Chapter 746:
Freya had not just been distant; she had consciously erected a boundary between them.
There once was another child who initially clung to Freya. Back then, she would greet him with a bright smile,
playfully ruffle his hair, and engage in games with him. Naturally, any child would be drawn to her charismatic,
gentle demeanor.
However, her interactions with Kristian were starkly different. Children, often more perceptive than adults, could
intuitively sense whether someone was fond of them or not. Despite the noticeable lack of warmth from Freya,
Kristian continued to cling to her with an unusual persistence.
“Perhaps he fears | might abandon him,” Freya said, her mind flickering back to Kristian’s past reactions. “Is that
what drives his behavior?”
She wished to interact with him as she did with the other children.
Yet, she was adamant about defining the boundaries of their relationship. Getting too close could complicate his
recovery process. It was crucial to maintain a balanced approach—caring and attentive, yet with a distinct
separation of their roles.
“We'll discuss this with Lawrence the day after tomorrow,” Ellis remarked, his tone still laced with uncertainty.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtFreya nodded in agreement. After their conversation drifted to a close, she and Ethel made their way back to
their room.
Upon their return, they discovered Kristian had locked himself in his bedroom. Freya motioned for Ethel to
freshen up while she approached Kristian’s door, her knocks gentle yet firm.
She knocked several times, but the silence from the other side of the door remained unbroken. “Kristian, it's
me,” she called, keeping her voice calm and patient. “Will you open the door?”
Her voice lingered in the silence that followed, like a soft echo in an empty hall.
She waited, her heart ticking in twith the seconds, but the silence remained unbroken.
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Just as she raised her hand to knock once more, a soft click signaled the yielding of the lock. The door swung
open slowly.
Kristian stood in the threshold, his figure cloaked in a palpable aura of solitude. He greeted her with a low,
somewhat sullen tone. “Freya.”
Peering at his hand, which was now a stark red, Freya's expression softened. “Does your hand still hurt?” she
inquired, concern threading her voice.
Kristian’s lips pressed into a thin line. He teetered on the brink of confession, but the memory of Freya's
admiration for resilience spurred him to feign courage. He shook his head, dismissing the pain with a forced
nonchalance. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Chere, lettake care of it,” Freya insisted gently, guiding him inside.
“Okay,” Kristian relented.
As Freya carefully disinfected and bandaged his wound, she observed his subtle winces and the way he tried to
mask his discomfort. In a casual tone, probing gently, she asked, “Do you want to visit your parents soon?”
With a quiet shake of his head, he kept his eyes on the floor.
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Why not?” Freya's voice was soff,
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