Freya got pregnant young, and her parents threw her out of the house. Fifteen years later, they showed up to see their daughter and grandson. What they saw left them staggered…

I can’t, thank you. Just doing my job, Sigrid said, peeling off his gloves, ready to crash in the break room. But the man didn’t leave.

He hovered, eyes darting over Sigrid’s face like he was mapping it. You’re young for a surgeon, he said, almost too casual. Where’d you grow up? Springfield, was it? Parents still there? Sigrid frowned, tossing the gloves in the bin.

Uh, yeah, mum’s there. Why? The man smiled, odd and tight. Just curious.

Good stock, I bet. Raising a kid like you. What’s your mum’s name? Freya, Sigrid said, wary now.

Look, I’m glad your wife’s okay, but I’ve gotta… One more thing, the man cut in, stepping closer. He hugged Sigrid, quick, awkward, then pulled back, gripping his shoulder. I’d like to meet her.

Your mother. The woman who raised a surgeon this bright. I need to thank her too.

Sigrid blinked, thrown. Patients got mushy sometimes, sure, but this felt… different. That’s nice of you, he said, edging back, but it’s not really a thing we do.

She’s busy. I mean it, the man pressed, his voice dropping, eyes locked on Sigrid’s. I have to meet her.

Please. The insistence prickled Sigrid’s neck. He forced a smile, shrugging it off.

Maybe someday. Take care, all right? He turned, heading for the lounge, but the man’s stare bored into his back. It wasn’t until he was slumped on a cot, replaying it, that the weirdness sank in.

The guy wasn’t just grateful. He was searching for something. Or someone.

Weeks after the surgery, Sigrid’s phone buzzed with an unknown number. He was in the clinic break room, scarfing down a stale sandwich between shifts, when he answered. That voice, gravelly, too eager, prickled Sigrid’s nerves.

The guy had called twice since, leaving voicemails about gratitude and meeting the family. Sigrid had brushed it off as overzealous patient stuff, but this was getting old. Look, the man pressed.

I know it’s a lot, but I’d really like to meet your mom. Please. Just once.

Sigrid rubbed his temple, patience fraying. All right, fine, he said, more to end it than anything. I’ll bring you, but it’s quick, okay? Paul’s relief flooded the line and Sigrid hung up.

Uneasy. Something about the guy gnawed at him, but he couldn’t pin it down. The day came in December, a warm snap melting the frost off Springfield’s lawns.

Sigrid drove up to his parents’ house, the same brick place he’d grown up in, now with a fresh coat of paint and a new porch swing Lance had built. He’d called Lance Dad since the wedding, a quiet shift that felt right. Freya answered his heads-up call with a squeal.

They want to meet us. Oh, Sigrid, this is big. Proof you’ve made it.

She was over the moon, her dream of Sigrid’s success blooming into something tangible, strangers driving hours to thank the surgeon’s parents. Sigrid’s sedan rolled up the driveway, Paul and Ellen trailing in a battered pickup. Freya burst out the front door, apron dusted with flour.

She’d been baking cookies, a welcome treat, her face split with a grin. Sigrid climbed out, kissed her cheek and said, They’re right behind me, Mom. Excited to meet you.

I can’t wait, Freya chirped, practically bouncing as she started down the path to greet them halfway. Lance stepped onto the porch, waving, while Eleanor shuffled out in her slippers, leaning on a cane. But when they climbed out of the truck, him in that tweed coat, her in a faded cardigan, Freya stopped dead.

Her smile vanished, replaced by a slack-jawed stare. Sigrid clocked it instantly, jogging to her side. Paul’s eyes were red-rimmed, Ellen’s wet and puffy.

They’d been crying hard. Mom? Sigrid asked, touching her arm. You OK? Freya nodded too fast.

Fine, honey. Everything’s fine. But her voice wobbled and her eyes glistened.

He frowned, glancing between her and the couple. Do you… know them? She swallowed, tears spilling over as she turned to him. Sigrid, she said barely audible.

Meet your grandparents. The air sucked out of the yard. Ellen burst into sobs, hands flying to her mouth, while Paul stood rooted, shaking, tears streaking down his weathered face.

Sigrid’s brain stalled. Grandparents? But before he could speak, Paul stepped forward, voice breaking. Freya, he rasped, looking straight at her.

I’m so sorry. I’ve missed you every damn day. We were fools, scared, stupid, and I just… I want to fix it.

Please. Freya stood silent, tears tracking down her cheeks, her hands clenched at her sides. Lance edged closer, protective, but she waved him off, eyes locked on her father.

Ellen hiccuped through her sobs, stepping up. We’re sorry, Freya. So sorry…