Where Have You Gone

Chapter 4️⃣3️⃣

The hallway breathed with cold air and fluorescent silence. Becky’s cane tapped rhythmically against the tiles, a soft echo that reminded her she was still here, still moving — even when she wasn’t sure how.

Anne was upstairs, sleeping after her pre-op check, her hand clutching her stuffed rabbit like it held the sky together. Richie was pacing somewhere, pretending to be calm. Becky had slipped away. She told herself she needed tea.

But the tea didn’t matter.

Nothing tasted right lately.

The hospital café was mostly quiet. Chairs scraped now and then, murmurs floated, but Becky chose the farthest corner — back against the wall, out of the way.

Her fingers found the edge of the paper cup in front of her. Still warm.

She hadn’t asked for tea.

Which meant someone else had brought it.

She heard the chair across from her pull back.

“You didn’t touch the last one either,” said a voice — warm, low, impossibly familiar.

Becky’s spine stiffened. Freen.

She knew the voice by now. Precise, calm, like it carried careful weight. But there was something else too. Something unspoken, just beneath.

“I don’t remember asking for company,” Becky said.

“No,” Freen replied gently. “You didn’t.”

The quiet settled between them like dust.

Becky exhaled. “You’re persistent.”

“I’m… concerned.”

“That’s worse.”

Freen didn’t speak.

Becky heard her shift slightly, and though she couldn’t see the expression on her face, she could feel the hesitation. Like Freen had wanted to say something and swallowed it instead.

“You’ve been kind,” Becky said. “To Anne. To me. I just don’t understand why.”

Freen’s voice came low, almost too soft. “Maybe kindness doesn’t always need a reason.”

Becky turned her face slightly toward her, hearing everything in the silence Freen didn’t speak.

“Maybe,” Becky said. “But it’s been a long time since anyone did something for me without expecting something back.”

Freen's breath caught — just barely.

Becky heard it.

“It’s not pity, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Freen said.

“I’m not thinking anything,” Becky lied.

She was thinking too much. Thinking about the voice that pulled at old nerves. Thinking about how this woman made her feel something terrifyingly close to safe — something she hadn’t felt in years.

Becky’s hands curled tighter around the cup.

“There was someone,” she said suddenly. “Once.”

Freen stilled.

“She used to bring me tea,” Becky murmured, almost to herself. “Terrible tea. Too sweet. But she never forgot. She… saw me.”

Freen whispered, “She must have loved you.”

Becky flinched. “She left.”

The silence cracked.

Freen’s voice was barely audible. “Maybe she had to.”

“She should have stayed.”

A long pause.

“She should have stayed,” Becky repeated.

She wasn’t sure why she’d said it out loud. Maybe because she wanted this stranger to understand something she couldn’t tell anyone else. Maybe because the way Freen listened made her feel like she didn’t have to keep bracing herself.

“I don’t talk about her,” Becky added. “No one even knows.”

Freen’s voice trembled slightly. “Not even Anne?”

“No.” Becky traced the edge of her cup slowly. “She’s just a kid. She doesn’t need to know how broken I was. Still am.”

Freen’s voice broke, just a little. “You don’t sound broken.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I’m trying to.”

That stopped Becky cold.

She wasn’t used to people trying. Not anymore.

Her voice came softer than she intended. “Why?”

Freen didn’t answer right away. Then, gently: “Because sometimes, you meet someone… and something inside you just knows. Even if you don’t have the whole picture yet.”

Becky swallowed hard. Her throat ached.

She stood slowly, her cane steadying her.

“Anne needs me,” she said.

Freen rose too. “Of course.”

But Becky didn’t walk away.

Not yet.

“I don’t trust easily,” she said, facing the space where she felt Freen’s presence.

“I know,” Freen replied. No hesitation.

“But I think…” Becky trailed off. “I think I do not want to try and take rest, you're the surgeon for tomorrow's surgery.”

For a second, neither of them breathed.

Becky turned and walked away.

She didn’t see Freen lower herself slowly into the chair, hands trembling, breath shaking, eyes wet.

She didn’t know that her words — She should have stayed — were still echoing inside Freen’s chest like thunder.

She didn’t know that the woman she had just started to trust was the very one who had once left.

But Freen knew.

And that knowledge — that impossible, unbearable knowing — was both her penance and her prayer.