Chapter 9

“I’m going back now. It’s late at night. I don’t want to interfere anymore,” Tzuyu said, snorting in annoyance.

“Me too,” Namtan patted Tzuyu’s shoulder.

“Let’s go back,” said Namtan.

They walked towards their respective cars. Freen sat alone in her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel but not moving. Her friends had left without waiting for her.

Her mind replayed Becky’s words on a loop.

Freen exhaled shakily, her fingers tightening. She knew Becky. If Freen pressed too hard, Becky would vanish with the children, and the thought of never seeing those little faces again, their eyes, their voices, their uncanny resemblance tore something inside her apart.

Still, she couldn’t ignore the truth. They looked like her. Too much like her.

She unlocked her phone, scrolling to a contact.

For a moment, Freen hesitated, staring at the glowing name on the screen. But then, with a determined breath, she pressed dial.

The line rang twice before a sleepy voice answered. “…Hello? P’Freen?”

“It’s me,” Freen said quietly.

“P’Freen?! You!! Where are you?”

“I don’t have time to answer your question.” Freen cut her off, her voice low but firm. “I need information about Becky.”

There was silence on the other end. Then, Milk’s voice turned guarded. “Why?”

“Because she has children. And I need to know if they’r…” Freen’s voice faltered, but she forced the words out, “mine.”

Milk inhaled sharply. “P’Freen… you can’t just ask me something like that. If Becky hasn’t told you, she must have a reason.”

“I don’t care about her reasons anymore,” Freen snapped, though her chest ached with guilt. “I just want the truth.”

On the other side, Milk hesitated. “I don’t know everything. But… I do know Becky living abroad. Nobody knew where she stay. When she came back, she had those kids. No father. No explanation. Just… three children who looked too much like you.”

Freen’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles white.

“P’Freen,” Milk’s voice softened, “please… if you investigate what happened to her before. Don’t tell her if the news is what you always expected.”

“Means?!,”

“You once said it was not your flesh and blood.”

She ended the call and leaned back in her seat, her heart pounding like a war drum.

Becky disappeared for several year then returned with children.

Her suspicions solidified. And now, she was more determined than ever.

—

Meanwhile, inside the hospital room, the fluorescent lights hummed faintly above as Becky sat by the bed, her hand gently resting on her son’s little palm. Fastian was finally asleep after hours of restlessness, his tiny chest rising and falling in soft, fragile rhythms that made Becky’s heart ache with both relief and exhaustion.

She brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across his forehead, her thumb tracing the softness of his cheek, the way only a mother could. In moments like these, when the world outside was too loud and too cruel, she felt as if it was just her and her children against everything. That thought gave her strength, but it also kept her awake at night, the secrets weighing heavier than ever.

She sighed, reaching for the cup of water on the table, but stopped when the door creaked open.

Her heart skipped.

Freen.

The sight of her standing tall in the doorway, her dark eyes unreadable, her presence filling the room with an intensity that made Becky’s breath catch was enough to make her stomach twist.

Becky froze, her hand still hovering near Fastian’s blanket, as if shielding him from something unseen. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was low, defensive, almost trembling, though she tried to mask it with sharpness.

Freen didn’t answer. She stepped inside slowly, her gaze sweeping over Fastian, lingering just a little too long on the curve of his small nose, the shape of his lips, the way his sleeping face mirrored hers in a way that was undeniable.

Becky noticed. She always noticed. And she hated that she noticed.

“Get out,” Becky whispered harshly, standing up now, her body positioned between Freen and her son. Her palms were sweating, but her voice carried a quiet ferocity. “This is not your place.”

Still, Freen said nothing. Her silence was louder than any accusation, louder than any question. She simply walked closer, her eyes never leaving Fastian.

Becky’s heart pounded. She hated this. The way Freen’s presence always cracked the walls she had built around herself, the way just one look from her threatened to unravel years of carefully hidden truth.

“Don’t you dare,” Becky said, her voice breaking now, “don’t you dare look at him like that.”

Finally, Freen’s gaze lifted from the boy to Becky. Her eyes were burning, a storm of hurt and determination. But still, she didn’t speak.

Because she didn’t need to.

The silence itself was a demand for truth.

Becky’s throat tightened. She turned away, her hands trembling as she tucked the blanket around Fastian again, pretending she didn’t feel Freen’s stare drilling into her back.

“Please…” Becky whispered, her voice cracking so softly it was almost inaudible. “Just… go.”

Freen didn’t move. She stayed there, watching, her silence a knife between them.

“Becky, Can you tell me the real truth? I promise if they are really my children, I will not take them from you. I will take care of them with you.”

Becky smiled wryly. “You think I would believe what you say?,”

“Please, Becky.”

“If you want to know, find out for yourself.”

“Okay, if that’s what you want,” Freen then walked out, leaving the two of them behind.

Becky doesn’t hate Freen on the contrary she still loves Freen.
What tore Becky apart was Freen’s attitude, the way she so easily believed other people’s words rather than trusting what will came from Becky’s own mouth. That was the wound Becky had never been able to forgive.