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Three-year-old girls believe in fairies and in magic and they believe the power of their mum's kiss will make everything all right.
Nia Wallace was just such a believing little girl. The Auckland pre-schooler was a bright sparky charmer, adored by her older brother and sister, advanced for her tender years as youngest children tend to be.
But Nia now spends her weeks in a rehabilitation centre, learning to walk and talk all over again. In February, she discovered that her mother Priscilla's kiss was no protection against a teenager in a speeding car.
The day life changed for the Wallace family began much as any other. Nia's father, Gavin, a drain inspector, was at work while Priscilla, a part-time nanny, spent the day with Nia. The older children, Chase, 8, and Anais, 6, were at school, returning home shortly after 3pm, as usual. By about 3.20pm, the Wallace girls and their mother stood by their letterbox in their quiet, suburban street in Torbay with neighbourhood friend Elizabeth Pennington, her two granddaughters, Brittany and Dominique, and another 8-year-old girl. Everyone was excited: it was the first day of 10-year-old Brittany Pennington's new job, delivering the local newspaper.
Suddenly, the sound of a revving car could be heard on the street. The group scattered as an out-of-control Toyota Celica, driven by a 15-year-old learner driver, hurtled towards them, crashing through a gap between their fence and a tree. Priscilla Wallace, powerless to protect Anais and Nia, just had time to yell, "Run"!
Seconds later, Nia's tiny body lay on the front lawn - she had taken the full force of the car as it skidded on to the property, hurling her across the bonnet and smashing her head on the windshield. She landed on the ground, bleeding, her skull fractured.
Anais had tripped in the panic, knocking out a tooth and grazing her body. She was taken to hospital with Elizabeth Pennington and the 8-year-old friend, to be treated for their relatively minor injuries.
Nia wasn't so lucky. At first Priscilla didn't realise her younger daughter was badly injured. She had not seen the impact of the car.
"I saw her lying on the ground. I thought she'd be all right."
But the severity of Nia's condition was confirmed when the ambulance medic, mistaking her gender, said she was "a very sick little boy".
Priscilla and Gavin spent the next 10 days at Ronald McDonald House while Nia, in a coma, fought for her life in intensive care at Starship with severe head injuries. Three days after the accident, blood clots began to form in her brain.
"They thought she was all right to begin with," says Priscilla.
Two strokes left the right side of Nia's body weak and uncoordinated, the left side of her face clearly affected. Priscilla doesn't know the details of Nia's injuries.
"I've been given the reports but it's all... I'm just not ready," she says. "My husband knows exactly what happened but I don't want to know. I'd rather get her well."
Nia spent the next six weeks in Starship. A shunt, which she will have for the rest of her life, was inserted to drain cerebral fluid from her brain. When the shunt became infected, she had to undergo brain surgery to clear it. Each time it becomes blocked or infected her skull will have to be cut open, putting her life at risk again.
Before the accident, Nia was a bright, confident little girl; doted on by family and their friends. She loved jumping on her trampoline, riding her bike and her favourite dress-up outfit was a fairy dress. Now Nia faces a long period of physiotherapy just to learn to walk again. Her eyes are damaged, with some vision loss, particularly in the left eye. No one knows how much healing time she will need or whether she will require further surgery. She has suffered some hearing loss, but again, how much it will return - if at all - is unknown.
Priscilla has given up her nanny job to devote her time to getting her child well again. After Starship, Nia moved to Takapuna's Wilson Home, a specialist facility for children, where she still lives today.
Her mother arrives daily at around 10am, after dropping Chase and Anais at school. Nia waits in her wheelchair, greeting her with a happy smile and excited giggles. She turns the pages of a selection of colourful board books on the tray of her chair while Priscilla gets an update from Wilson Home staff on how Nia's night was.
Today, as Priscilla talks to the Herald on Sunday about her daughter's progress, Nia is tired and grumpy, not her usual happy self - but for good reason.
She has just had her first visit home since the accident. It's an important milestone: she is now allowed to spend Saturday nights at home.
A nurse comes and asks Nia whether she'd like chocolate milk, or whether she'd prefer strawberry. Nia points to the strawberry but, then refuses with the contrariness of a 3-year-old to drink it. She keens tearlessly while Priscilla patiently encourages her to drink the specially fortified milk.
