.

All Marya heard around these hours were the typical words you expected at a place like this: “Goodbye” and “I love you” amidst other tearful farewells spoken by young children resounded clearly through her private room, almost as if mocking its obvious lack of visitors. She let out a long and labored breath, the simple task clearly taking its toll, as she rose from her bed and pulled apart the curtains covering the wide, clear windows to her left. She never had a particular fondness of nature, but anything that pulled her attention away from the loving farewells coming from her surrounding rooms was a pleasant choice.

She observed the sun as it shined intensely over the hospital’s courtyard, leaving each object hot to the touch. It was the start of late afternoon, and not to Marya’s surprise, she had nothing to look forward to. She had no urge nor strength left to take leisurely walks around the center, not with her aches worsening each day, reminding her of her state. Gradually, as the sun’s rays warmed her room, Marya climbed back into her bed and allowed them to lull her into an indolent sleep.

She dreamt, of course. At her age, Marya’s daydreams and nightdreams almost blended seamlessly together, her memories replaying in her mind to provide her with any entertainment. Today, she dreamt that she was a child again, young and healthy and unbridled with the debt of her weary body. As she relived the memory of being a nine-year-old who had long grown accustomed to the burden of providing for herself, Marya felt the flood of abandonment and loneliness return. “I’ll be back soon!” called out a distracted voice from a vague direction, which Marya recognized as her mother. The heavy thud of the door shutting behind her brought back memories of countless hours of Marya patiently waiting for her mother’s return, uncertain of when she’d return to make dinner or tuck her into bed. It wasn’t her mother’s fault. She had to work whatever odd jobs she could find to earn enough money to keep their home. Although Marya knew this, she still secretly felt twinges of resentment each night, knowing that her classmates had lively and loving homes to return to after school. “I promise,” Marya heard herself address to what nine-year-old her hoped was her future child, “I won’t give you the same life. I’ll be a good mom. I promise.” If only she had kept that promise.

Marya awoke, with sleep still clouding her head, to moist cheeks resting upon her dampened pillow. A quick glance to the windows revealed the sun setting each tree, bench, and blade of grass ablaze in a myriad of warm oranges and yellows. I’ve only been asleep for a few hours, she thought to herself. Hurriedly, Marya wiped the tears from her face with her palms, as if they were marks of shame. She laid there listlessly and watched the sun slowly dip below the horizon, leaving vivid streaks of pink and red against the darkening sky. It was beautiful, but nothing more than a distraction. She swore long ago to leave her past alone, to stifle it, suppress it, till it was nothing more than a mere memory. Her thoughts returned once more to it as she drifted back into sleep while dusk settled in.

Again, Marya dreamt. She watched herself as if peering through a blurred window. She was nearing the end of her youth, evident with faint lines framing her eyes and slight gray streaks adorning her hair as she cradled Audrey in her nursery. Anyone would have believed it to be an endearing memory, one that marked the exciting new phase of motherhood. But Marya knew better. All mothers felt an unconditional, overpowering love for their children — or at least they were supposed to. Since giving birth three months ago, Marya had harbored an ever-growing sense of guilt deep in her chest, where she felt it wringing at her heart and mind with each passing day.

The creak and muffled thud of the front door resounded through the house. Ah, Scott’s back, she remembered thinking. Marya watched as her younger self smiled before setting Audrey down in her crib and made her way downstairs to greet her husband. “Hi honey,” Marya beamed, embracing him tightly. “I missed you so much. How was work?” He returned the hug, his squeeze to her back ever so slightly weaker than hers. “Oh, great, great, you know,” he murmured distractedly. “All the same. Always a bore, but—” he paused for a moment and quickly pecked her forehead with a kiss. “—anything for you.” Marya smiled. She put on a facade, a pleasant smile, one that hid the fact that she knew her husband wore a false one of his own. A smile that desperately wanted to erase the truth that their marriage was disintegrating fast, faster than anything she was ready to accept. A smile that she knew fooled neither of them.

She paused, gathering her thoughts before beginning again.

“Dinner’s ready,” she ventured softly, hoping for a different response from the previous days.

“Oh, is it? That’s great Marya.”

A tense air settled in the gaps left from the silence between the pair.

“I’ll enjoy your wonderful cooking upstairs, dear. I’m pretty busy,” he called mindlessly over his shoulder, already striding towards the kitchen, leaving Marya as nothing more than an afterthought.

