Freya nodded and left the room, but as she walked down the hallway, an uneasy feeling settled over her. Phoebe's sadness and guilt lingered like an echo in her chest, and she couldn't tell if it was her own worry or something deeper. She shook her head as if to clear it, trying to focus on the steps ahead.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of someone through the narrow glass panel of another hospital room. Her steps faltered as recognition struck her. Irene.

Freya stopped in her tracks, her heart thudding in her chest. How did I not notice her here before? she thought. Through the doorway, Irene sat stiffly in her hospital bed, staring out of the window with a distant, almost hollow expression.

Freya's chest tightened, but it wasn't just the sight of Irene that stopped her. It was the overwhelming wave of emotion radiating from her, like a radio station broadcasting nothing but sorrow, anger, and longing. Freya felt it all as if it were her own. She took a step back, trying to compose herself, but the intensity of Irene's emotions clung to her, pulling her into the storm.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Freya quickened her pace, her shoes tapping sharply against the sterile hospital floor as if she could outrun the weight pressing on her chest. She pushed through the glass doors at the hospital entrance, the crisp air outside hitting her like a slap, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside her.

She reached her car and fumbled with the keys, her hands trembling. Once inside, she slammed the door shut and sank into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel as if it could anchor her. For a moment, she just sat there, her breaths coming shallow and fast, her chest rising and falling in uneven jerks.

The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the muffled hum of traffic in the distance. Freya closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, but the emotions she had absorbed in the hospital clung to her like static—Phoebe's guilt, Irene's longing, and her own growing sense of helplessness.

She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her breathing to slow, but it only made the ache more pronounced. Why do I feel everything so deeply? she thought, her mind spinning. The raw, unfiltered emotions were too much, too sharp, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't block them out.