“Oh my, we were afraid of that,” Sister Mary Beatrice sighed. “When you didn’t wake up for so long…and with the head trauma…well…we just don’t know. There is a nice police officer who has been coming by every day. He said that you didn’t have any identification with you when you were hit by the car. At least, none that they could find.”

A movement by the door caught her attention. In strode a man in a blue uniform as if he was walking into his own home. His hazel eyes took in everything in a split second, the nun standing at her bedside and his accident victim sitting up in the hospital bed.

He hesitated before saying, “Hello, I am Officer Montoya. I am the investigating officer for your accident.”

“I…I don’t…remember…I can’t remember…” She buried her face in her hands, silent tears coursing down her cheeks.

Montoya looked at Sister Mary Beatrice helplessly. He could handle traffic accidents and screaming victims, but her mute sobs unmanned him.