Kat stirred, the faint awareness of her body pulling her from the fog of sleep. She blinked, her vision blurry, the ceiling above her coming into focus. Something wasn't right—there was an uncomfortable warmth, a sticky sensation that made her shift slightly in the bed.

The smell hit her next, faint but unmistakable. Her stomach twisted in embarrassment as she realized what it was. She'd made a big mess in her diaper.

Her lips parted, the words tangled in her throat. She wanted to call out, to make someone understand, but her voice was weak and uncooperative. "M-m... mommy," she managed to mumble, the sound soft and uneven. She tried again, pushing harder. "Mom... mom."

Her mom's face appeared in her line of sight almost immediately, her expression full of concern. "Baby girl, what is it? What's wrong, Kat?"

Kat's heart raced. She struggled to lift her arm, her hand trembling as she tried to point. It felt like moving through quicksand, every muscle resisting her, but she managed it.

Her mom followed the movement of her hand, her eyes softening in understanding. "Oh, I see, honey," she said gently, her voice soothing. She leaned over, lifting Kat's hospital gown with care.

Her mom's expression didn't change—no disgust, no judgment, just calm reassurance. "Don't you worry," she said softly. "Let's get the nurses to help, okay?"

She pressed the call button, her voice steady as she spoke into the intercom. "We need some assistance in here, please."

A few moments later, two nurses entered the room, their smiles kind and practiced. "Good morning, Kat," one of them said warmly. "Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart."

Kat's cheeks burned with shame, but she couldn't say anything. She lay still as the nurses worked, their hands gentle and efficient. They spoke softly, almost as if they knew how vulnerable she felt.

"It's okay, Kat," one of them murmured. "You're doing so well, sweetheart."

They removed her soiled diaper, cleaned her carefully, and then prepared her for a shower. The hoist clicked and whirred as they transferred her, wrapping her in a soft towel for the short trip to the bathroom.



Kat's mom followed closely, her presence a quiet comfort. She brushed a strand of hair from Kat's forehead, her touch light. "You're such a good girl, Kat," she said softly. "We'll have you feeling fresh in no time."

Kat's mind swirled as the nurses began their work, lowering her into the warm spray of the shower. The water flowed over her skin, washing away the mess and tension. The rhythmic sound of the shower filled the room, steady and calming, but Kat's thoughts began to drift.

Something was stirring in the depths of her memory, a flicker of something sharp and vivid.

Rain.

Sheets of it pounding against the windshield, each drop hammering with relentless force. Kat could almost feel the vibration of it, the way the wipers struggled to keep up, smearing the water more than clearing it. She was gripping the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white, her heart thudding in her chest.

The darkness outside was oppressive, broken only by the glow of oncoming headlights. They streaked across her vision like comets, making it harder to see. She remembered leaning forward, squinting, trying to focus on the slick, glistening road ahead.

Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. She'd glanced at it—just for a moment. A message from Ava. She didn't even open it, but the distraction was enough.

The car in front of her braked suddenly, its taillights flaring red like a warning sign. Kat's foot slammed on the brake pedal, but the tires didn't catch. She remembered the sound—a horrible, screeching whine as the car hydroplaned, the steering wheel jerking in her hands.

No, no, no!

Her heart raced as she tried to regain control, but the car spun wildly. The world outside became a blur, the rain and lights blending into a chaotic swirl. She could hear the honk of a horn—close, too close—and the scream of tires against wet asphalt.

Her body tensed, bracing for impact, but she couldn't tell where it would come from. The car spun again, her vision tilting, the seatbelt digging into her shoulder. A flash of light—headlights—filled her window.

And then... silence. A heavy, suffocating silence.

No. Not silence. There were sounds, faint and distant. The patter of rain on metal. The muffled wail of sirens growing louder, cutting through the night. Her chest ached, her head pounded, and everything felt... wrong.

Kat's memory blurred after that, the details dissolving into a fog. She tried to remember more, to grasp at the fragments, but the scene slipped through her fingers like sand.

Her eyes blinked open, and the memory vanished, yanked away as she was thrust back into the present.

The nurses were still there, their hands moving gently but efficiently as they washed her. Kat was dangling in the hoist, the warm spray of the shower cascading over her body. The harness supported her weight entirely, leaving her limp and helpless, like a child.

She wanted to flinch as one of the nurses moved closer, her touch deliberate and clinical as she cleaned between Kat's thighs. But she couldn't move. The hoist held her in place, her legs spread just enough to make her feel exposed.

Her cheeks burned, the humiliation thick and suffocating, but there was nothing she could do. She was utterly dependent on them, her body no longer her own.

The nurse's voice was soft, almost cheerful, as if to put Kat at ease. "You're doing great, Kat. Just a little more, and we'll have you all clean, sweetheart."