"It's good for you," she says gently.
After drinking her milk, it's time for Nia to go to physio. She gets about two hours a day, first in the mornings, then in the afternoons after lunch, depending on how tired she is.
A play specialist teaches her to do the things 3-year-olds do and that Nia should now be learning in kindy: painting, jigsaws. A speech therapist works on her talking.
When Nia goes down for her afternoon nap, Priscilla leaves to pick up Chase and Anais and tries to keep the family routine going for them.
Nia's progress from the limp, quiet child who was first admitted to The Wilson Home gives her family great hope for the future.
"She wasn't talking, she was very quiet. She sat in her wheelchair and lay all the way back; her head on one side. Now, she can sit up by herself.
Words are coming: before [the accident], she was coherent."
Nia's very young age is strongly in her favour. Although she has to regain the milestones already reached - from walking and talking to toilet training - she is still young enough to relearn it all. And there's some excellent news.
"There's no intellectual impairment," says Priscilla. "Over the past few weeks, we've been realising that ourselves and that's been a huge light at the end of the tunnel."
Day by day, Nia is doing more and more for herself. Just a week or so ago, she refused to eat her lunch, only to pick up the spoon when her mother put it down. She simply wanted to feed herself.
"Speech and movement and her right arm and hand - that wasn't moving at all before. To see her picking things up and seeing her turn pages in a book is like, 'wow'."
The spark of the confident, lively little girl she once was is still there. Nia smiles as she looks at the pictures of Winnie the Pooh in her board book. She giggles when she notices a character is wearing a purple shirt, just like she is. She concentrates on her fingers as she fiddles with the tassels of her pink belt, carefully separating one strand from the others. Only someone who knows her well would notice she uses her left hand, rather than her right.
"Her prognosis? Time will tell. We feel confident that the damage is motor control. She's going to have to learn to run again, jump on the tramp," Priscilla says.
But much of the damage to Nia is visible and Priscilla fears for her future.
"A lot of people assume she's mentally disabled, and she's not. We do worry about that. To think that before I had a near-perfect little girl; well, I call her perfect, but no-one's perfect; she was a good little girl... extra, extra special..."
Priscilla is dry-eyed as she talks about Nia but admits to tears when alone.
"I've wanted to get on with it. I don't want to waste time with the sympathy. There was a time for that. Now it's time to move on. I can't change that day, no matter how much I wish I could."
The older children, who were there on that February day, have dealt with the changes in the family in different ways. Chase, who came out of the house to see his injured sisters, refuses to talk about it.
"He'd rather block it out. He doesn't want to talk about it."
Anais will talk about the accident but is too frightened to stand outside the family home, cautious even leaving the front door, always listening for cars.
"She's a frightened rabbit really. She won't go to the mailbox anymore; she used to collect the mail."
Priscilla is too focused on Nia to think too much about the accident. When she heard the high-pitched revving of the car that day, she had no prescience of the disaster it heralded for her family.
"There was a revving in the car, it wasn't normal; it was high-pitched and I knew something wasn't right. I said 'run'! - not thinking he was going to hit us, but just in case.
"The gap he got through, a tiny gap between the tree and a fence, was very small. But he did it."
Priscilla is reluctant to discuss the teenager who is before the Youth Court. There have been family group conferences and she accepts his expressions of remorse. "We feel for him and his family were remorseful and regret what's happened. They seem genuine about it."
Gavin Wallace gave a talk at assembly at the boy's school, to bring home to students the effects a single bad decision can have. For some weeks, he gave up his job because the travelling took him away from the family. But working part-time wasn't bringing in enough money and he's returned to full-time work nearer home.
Long Bay Primary School has held fundraisers for the family and the community has been hugely supportive but it's been a struggle.
"I haven't had time to feel anger yet," says Priscilla. "I will in time. For me, I haven't wanted to waste any time thinking about him. My focus has been on Nia, getting her well and getting her home. Our goal is to have her home for her birthday."
Nia turns 4 on August 18.
Donations to the Nia Wallace Recovery Fund can be made at any ASB branch. The account is: 012 3026 00408200 00.
