Where Have You Gone

Chapter 5️⃣2️⃣

The rain had dried from Becky’s coat by the time she returned home, but the memory of it—of Freen’s hand in hers, lingered like a mist in her chest.

Everything felt okay until she entered her room, until she realised the wall paper, the photo and Sam.

The guilt started eating her mind.

She sat on the edge of her bed in the dark, her cane resting against the nightstand.

Becky’s heart ached.

She couldn’t sleep.

Not when everything inside her had begun to bloom in ways she’d sworn she wouldn’t allow again.

Because for the first time in years… she felt it.

She was falling.

Not into memory. Not into grief.

But into Freen.

And that terrified her more than anything.

---

It began with a name in a news article Richie had forwarded her the next morning—a congratulatory piece about the hospital’s CEO winning a national medical award. Becky hadn’t opened it until late that night, idle curiosity pulling her in.

Her thumb hovered over the screen-reader app as the synthetic voice spoke:

> “Dr. Freen Chankimha, esteemed cardiothoracic surgeon and CEO of Whitestone Hospital, has...”

The rest blurred.

CEO? The piece of information is new to Becky.

Freen?

All along Becky had always thought how could Freen become a head of the department at her age?.

Becky felt her stomach twist.

She knew Freen was respected, kind, gifted. But CEO?

And then, in the same article—buried in a paragraph describing Freen’s outreach projects ,on and on.

Her heart dropped.

The letters.
The ones that had helped her survive after Sam.

Freen.
It had been Freen all along.

The kind voice that had stitched her broken soul together in ink.

And suddenly, Becky couldn’t breathe.

---

She stood in the kitchen, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, trying to keep herself from unraveling.

How could she have not known?

How could Sam and Freen both exist in the same time and space without her realizing the truth?

Because Freen couldn’t be Sam. That name—Sam—was sacred. A ghost. A wound. A prayer.

But she was starting to forget how Sam smelled.
How Sam sounded.
How Sam made her feel.

And the way Freen made her feel now—it was dangerously close to that old, impossible love.

It was… more.

But how could she let herself love Freen?

Not when the world between them was so wide.
Not when she had moved on without realizing.
Not when the guilt of forgetting Sam’s touch was slicing her to ribbons.

She had betrayed something sacred.

And she couldn’t respond.

Not to Freen’s text that came the next morning:
“Becky is everything okay?”

Not to the second one that came two days later:
“Becky, I hope everything’s okay. I just want to hear your voice again.”

Not even to the third, which simply read:
“I miss you.”

She ignored the phone calls. Left the letters unopened.

And she cried.

Because the more she ignored Freen… the more her heart broke.

---

A week passed.

Anne’s follow-up at the hospital arrived like a tide she couldn’t stop. Becky tried to prepare herself, but even as she smoothed Anne’s curls that morning, she felt the weight in her chest grow heavier.

She wasn’t ready to see Freen again.

Not after choosing silence.

Not after letting her go.

Irin knew everything. “You can stay at home if you want” she offered and Becky smoothly denied.

As they entered the hospital, Anne was her usual bubbly self, excited to tell the nurses about her recovery and the diary she’d started writing.

Becky walked slower than usual, her cane tapping ahead, each step laced with a dread she tried to mask.

They reached the pediatric wing.

A nurse smiled. “Dr. Freen will be with you shortly.”

Anne beamed. Becky’s breath caught.

Freen.
Still Dr. Freen to the world.
But no longer just that to her.

She sat on the edge of the examination table, one hand resting protectively on Anne’s knee.

The door opened.

Footsteps. Measured. Familiar.

“Hi, Anne,” Freen said, her voice a touch too soft. “You’re looking stronger already.”

Becky turned slightly at the sound, heart clenching at the affection in Freen’s tone.

“I missed you,” Anne said cheerfully.

“I missed you too, Anne”, Freen said but her eyes were on Becky

“Look dad bought me this” Anne showed Freen her new iPad and asked “Can I take a picture with you?”

For a moment Freen was shocked she doesn't remember someone taking her a picture in quite a while but she didn't have the heart to say no to Anne so she nodded and kneeled down near Anne to take the picture.

Becky didn’t speak.

Freen hesitated, her presence shifting toward Becky. “Becky,” she said, just barely above a whisper.

Becky flinched.

The room was too bright. Too full of things left unsaid.

“I hope you’ve been well,” Freen added, carefully.

Becky offered a nod. “Yes. Thank you.”

She didn’t say more.

Didn’t reach out.

Didn’t let the tears spill, even as her throat burned.

Freen stepped back slowly, and though Becky couldn’t see it—she could feel the heartbreak behind those quiet footsteps.

Anne chattered on about her exercises, about how she could do five whole laps around the living room.

Becky smiled and played along.

But part of her was screaming inside.

Because Freen was right there.
And she was pretending she didn’t care.

---

Later, as they walked back toward the lobby, Anne tugged Becky’s hand. “Aunt Becky? Why was Dr. Freen so quiet today?”

Becky tried to smile. “Maybe she’s just tired, love.”

Anne was quiet for a moment, then said innocently, “No, she looked sad.”

Becky’s heart splintered again.

But she didn’t turn back.

She couldn’t.

Because falling in love again meant tearing open the wound she thought she’d buried.

And the deeper she fell for Freen…
The more it felt like saying goodbye to Sam all over again.