Holby ED has seen Siobhan at her strongest — decisive, calm, unshakeable in a crisis. But in the wake of her attack, strength looks different. Quieter. More fragile. And far harder to hold onto.

Before she ever steps back into the controlled chaos of the department, Siobhan makes a brave and deeply personal decision: she takes herself to a Sexual Assault Referral Centre. It’s not an easy journey. The examination is clinical, necessary, and emotionally exhausting, but she gets through it with the kind of resolve that suggests she’s determined not to let what happened define her. By the time she leaves, she’s already made up her mind. She’s going back to work.

For Siobhan, returning to the ED isn’t about pretending everything is fine. It’s about reclaiming a piece of herself that feels stolen. Work is familiar. Predictable. A place where she knows who she is and what she’s good at. Or at least, it used to be.

The moment that nearly breaks her isn’t loud or dramatic. It’s a small, devastating detail: the £20 note that Flynn Byron has left behind so she can get a taxi home. It’s a kind gesture. Thoughtful. Practical. But to Siobhan, it suddenly carries the weight of everything she doesn’t know how to say. The care. The concern. The unspoken questions. She stares at it, and the tears come — not because of the money, but because of what it represents: that someone sees she’s not okay, even when she’s trying so hard to be.

Back in Holby, the nerves hit almost immediately.

Every patient interaction feels heavier. Every raised voice in reception makes her flinch. Her focus wavers in ways it never used to, and she has to work twice as hard just to stay present. She’s still doing her job, still treating people, still pushing forward — but underneath, there’s a constant hum of anxiety she can’t switch off.

Flynn notices.

At first, his concern comes out as frustration. When he sees her behaviour slipping — distracted, jumpy, not quite herself — he admonishes her, trying to pull her back into line, back into the standards the ED demands. It’s not cruel, but it is firm. Holby doesn’t slow down for anyone, and mistakes can cost lives.

For Siobhan, the rebuke lands harder than he realises.

She isn’t being careless. She isn’t being lazy. She’s trying to work while carrying something that still feels too big to name. The words sit in her throat, heavy and stuck. How do you explain that you’re doing your best when your best is suddenly being reshaped by fear, memory, and exhaustion?

The real question isn’t whether Siobhan can handle the job.

It’s whether she can finally let someone see how much she’s struggling.

Flynn’s frustration and concern are two sides of the same coin, and somewhere between them is an opening — a chance for Siobhan to stop pretending she’s fine and start being honest about what she’s been through. But opening that door means reliving it, and that’s a step she’s not sure she’s ready to take.

In Holby, emergencies are usually visible. This one isn’t. And for Siobhan, the hardest part may not be treating patients again — it may be admitting that she’s still healing herself.