Where Have You Gone

Chapter 5️⃣3️⃣

Becky had been quiet the whole day.

Anne noticed it first—nudging her occasionally, slipping her tiny fingers into Becky’s hand like she was trying to anchor her to something light, something safe.

But Becky was far from safe.
She was drifting. Pulled in different directions by a war inside her she no longer knew how to fight.

Falling for Freen was easy. Too easy. And that scared her.
Because every time she allowed her heart to beat for Freen, she felt like she was letting go of Sam.
And tonight—tonight only made it worse.

---

The next day was supposed to be a simple family dinner.

Irin had booked the cozy Mediterranean place near the park. “Let’s get out, celebrate Anne’s good review and her birthday,” she said, her voice bright with relief. Richie had even made a rare effort to dress up, cracking dad jokes at the table as they ordered. Anne sat between them, chirping with excitement. Both Richie and Irin didn't want any guests as Anne is still recovering.

Along with this Irin didn't forget to send a message to Freen.

And Becky—she smiled. She nodded. She laughed in the right places.

But inside, she was spinning.

Because fifteen minutes into the dinner, a familiar voice cut through the air behind them.

A voice she would never mistake now.

“Table for two,” Freen said.

Becky didn’t need sight to feel the magnetic pull in that single sentence.

And then—

“Oh, Freen!” Irin turned around, pleasantly surprised. “What a coincidence!”

There was warmth in her voice, genuine and excited.

And Freen? She chuckled softly. “I didn’t know this was a popular spot.”

Anne immediately bounced. “Freen! Come sit with us!”

Becky’s hand tightened around the fork in her lap.

And then Irin, as kind and unassuming as ever, looked toward the girl standing beside Freen and said, “Oh, is this your friend? You're both welcome to join!”

And just like that, they were a party of six.

---

The woman’s name was Marissa.

Her voice was breezy, confident, laced with the type of laughter that didn’t need permission. She sat beside Freen—far too close for Becky’s liking. Marissa leaned in when she spoke, touched Freen’s arm when she laughed, and occasionally brushed something from Freen’s shoulder, always with a familiarity and Becky could feel the closeness that made her stomach churn.

Anne wasn’t helping.

She kept whispering under her breath:

> “She’s touching Freen again.”
“I think she just fed her a fry.”
“Aunt Becky, are you mad? You look mad.”

Becky kept smiling.

She tilted her head. Nodded at the conversation.

All while trying to keep the inferno under her skin from bursting out.

She couldn’t see what Marissa looked like—but she didn’t have to.
She could feel the it. The flirtation.
The casual touches that were clearly meant for a private table.