Where Have You Gone

Chapter 4️⃣9️⃣

The morning sun filtered faintly through the curtains, casting long golden streaks across the hospital room floor. Becky sat by Anne’s bed, her fingers combing gently through the girl’s curls. Anne stirred, eyes fluttering open with the delicate fog of morphine still softening her voice.

“Aunt Becky?”

“I’m here, sweetheart,” Becky said, her voice calm, steady. The kind of steady that only came from holding yourself too tightly.

Anne smiled drowsily and drifted back to sleep.

Becky exhaled slowly, listening to the rhythm of the monitors, to the quiet voices outside the door, to her own heartbeat pounding like a drum in her throat.

Last night was folded away. Neatly, quietly, like an old letter she would never read again. She had to.

She didn’t hear the door open.

But she felt the presence the moment it did.

“Morning,” Faye said cheerfully, walking in with a paper coffee cup and an energy that was always just slightly too loud for early hours.

Becky smiled faintly. “Hi, Faye.”

“Hello,” she said easily, setting the cup down. “Hospital coffee. Barely qualifies as drinkable, but better than nothing.”

Becky nodded, polite, distant. “Thank you.”

Faye’s eyes drifted to the untouched tea on the bedside table—the one Freen had brought the night before. It was still there, lid closed, like a secret sealed tight.

“So…” Faye leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. “Quiet morning?”

Becky offered a vague smile. “Peaceful.”

“You didn’t sleep.”

Becky’s fingers froze briefly against Anne’s hair.

Faye added, voice lighter than air, “Neither did Freen.”

Becky said nothing.

The pause between them stretched. Faye studied her—really studied her. The careful stillness. The softened voice. The way her shoulders were drawn tight like strings pulled taut.

“You know,” Faye said softly, walking closer, “I’ve worked with Freen and I've known her for years. I’ve seen her stitch together children who shouldn’t have survived. I’ve watched her hold herself together after families shattered.”

Becky’s lips parted slightly. Her breath caught.

“But I’ve never seen her like this.”

Still no reply.

Faye knelt slightly beside Becky’s chair. “She looks at you like she’s trying not to fall apart.”

Becky’s hand clenched.

“She’s your friend, if you are that much concerned,” Becky murmured. “You should tell her to stop.”

Faye gave a small laugh, not unkind. “I think it’s too late for that.”

Becky finally turned her face toward her. “You don’t know what it means—what it costs—to feel something again. Not after what I lost.”

“I don’t,” Faye admitted, voice soft. “But I know what it looks like when two people are trying not to feel something at all.”

Becky inhaled sharply, then looked away. “She’ll disappear in two days. Just like all the others.”

Faye tilted her head. “And if she doesn’t?”

“That’s worse,” Becky whispered. “Because then I’ll have to decide if I’m brave enough to let her stay.”

Faye was quiet for a long time.

Then she reached out, gently brushing Becky’s hand. “You don’t have to decide today. Or tomorrow. But just know this: I’m not going to stand in the way. Of either of you.”

Becky turned toward her, surprised.

“I know I tease. I know I flirt,” Faye said with a small, self-deprecating smile. “But I see the way she looks at you. And I see the way you don’t look at her.”

Becky furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Faye said gently, “you never look at anyone that carefully unless you’re trying very hard not to see something.”

A silence stretched between them.

Then Becky nodded, once, barely perceptible.

Faye stood. “I’ll be around if you need someone to talk to. Or yell at. Or ignore completely.”

She turned to leave, then paused. “By the way—Anne’s latest labs look great. She’s bouncing back faster than anyone expected.”

Becky smiled faintly. “She’s always been a fighter.”

“She’s asking for pancakes, so we know she’s alive,” Faye added with a grin.

Then her voice softened again. “You’ve got two days, Becky. Just… don’t spend them pretending nothing happened.”

She left.

And Becky sat alone, hand over Anne’s, the tea from last night still warm in her memory, like a promise she wasn’t ready to make.