Jane's POV
The monitor's heartbeat pulse and distant thrum of the hospital night surgery were thin solace as I lay in my hospital bed, my mind a thousand miles removed from the antiseptic white room that imprisoned me. The slow crawling of hours ticked by with Damien's visits and Mae's diagnostic fault-hunting, and my mind wandered on currents of memory I had so valiantly striven to keep still.
It had started out as a flash…a quick, ugly glimpse at a small, cozy kitchen in which I sat on a tall stool and watched my mother. I could still feel the kindness of her smile as she moved the soup pot, her hands slow and effortless. The coziness of the memory was colliding with the bitter sting of the present. I clutched the frayed blanket to me, holding close to myself that moment of tenderness,
