Allright... here's the next part!!! My favourite so far, even if not that significant. Well, maybe it is... *shrugs* You'll have to find out for yourselves. - - - - - - - August 1991 I sat behind the wheel of my rusty old car, humming along to the radio. It was my quiet time, away from the incessant complaints of my pateints. Time for me, my baby... and an old memory. John. I never regretted running away. He would never know about our son, and for that I was thankful. I could take care of my baby myself; Joanna showed me that. She had twins all by herself, and was raising them with a smile and a hug for both her daughters every day. Surely if Jo was that strong, I could be like that. Lost in my own thoughts, I didn't even realize how close I was to the center line. A loud honking made me look up just seconds before I hit the solid concrete. I turned the wheel, slamming the brakes. My heart was racing, and the only thing I could thing of was my baby. The next moments were all a blur. The car spun on the road, landing in the ditch with a sickening crunch. For a moment, time stood still as the world blackened. The last thing I remembered was a squeezing pain across my belly. I woke up in a hospital somewhere, unable to remember what happened. I choked on a tube, and gasped for breath as it was pulled out. I fel a pair of arms wrap around me, and I knew it was Jo. "Where's my baby?" I asked faintly, "Is he allright?" Joanna didn't say anything. She bit her lip, looked down, and I saw tears run down her cheeks. "No," I whispered, shaking my head in denial, "No!" I pushed her away and glanced all around the room, praying it was a mistake. My son was strong. I'd felt him kicking and fighting to come out. Surely an accident couldn't have... Surely he wasn't... No. It was true. My son was dead. And all I wanted to do right then was have John take me in his arms and cry with me.