Kat tried to respond, but her tongue felt heavy, her mind still reeling from the memory. The rain, the spinning, the headlights—it was all so vivid, and yet it felt like a dream, distant and unreal.

Her mom stood nearby, watching with a soft, reassuring smile. "You're okay, baby girl," she said gently. "Mommy's right here."

Kat's lips parted, the word forming slowly, almost involuntarily. "M-mom... mommy," she whimpered, her voice small and childlike.

Her mom's smile softened, and she stepped closer, brushing a damp strand of hair from Kat's forehead. "I'm here, sweetheart. You're safe."

The nurses finished their work, drying her off with care before securing a clean diaper around her. The warmth of it felt strangely comforting, a stark contrast to the cold ache left behind by her memory.

As the nurses lifted Kat from the hoist and settled her into her chair, her mind was still a storm of fragments—rain pounding against glass, the screech of tires, the blinding flash of headlights. The haunting echoes clung to her, refusing to fade as the present tugged her back with its own weight of helplessness.

The chair's padded surface felt unfamiliar beneath her, and the gentle pats of the towel against her damp skin reminded her she was still here—still dependent on others for every little thing. Kat's body felt like an anchor, heavy and unresponsive, as the nurses wrapped her in a soft, clean gown.

"Let's get you comfy in bed, sweetheart," one of them murmured, their tone kind as they maneuvered the chair toward the bedside.

With practiced care, they transferred Kat from the chair back into her bed, her body limp in their hands. As they adjusted the pillows and pulled the blanket snugly over her, Kat stared at the ceiling, her thoughts sluggish and clouded.

The rain. The spinning. The sirens. They were still there, hovering at the edges of her mind, mixing with the lingering sting of her humiliation. She wanted to push it all away, but it stuck to her like a shadow she couldn't shake.

"There we go, nice and cozy," her mom said softly, brushing Kat's hair back with a tender hand. But even her mother's touch couldn't fully anchor Kat, the weight of the flashback and the reality of her circumstances bearing down on her like a storm.

Kat blinked slowly, her lips parting as if to speak, but all that came out was a garbled sound, a string of incomprehensible syllables mixed with a faint, wet cough. Drool slipped from the corner of her mouth, dribbling onto her chin.

Her mom chuckled softly, reaching for a tissue to dab at her daughter's face. "Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. Take your time," she said, her tone full of patience.

Kat's head lolled slightly to the side, and she tried again, the effort visible in the furrow of her brow. "Mm-muh... buh... t-to... mmuh," she babbled, the sounds nonsensical and childlike.

"Yes, sweetheart," her mom said, her smile unwavering. "You're trying so hard. Mommy's so proud of you." She kissed Kat's forehead lightly.

Her mom adjusted the blanket around Kat, smoothing it over her lap. "Listen, baby girl. Someone's coming in to see you today," she said gently. "It's a nice person—a specialist. They're going to see how you're doing, help us figure out some ways to make things better for you, okay?"

Kat's lips moved again, but the response was a jumble of mumbles and faint grunts, accompanied by another string of drool.

Her mom laughed softly. "Oh, sweetheart, I know. It sounds confusing, doesn't it? But don't you worry. I'll be right here with you the whole time."

A soft knock came at the door, interrupting the moment. Her mom turned her head, her smile brightening. "Oh, look, honey. Here they are."

The door opened slowly, and a woman stepped inside, her face kind and professional, a clipboard tucked under one arm. She wore a soft lavender blouse under her white coat, her eyes scanning the room before settling on Kat with a gentle smile.

"Good morning," the specialist said warmly. "You must be Katherine."

Kat blinked at her, her lips twitching as if to form a response, but all that came out was a faint gurgle.

Her mom stood, extending a hand to the specialist. "Hi, I'm Laura, her mom. It's so nice to meet you."

The specialist shook her hand, her movements calm and deliberate. "It's lovely to meet you too, Laura. And hello, Katherine," she repeated, stepping closer to the bed. "May I sit here?"

She gestured to the chair beside Kat's bed.

Her mom glanced at Kat, stroking her arm. "What do you think, baby girl? Is that okay?"

Kat's gaze shifted slowly, her eyelids heavy, and a faint sound escaped her lips. It was impossible to tell if it was agreement or just a random noise, but her mom nodded anyway. "I think she's saying yes."

The specialist smiled again and pulled the chair closer, settling in beside Kat. "Alright, Katherine," she said softly. "We're going to take things nice and slow. No rush, no pressure. I'm just here to learn about you and see how we can help. How does that sound?"

Kat's lips quivered, another incoherent string of sounds tumbling out, her drool dampening the front of her gown again.

The specialist glanced at Laura, her smile reassuring. "We'll take it one step at a time."

The specialist moved closer, adjusting Kat's position slightly in her chair, ensuring she was comfortably supported. Leaning in just enough to make eye contact, she offered a gentle smile.

