Finding a way back to her!

The pediatric ward was illuminated with warm lighting, its cheerful murals and plush toys scattered in various corners creating a facade of ease in a place that dealt with life-and-death decisions. Freen Sarocha entered Ben’s room, her movements precise and deliberate as always. She had grown used to the boy’s infectious energy during her daily visits, though her own demeanor remained as measured as ever. Freen wasn’t the type to let emotions interfere with her actions, yet Ben’s mischievous grin and boundless curiosity somehow tugged at something buried deep within her—a part she had long thought dormant.

As she stepped into the room, Ben looked up from his bed, where a miniature construction set was spread out before him. His face lit up the moment he saw her. “Dr. Serious!” he exclaimed, waving one of the plastic cranes in her direction.

“It’s Dr. Freen,” she corrected, pulling a chair beside his bed. “And I prefer punctuality over fanfare.”

Ben scrunched up his nose, pretending to ponder her words. “What’s ‘punctuality’? Is that a dinosaur?”

“It’s a characteristic,” Freen replied. “It means being on time.”

“Hmm.” Ben tilted his head as if seriously considering this information, then grinned. “You’re just making words up, aren’t you?”

“I assure you,” Freen said, adjusting her glasses, “I do not fabricate vocabulary.”

“You sure sound like you do!” Ben teased, waving his crane around like it was a sword. “You use all these big words like they’re dinosaurs. But that’s okay because dinosaurs are awesome.”

“I fail to see the connection,” Freen replied matter-of-factly, though her lips twitched faintly.

Ben giggled and leaned forward, holding up the crane. “Look! This one’s even cooler than my velociraptor. Wanna drive it?”

“I do not drive toys,” Freen answered, her tone as neutral as ever. “My expertise lies in operating on hearts, not machinery.”

“That’s boring!” Ben said, throwing up his hands dramatically. “What if the crane has a heart?”

“An inanimate object cannot possess a heart,” Freen replied, folding her arms. “It is neither organic nor sentient.”

Ben stared at her, his jaw hanging open in mock horror. “Dr. Serious, you’re too smart for your own good! How do you even have fun?”

“Fun is a subjective concept,” Freen said without missing a beat. “I prioritize efficiency.”

Ben collapsed into a fit of laughter, rolling on the bed. “You’re so weird, Dr. Serious.”

“It’s Dr. Freen,” she corrected again, though this time her tone was softer.

---

The laughter and chatter filled the room, but Freen couldn’t help noticing Becky’s continued absence. Every day she had visited, it had been the same—Becky would leave for work, returning only later in the evening, often looking exhausted. Freen’s curiosity about Becky’s life had grown, though she kept her questions tightly locked away. It wasn’t her place to pry.

Still, the thought tugged at her. She watched Ben chatter animatedly about his toy collection, and a sudden question emerged from her lips. “Ben,” she said, interrupting his story, “where’s your father?”

Ben paused mid-sentence, looking puzzled. “My dad?” He tilted his head as if the idea itself was foreign. “I don’t have a dad.”

Freen blinked. “You don’t know who your father is?”

Ben shrugged casually, like it wasn’t something he’d ever given much thought. “Nope. It’s just me and Mom. Always has been.”

The boy returned to playing with his toys without a second thought, but Freen’s chest tightened. The revelation felt like a punch to the gut. Becky, raising a son alone, working tirelessly, barely having time to breathe. And Ben, so innocent, unaware of the struggles his mother must have faced. Freen’s mind whirled with unanswered questions. What had happened in the past decade? What had driven Becky to this life? Where was Nop in all of this?

---

The sound of the door opening snapped Freen from her thoughts. Becky stepped into the room, her movements slow and deliberate. She carried a small bag of snacks for Ben, who perked up immediately upon seeing her.

“Mom!” Ben called out, waving his toy crane.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Becky said softly, placing the bag on the bedside table. Her voice was warm, but her exhaustion was unmistakable. Dark circles framed her eyes, and her shoulders sagged under the weight of a fatigue that seemed almost soul-deep.

Freen stood, her posture stiff as her gaze swept over Becky. She noticed every detail—the creases in her shirt, the faint tremble in her hands, the hollowness in her gaze. It was a far cry from the Becky she had once known, the one whose laughter could light up a room.

“Ms. Armstrong,” Freen began, her tone professional, “I need to discuss Ben’s surgery.”

Becky glanced at her, her expression guarded. “Alright.”

Freen took her tablet and began explaining, her words precise and clinical. “The procedure is complex but necessary. The earliest we can schedule it is next week.”

“Next week,” Becky echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Freen confirmed. “Delaying the surgery further would increase the risk of complications.”

Becky nodded, her gaze flickering to Ben, who was now engrossed in his snacks. “I… I’ll make sure we’re ready.”

Freen studied her carefully, noting the hesitation in her tone. The Becky she remembered had been decisive, unshakable in her resolve. But the woman standing before her now seemed weighed down by something invisible yet crushing. Freen found herself wanting to ask—about Ben, about Becky’s job, about the life she had built without her. But she held back, keeping the wall between them firmly in place.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Freen said finally, her tone steady as she turned to leave.

---

As Freen walked down the hospital corridor, her mind replayed the conversation. The fatigue in Becky’s voice, the hesitation in her agreement to the surgery, the revelation about Ben’s absent father—it all gnawed at her. She told herself to focus on the surgery, to keep her thoughts professional and detached. But deep down, a part of her couldn’t stop wondering: what had happened to Becky Armstrong in the ten years they had been apart?

Freen clenched her fists tightly at her sides, trying to shake off the emotions threatening to creep in. This wasn’t about the past. It was about saving Ben. And yet, as much as she tried to convince herself, the questions lingered, unanswered and heavy.