Where Have You Gone

Chapter 4️⃣7️⃣

The days after the surgery melted into one another in soft pastels and sterile whites.

Anne’s body healed faster than anyone expected. A day after the operation, she was sitting up in bed, pouting about the food. By the third, she had the nurses laughing with her exaggerated stories about the “hospital cat” who supposedly visited her at night. There was no such cat, but no one had the heart to tell her.

Becky was there through it all.

She didn’t leave Anne’s side, not really. She would go out for short walks, guided by memory and the sound of Freen’s quiet footsteps beside her. Sometimes Richie and Irin were there, speaking in soft tones or sharing late-night coffees on the windowsill. But more often than not, it was Freen.

Freen who stayed after rounds. Freen who made sure Anne's chart was triple-checked. Freen who brought Becky a coffee exactly the way she liked it—half sugar, no cream, no questions.

There were shared silences. Shy laughter. Long conversations that began in the corridors and wandered into places neither of them expected—books they loved, songs they remembered, fears they’d never named aloud.

And then there was Faye.

Faye had been there from the beginning. She was the one who did Anne’s ECGs, the one who distracted her with balloon animals, the one who always had sour candy in her coat pocket and a spare charger in her bag. She was sunshine when the ward felt too cold.

She liked Becky. A lot.

Maybe too much.

She didn’t know why the gentle curve of Becky’s smile lingered in her mind. Or why she found herself scheduling more tests than necessary just to be in the same room. Becky was kind, calm, warm in a way that made Faye’s carefully-guarded heart stumble a little.

But something had shifted.

Faye noticed the way Becky tilted her head when Freen walked in. How her body relaxed slightly when Freen was near. How she laughed more easily around her. How the two of them would disappear for long minutes, returning quiet and thoughtful.

She saw the tremble in Freen’s hands once—just once—after brushing a loose curl from Becky’s forehead. Saw how she steadied herself against the wall afterward, as if the moment had winded her.

Faye wasn’t stupid.

She didn’t know what it was between them—what history, what ache, what name they refused to say aloud—but she knew enough.

And she was angry at herself for caring.

One afternoon, she stood just outside Anne’s room, listening to Becky’s voice as she told a story—something about the time Anne tried to name every star in the sky. Freen’s laughter was quiet, but real.

Faye turned before they noticed her. Walked away with a hollow smile and a knot in her chest she didn’t want to untangle.

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Inside the Room

Anne was getting stronger.

“You’ll be running laps soon,” Freen teased, adjusting the blanket over her legs.

“I’ll beat you in a race,” Anne said smugly. “Even with my heart stitches.”

Freen laughed, and Becky smiled at the sound.

Later that evening, when Anne had drifted off mid-sentence, Freen helped Becky to the hospital terrace. The sunset had dimmed behind grey clouds, but the air was cool and comforting.

“Thank you,” Becky said, gripping the railing, her cane tucked under one arm.

“For what?”

“For treating her like she was more than just a patient.”

Freen stood beside her, close but not touching. “She is.”

“She’s everything,” Becky whispered. “And you... you gave her back to us.”

Freen didn’t answer right away. Her hands flexed at her sides, aching to reach out. “I only did what I was trained to do.”

“No,” Becky said. “You did more than that. You saw her.”

And maybe, just maybe, Becky was starting to believe Freen saw her too.