"Hello, Katherine. May I call you Katherine?" the specialist asked, her voice calm and measured.

Kat didn't respond. Her head lolled slightly to one side, her lips parted as a thin string of drool escaped, darkening the fabric of her gown. She stared past the specialist, her gaze unfocused, lost in her own foggy world.

Laura, ever attentive, stepped forward, her tone warm but firm. "She prefers Kat. Kat is fine," she said as she reached for a wipe, carefully dabbing at the drool on her daughter's chin.

"There we go, sweetheart," Laura murmured, her touch gentle but steady. She smiled at Kat, though her heart ached as she met her daughter's vacant expression.

The specialist nodded, jotting something in her notebook before glancing back at Kat. "Kat it is, then," she said, her voice bright but unhurried. "Kat, I'm here to learn more about you, to see how you're feeling and what we can do to help.

The specialist glanced at her clipboard, the corners of her mouth lifting in encouragement as she addressed Kat again. "Okay, Kat, we're going to try a few little exercises, just to see how you're feeling today. There's no pressure—just do your best, okay?"

Kat blinked slowly, her gaze wandering to the edge of her chair before drifting back to the specialist. Her mouth opened slightly as if to speak, but no sound came.

Laura crouched beside her daughter, placing a reassuring hand on her knee. "You're doing great, sweetheart," she said softly.

The specialist leaned in again, her tone bright and engaging. "Alright, Kat, here's the first one. I want you to tell me as many words as you can think of when I say the word... 'beach.' Take your time."

Kat's face twitched, her lips pressing together as she stared blankly at the specialist. Her brows furrowed slightly, her eyes searching the room as if trying to pluck the word out of the air.

Laura offered another smile. "It's okay, baby. Just try."

After several long moments, Kat's lips moved, her voice a soft, uneven murmur. "Sunnnny," she managed, drawing the word out as if testing each syllable.

The specialist's face lit up. "Sunny! That's a wonderful word, Kat. Good job!"

Encouraged, Kat's brow furrowed in concentration again. Her lips parted, and she softly added, "Hot."

"Great! That's two already," the specialist said warmly, jotting notes on her clipboard. "Can you think of another one, Kat? You're doing so well."

Kat's breathing grew slightly heavier as she thought hard, her head tilting faintly to one side. After a long pause, she mumbled, "Sand."

The specialist beamed. "Sand! That's fantastic, Kat. You're doing an amazing job."

Laura wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her voice trembling with pride. "That's my girl," she whispered.

The specialist looked between mother and daughter, her smile softening. "This is very promising," she said, making a few more notes. "Kat, you're working so hard, and that's what matters. Shall we keep going with another exercise, or do you want a little break?"

Kat didn't respond right away, her head drooping slightly as if the effort had taken all her energy. Laura gently brushed a strand of hair from Kat's face. "A little break, maybe?" she suggested.

The specialist nodded. "Of course. Let's give her a moment." She turned to Laura with an encouraging smile. "She's doing really well, you know. I can see the effort she's putting in, even if it's hard for her."

Laura nodded, her fingers brushing over Kat's hand. "She's always been a fighter," she said quietly, her voice full of love.

The specialist turned her attention to Laura, her tone gentle but professional. "May I ask, Mom, has Kat been verbal at all? Has she managed to put many words together or form coherent sentences?"

Laura hesitated, her gaze drifting toward Kat, who lay propped up in bed, her body cradled by soft pillows and a thick blanket. Kat's head was tilted slightly to the side, her eyes half-lidded but alert enough to catch the movement in the room. A faint string of drool glistened at the corner of her mouth, and Laura, ever watchful, leaned forward to dab it away with a tissue.

Kat's eyes flicked to her mother, catching the faint downturn of Laura's lips as she frowned.

"No," Laura said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. "She struggles with even the pronunciation of one word. It's... it's like her brain just can't find the words, and when it does, her mouth won't cooperate."

The specialist nodded understandingly, offering a reassuring smile. "That's completely normal for someone with the extent of brain damage that Kat has. Speech, especially coherent sentences, can be one of the most affected areas." She glanced down at her clipboard, then back at Laura. "But it doesn't mean we stop trying. Progress, however small, is still progress."

Laura's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Do you think she could improve? Even just a little?"

"There's always hope for improvement," the specialist said kindly, her tone steady but cautious. "But we can't push her too hard. From my assessment so far, she seems very limited in her abilities right now. It's going to take time, patience, and a lot of support."

Laura nodded, swallowing hard as she reached for Kat's hand. "We'll do whatever it takes. She's my whole world."

The specialist smiled softly. "And that love and commitment make all the difference. Kat may not be able to express it, but having you by her side is a huge part of her healing journey."

Kat watched them silently, her gaze flicking between their faces. Though she couldn't fully grasp the conversation, she could sense the weight of their words and the emotion in her mother's voice.

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