Cara | Part Three "Mommy?" Cara coughed into her sleeve, the one she could move. Hovering over her was her mother, concern painting her face. The woman's loose black curls fell into her eyes, and she pushed them back. "Baby, what happened?" She breathed. Cara sucked in a deep breath. Her mother wasn't the caring sort. Ella Machiavelli, mother of two, was the kind of woman who loved herself, and only herself. She only cared about her looks, her precious clothing, and of course, her cat Leotard. She was not made to be a mother. But she was one, anyway, and Cara was stuck with her. Cara tried to talk, but out came a weak croak of an answer. Her mother put her hands on her hips, impatient. "Well, talk already." Car tried to touch her throat with her left hand, which was surprisingly undamaged, trying to motion that she had no voice to speak. "I need you to answer me, Carabella. This isn't time for the silent treatment." Cara widened her eyes, frustrated and angry, when someone tore open the hospital curtains beside her bed. The loud ripping noise gave Cara a pounding headache, and she touched her head in agony, groaning. "Are you this chick's mom?" came an unfamiliar voice from the place beside Cara's bed. Cara could not turn to see the face that matched the voice. Her neck was in a thick cast. However, she listened intently. "Erm, yes," Ella replied. "I am her mother. Who might you be?" There was a careful, cold silence. "Well, ma'am," the voice said finally. It was a female's voice, Cara decided. "You see, I am the girl in the truck that plowed this girl's car down."