Where Have You Gone

Chapter 5️⃣0️⃣

The afternoon was unusually still.

Sunlight filtered lazily through the slats of the window blinds, painting warm lines across the hospital walls. Anne was asleep, her chest rising and falling in soft, even breaths, her arms curled protectively around a stuffed toy a nurse had given her that morning. Becky sat beside her, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the mattress, her fingers brushing the hospital sheets in a slow, absent rhythm.

The news had come that morning.

One more day.

Anne would be discharged in one more days.

Becky had nodded at the nurse's cheerful tone, thanked her, smiled when Richie and Irin dropped by briefly with fresh clothes and a few of Anne’s favorite books. She had nodded and smiled and said all the right things.

And yet, underneath it all, something inside her was coming apart.

It wasn’t panic. It wasn’t sadness. It was the quiet ache of something unfinished.

Something unsaid.

She hadn't seen Freen since the night. They had exchanged a few words during the morning rounds. Professional, cordial. Freen had asked after Anne with calm, clinical precision. Becky had nodded, answered softly, hands tucked in her lap.

Neither of them had mentioned the tea.

Or the trembling silence.

Or the warmth that passed between them like a current neither of them could name.

But now the air was thick with it.

Something unspoken, refusing to fade.

Becky stood carefully, her fingers skimming the rail of Anne’s bed. Her cane waited at the foot of the chair, and she took it, steadying herself before stepping out of the room.

She didn’t ask where Freen would be.

She didn’t need to.

---

The hospital garden was nearly empty—just the occasional nurse taking a breath between rounds or a visitor pacing quietly by a flowerbed. Becky’s footsteps were slow, her cane tapping softly against the pavement. The scent of roses and newly turned soil wafted toward her, mixing with the sterile sharpness of antiseptic carried from the building’s vents.

She knew she wasn’t alone.

Freen’s presence was like a change in the air—undeniable and familiar, like a forgotten song stirring in the back of the mind.

“I hoped you’d come,” Freen said gently.

Becky turned her face toward the voice, her jaw tightening just slightly. “You always did say hope was dangerous.”

Freen exhaled a soft laugh. “I said that once. Years ago.”

“And I remembered,” Becky said, voice a little quieter.

Silence fell between them.

Freen rose from the bench where she’d been sitting, but didn’t move closer. “How’s Anne?”

“Sleeping. She’s healing fast.”

“Good.”

Another silence. Then Becky’s voice, quieter still: “She’ll be discharged tomorrow.”

Freen’s breath caught audibly.

“I know,” she said.

Becky turned her head slightly, lips parted. “And then we’ll leave. And I’ll go back to my world, and you to yours.”

Freen didn’t answer.

Becky continued, her voice trembling, barely audible, “And whatever this is between us will just… evaporate. Like it never happened.”

“No,” Freen said sharply. “Don’t say that.”

Becky flinched.

Freen stepped closer, slowly, carefully. “It did happen, Becky. You felt it. I know you did.”

Becky swallowed hard. Her hands trembled where they gripped the cane. “I feel a lot of things. I bury most of them.”

“Why?”

“I bet you know why.”

Freen was silent.

Becky’s throat tightened. “Losing her, was like being ripped apart from the inside. And I survived. I learned how to be whole without needing anyone else to patch me back together.”

“I’m not trying to patch you,” Freen whispered.

Becky lifted her face to the sky. Her voice cracked. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’m just… here,” Freen said. “Because being near you feels like breathing again.”

The words sat in the air, heavy and holy.

Becky didn’t answer.

Freen took another small step forward. “I won’t push. I won’t demand anything from you. But if you want… if you just want someone to sit next to you while the world spins too fast—I’ll be that person.”

Becky’s jaw clenched. She shook her head, laughing bitterly through her tears. “You make it sound so simple.”

Freen’s voice broke. “It’s not simple. It’s terrifying. You terrify me.”

Becky turned sharply. “Why?”

“Because,” Freen said, her voice aching, “you’re the only person I’ve ever loved who made me want to stay.”

The silence that followed was unbearable.

And then—softly, tentatively—Becky reached forward.

Her fingers brushed Freen’s wrist, and Freen caught them gently in hers. Their hands stayed that way, suspended in the air like a truce.

Like a question.

Like hope.

“I don’t know what this is,” Becky whispered. “But I don’t want to leave pretending it never existed.”

Freen’s grip tightened. “Then don’t.”

---

They sat in the garden for another hour, no words between them, just the warmth of two hands that had once belonged to strangers but now, somehow, remembered each other.

From Anne’s window above, Irin stood watching, coffee in hand, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Richie stood beside her, folding a clean sweater for Anne.

“You think Becky will be okay?” Richie asked quietly.

Irin took a long sip and said softly, “I think she’s finally letting someone hold the pieces.”