Day after day, always the same response. For the longest time, all Marya had yearned for was a stable life and a family— she got what she wanted, didn't she? Except the reality was that she knew she was a failure of a mother who could not even feel any true connection to her child and was a woman in a mundane and waning marriage. Unsurprised, Marya watched her younger self listlessly retreat back to the nursery, knowing that the ever-occurring sense of hopelessness had settled back into her chest and was there to stay.

She woke for a third time. She swept away her hair, mused from its hours spread against her pillow, and tried to wipe the grogginess from her eyes. It was well into the night: the pale moon was perched high in the pitch-black dark, gently illuminating the courtyard with the help of a few sparse streetlamps. Marya’s chest was rapidly rising and falling, accompanied with the quiet gasps of an attempt to stifle crying. Too many memories, too much regret, too much of everything all at once. She knew she couldn’t bear this much longer. She needed this mental torture to end.

She needed change. She would change.

This time, instead of retreating back to sleep, like a coward, Marya propped herself up on her shoulders and rested her back against her pillows in an upright position. Overcome with an iron-willed determination, she shut her eyes and conjured up a memory long-suppressed within her mind.

It was a stagnant and tepid moonless night the last time she spoke to Audrey. Marya didn’t know why Audrey had insisted on taking a walk at this hour, especially in this feverish weather. It was probably because she would be leaving tomorrow morning for her first year at university. Marya sighed, annoyed, as Audrey rambled on about something wildy insignificant. Suddenly, she asked a question that Marya didn’t know the answer to. She paused, lost in thought, before giving a simple dismissive “mhm” and continuing onwards.

“What do you mean? I asked you what you thought.”

Marya remembered wanting to groan. The humid air hung low around them, stifling any passing breezes and leaving the two drenched in their own sweat. The hot air was uncomfortable. Irritating. Suffocating.

“Well I don’t know dear,” she replied absentmindedly. She didn’t feel like engaging in conversation with her daughter. She decided to tell the truth. “I wasn’t paying attention because I didn’t feel like it was very important.”

Audrey halted, an expression of hurt bewilderment on her face. “What?”

“You heard me. All you do is complain and complain. I’m tired of listening to you, you spoiled girl.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do. You complain about moving away, going to some college that no one’s ever heard about or cared about. Is that my fault?” Marya snapped. “No. It was yours. You had one job, and it was securing your future. You couldn’t even do that.”

Audrey still hadn’t moved from where she stopped, her face flushed a deep red.

“That’s not true, mom. I can easily get better grades. No one really cares about prestige anymore, anyways.”

Internally, Marya knew that her daughter was telling the truth. But she didn’t want to abide by reason. She just couldn’t stand being corrected, especially by her own daughter.

“I don’t care. You have been nothing but the source of my disappointment since you were born.” Enraged, Marya found that she couldn’t stop herself. “You’re the most ungrateful, wasteful, brat I’ve met.”

Audrey let out a loud, humorless laugh. “God, no wonder dad left you! You’re just so miserable to be around. You’re never proud of me, you never encourage me, you never do anything. I hate you.” Audrey’s voice was heavy with hurt.

Marya stared hard into her eyes and retaliated bitterly. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I always wished to have a child, but aside from meeting your father and getting stuck in a loveless marriage for years, you were the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

Audrey didn’t say anything. She only looked at Marya for a few moments before wiping the tears from her cheeks and turning around to walk home. Marya trailed her a few paces back in silence, feeling as if she should apologize, but remaining quiet in spite of herself. She remembered watching Audrey leave before dawn from the kitchen window, with the only goodbye between them being a long look of unspoken words. That was the last gaze they shared.

Marya returned to the present. In the dim light of her room, she reached for a pen and paper from the chair beside her and began writing diligently, with great focus and intent. She remained there as the hours passed and night slipped away, her pen filling page after page. Finally, Marya’s work was complete. She folded the sheets of paper together, tucked them into an envelope, and scrawled Audrey’s last known address on the back in hopes for a nurse to discover in a few hours.

Her life was full of regret. But she hoped that this could mend what she had ruined so many years ago. At last, Marya smiled and breathed for a final time as the sky’s inky navy and indigo streaks blended into the hues of the warm golden sunrise.