Finding a way back to her!

The day began like any other for Ben in the pediatric ward. His small world had become a routine of nurses, meals, and Freen’s daily visits, which had quickly become the highlight of his day. But as the hours stretched on and Freen didn’t show, his usually vibrant energy dimmed. By afternoon, his frustration boiled over.

“Where is Dr. Serious?” Ben asked, his arms crossed and his face scrunched up in a dramatic pout.

Becky, seated beside him, tried to mask her own exhaustion as she offered him a soothing smile. “Sweetheart, she’s a doctor. Sometimes she gets very busy. I’m sure she’ll come by soon.”

Ben shook his head stubbornly. “No. She promised. She always comes.”

“I know, baby,” Becky said softly, brushing his hair back. “But even doctors have a lot of work to do. Maybe today was just very busy for her.”

But Ben wasn’t convinced. His eyes began to water, and a moment later, he burst into tears. “She doesn’t want to see me anymore!” he wailed, clutching his blanket tightly.

“Ben, don’t say that,” Becky said, her voice thick with concern. “She cares about you. You know that, right?”

But Ben’s cries didn’t subside. Becky held him close, murmuring soft reassurances, but his disappointment lingered even after he had cried himself to sleep. As she watched him rest, his tear-streaked face tugging at her heart, Becky made a decision. She needed to see Freen—needed to understand why the woman who had been so consistent in her visits had suddenly vanished today.

---

Freen sat in her office, her posture as composed as ever. On the outside, she was the epitome of poise—white coat pristine, her tablet neatly arranged on her desk—but on the inside, her mind was a turbulent sea. Questions swirled endlessly: What had happened to Becky? What was the story behind Ben? Why did Nop react the way he did? The fragments of her past and present were colliding, and Freen, ever the pragmatist, struggled to reconcile them.

A soft knock broke through her thoughts. Freen straightened instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Come in,” she said, her voice cool and professional.

The door opened, and Becky stepped in. For a brief moment, she hesitated in the doorway, her gaze falling on Freen. It was the first time she had truly seen her—seen the woman Freen had become in the years since they had last spoken. She looked like a stranger now, her sharp features framed by an aura of authority and distance that felt almost impenetrable. Becky’s chest tightened.

“Ms. Armstrong,” Freen greeted, her tone neutral as she gestured toward the chair across from her desk.

Becky stepped inside, closing the door behind her but choosing to remain standing. “I came to talk about Ben,” she said, skipping any pleasantries.

Freen nodded, folding her hands neatly on the desk. “Go ahead.”

“He’s upset,” Becky said bluntly. “He’s grumpy and—well—crying because you didn’t visit him today. He kept saying you promised, and I couldn’t get him to stop. He eventually cried himself to sleep.”

Freen’s chest tightened at the words. She had wanted to visit Ben; she truly had. But her mind had been consumed by the weight of too many questions, too many emotions she couldn’t untangle. “I see,” she said softly, her professional demeanor wavering for just a moment. “I’ll make it up to him tomorrow.”

Becky nodded but didn’t move to leave. Her gaze remained fixed on Freen, studying her as though searching for something beneath her polished exterior. Freen met her eyes, and for the first time in years, the distance between them felt almost insurmountable.

The silence grew heavy, and Freen, unable to suppress her own curiosity any longer, leaned forward slightly. Her voice, though measured, carried an edge of urgency. “Becky... what happened?”

Becky’s eyes widened slightly, her body tensing. “What do you mean?”

“What happened to you?” Freen asked, her words precise, though her heart thundered in her chest. “To your life? To Ben? To—everything.”

The room felt colder, the air heavier. Becky’s face hardened as she stepped closer to the desk, her movements slow and deliberate. Then, before Freen could say another word, Becky’s palm connected sharply with her cheek.

The slap echoed in the room, leaving Freen stunned, her head snapping slightly to the side. She blinked, her lips parting in shock as her hand instinctively rose to touch her stinging cheek.

“You don’t dare ask me that,” Becky spat, her voice trembling with anger. “You don’t get to ask me that. Not after what you did.”

“Becky—” Freen began, her voice faltering.

“You left me,” Becky interrupted, her voice breaking. “You left me without a word, without an explanation. For ten years, Freen. Ten years. You disappeared, and I was left with nothing but questions. And now you think you have the right to ask me about my life? You have no right.”

Freen’s breath caught, her composure crumbling under the weight of Becky’s words. “I—”

“No,” Becky said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You don’t get to say anything. You made your choice. And you don’t have any idea—none—of what I’ve been through.”

She turned abruptly, her hands shaking as she reached for the door. “Don’t bring this up again, Freen. Ever.”

With that, Becky left, the door slamming shut behind her.

---

Freen remained seated, her body frozen in place. Her cheek still burned from the slap, but the pain in her chest was far worse. Becky’s words echoed in her mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. She leaned back in her chair, her hands trembling as she pressed them against her lap.

And then, for the first time in years, the tears came. They spilled over silently, cascading down her cheeks as she sat alone in her office. The last time she had cried like this was when she had seen Becky with Nop, her heart breaking quietly in the shadows. And now, it was breaking all over again.

Freen didn’t know how long she sat there, the weight of regret and longing pressing down on her. But as the tears fell, she knew one thing with painful clarity: the woman she had once loved was slipping further out of reach.