Kian had been in a coma for almost 4 months now. One Friday afternoon in May, Siobhán had decided to take him to the playground near his school, as it had been a beautiful day and she knew the playground would be a nice treat for him. Being such a friendly and uninhibited child, he had gotten involved in a game of football with a group of children almost as soon as they arrived, and she had gone to sit with a gaggle of other mothers on the picnic benches by the railings. She could have a chat with them and keep an eye on her son at the same time; it was perfect.
All was well for a good hour or so; but Siobhán's nightmare began as she saw the ball with which the children were playing go sailing toward the busy road. A few children began to chase it, but Kian was the fastest persuer and soon took the lead. Siobhán's heart was in her mouth as she surged to her feet and screamed after him to stop, but he was to engaged in his task to hear her frantic yells. She took off after him, her shabby trainers pounding the grass as she raced to her son. But it was too late; her heart stopped as she saw him run out onto the road, straight into the path of an oncoming car. The screech of brakes shattered her eardrums as she watched the car swerve to avoid her child, but there was no time. She saw his fear-stricken face as he screamed and tried to run back towards her, just as the nose of the car slammed into his jersey-clad back; forcing him to the ground as the heavy, skidding wheels careered over his tiny broken body.
Siobhán choked back a sob as she relived the accident. She had cradled his battered body as the ambulance roared to a stop at the scene, and sobbed as her heart broke, watching the paramedics attempt to resuscitate her baby. She had held his bloodied hand as she rode with him to the hospital, and fell into Ben's arms when he arrived, frantic with fear and horror. They hadn't left the hospital since.