Finding a way back to her!

Freen sat alone in her office, her body heavy with exhaustion. The day had been relentless—evaluations, consultations, and the ever-growing weight of Ben’s condition resting squarely on her shoulders. Her white coat hung neatly on the back of her chair, her tablet propped up on the desk as she poured over Ben’s medical records. Every line, every image of his scans confirmed what she already knew: the surgery was going to be delicate, intricate, and urgent. Her focus was sharp, but her mind lingered on the boy’s resilience, his mischievous grin, and the gap between his teeth.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the quiet with the precision of a scalpel. Freen’s eyes remained on the screen. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Freen heard the voice before she saw the face—a voice she hadn’t heard in years, a voice that immediately froze her in place.

“You asked me to come and see you.”

The cold, hollow tone was unmistakable, but it lacked the warmth and lightness Freen remembered so clearly. She turned slowly, her breath catching as her eyes landed on her. Standing stiffly by the door was Becky Armstrong, her posture weary, her gaze focused somewhere in the distance—not at Freen. Her presence filled the room like an unanswered question, heavy and suffocating.

Freen blinked, trying to steady herself. “Becky...” The name hung in the air, fragile and hesitant. “You are…”

Becky finally looked at her, though there was no recognition in her expression—only emptiness. “Ben’s mom,” she said, her voice clipped. “Ben Armstrong.”

Freen’s heart clenched at the name, but she forced herself to remain professional. She gestured toward the chair across from her desk. “Sit down.”

Becky hesitated before stepping forward and lowering herself into the chair. Her movements were stiff, mechanical. She didn’t make eye contact, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Freen glanced at the tablet, keeping her tone clinical. “Ben’s condition requires immediate surgery. He has a congenital defect that, left untreated, will worsen significantly. The operation is complex but manageable. I’ve already mapped the procedure.”

Becky nodded faintly, saying nothing.

“The cost,” Freen continued, her fingers typing briefly on the tablet before looking up, “will be substantial due to the resources and expertise required.”

Becky’s head tilted slightly at the mention of cost, her lips pressing into a thin line. “How much?”

Freen named the amount, her voice steady. Becky’s reaction was immediate—her shoulders tensed, her hands gripping her knees. “I…” Becky faltered, then exhaled sharply. “I’ll get it ready.”

Without another word, Becky stood, her movements abrupt. “Thank you, Dr. Sarocha,” she said formally, her voice void of emotion. “I’ll be in touch.”

Freen watched as Becky left the room, her hollow presence lingering like a shadow. This wasn’t the Becky she remembered—the fiery, lively girl who could light up a room with her laughter. The woman she had just seen was a ghost of that memory, drained and distant. Freen leaned back in her chair, staring at the door long after Becky had closed it behind her.

---

The emptiness of the room was soon replaced by rage as Freen pieced everything together. Nam knew—she had known all along. She had orchestrated this without telling Freen the truth. The thought of Becky’s hollow gaze twisted something deep inside her. Without a second thought, Freen stormed out of her office and headed straight to Nam’s. Her footsteps echoed sharply through the corridor, her mind racing with fury.

She didn’t bother knocking when she reached Nam’s office, flinging the door open with enough force to rattle the frame. Nam, who had been typing something on her computer, looked up in alarm. “Freen? What—”

“You knew,” Freen interrupted, her voice sharp and unyielding. “You knew Ben was Becky’s son.”

Nam leaned back, her expression cautious. “I did.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Freen snapped, her fists clenched. “You thought I wouldn’t figure it out?”

Nam stood, holding her hands out in a placating gesture. “Freen, listen—”

“No,” Freen said, her tone colder than ice. “You manipulated me into coming here, knowing exactly what this would do.”

Nam exhaled, her tone soft but firm. “I didn’t tell you because if I had, you wouldn’t have come. And Ben… Ben deserves a chance, Freen. He needs you.”

Freen glared at her, her chest heaving as emotion threatened to crack through her carefully constructed walls. “You had no right.”

“I had every right,” Nam argued, her voice rising slightly. “You left Thailand because of Becky. I know that. But Freen, this isn’t about her. It’s about saving a child’s life. I couldn’t risk you walking away.”

Freen’s fists tightened at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The weight of the moment was unbearable, but she refused to crumble—not here, not now. “You think this is just about me walking away?” she asked, her voice trembling faintly despite her effort to remain composed. “This is about you lying to me.”

Nam stepped closer, her voice softening again. “I didn’t lie. I kept the truth from you because it was the only way. Freen, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Freen felt like the ground beneath her was shifting, her chest tight with the storm brewing inside her. She wanted to yell, to argue, to crumble under the weight of it all. But instead, she stood frozen, her breathing shallow.

Nam watched her closely, concern etched on her face. “Freen, are you okay?”

“I have to go,” Freen said abruptly, turning and leaving the room without another word.

---

Freen returned to her office, closing the door behind her and leaning against it for support. Her hands trembled slightly as she tried to collect herself. She couldn’t fall apart now—not with Ben’s life in her hands. She had to remain professional, had to separate the chaos of her past from the urgency of the present. But as she sat back at her desk, her mind lingered on Becky’s hollow gaze, on the woman who had once been her closest friend and who now felt like a stranger.

Freen exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus on Ben’s file. She would save him. That much she knew. But the storm raging inside her was far from over.