After reading the letter, something in me shifted in a way I hadn’t expected. I’d gone into this wanting facts—truth, strategy, something to act on—but what I got instead was perspective. Pain. Sacrifice. The kind of choices no one should ever have to make, especially not a mother. I didn’t say anything straight away. I just looked at Freya, really looked at her, and saw her differently. Not just as the girl I felt drawn to… but as someone who had survived something most people wouldn’t. Someone who had been broken down and still found a way to stand back up. Quietly, I ran her a bath. No words, no pressure—just something simple, something soft. She needed peace, even if it was only for a moment. I made sure the water was warm, not too hot, added some of the calming oils Mum always insiste
