Mr. Cain gives Willow a taste of her own medicine after he regains his memory — ABC General Hospital — and the moment his eyes clear with recognition is the moment the power in the room shifts so violently that even Willow feels it in her bones, because this isn’t the confused, broken man she manipulated with half-truths and carefully chosen sympathy, this is Drew Cain fully awake, fully aware, and no longer interested in playing the grateful patient in someone else’s moral fantasy. For weeks after his memory snapped back into place, Drew says nothing, and that silence becomes his sharpest weapon, because Willow mistakes it for forgiveness, even for continued trust, unaware that every smile he offers her is measured, every kind word catalogued, every interaction quietly flipped and examined for the same manipulative edges she once used on him when he was vulnerable. The shocking part is not that Drew remembers what she did, it’s that he understands why she did it, and instead of exploding or confronting her directly, he decides to mirror her behavior so precisely that Willow slowly begins to unravel under the weight of her own tactics. He starts asking innocent questions that aren’t innocent at all, framing them as concern, as care, as moral curiosity, and Willow, who once believed she was guiding a lost man toward truth, now finds herself stumbling over explanations that sound hollow even to her own ears. Drew brings up ethics casually, at first in public settings, church gatherings, hospital corridors, places where Willow prides herself on her image, and he praises her compassion just a little too loudly, just a little too pointedly, until people begin to look at her with curiosity rather than admiration. The medicine tastes bitter because it’s familiar; Drew withholds information the same way she once did, claiming he’s protecting her, claiming the truth would only complicate things, and Willow feels the same creeping panic she once dismissed in others, realizing too late how destabilizing it is to be excluded “for your own good.” What makes it worse is that Drew never raises his voice, never accuses her outright, never gives her the satisfaction of righteous outrage, instead he maintains an almost serene calm that makes Willow question whether she’s the one imagining cracks where none exist. Behind the scenes, Drew reconnects with people Willow thought were firmly in her corner, gently sharing pieces of the past, not lies but carefully framed truths, letting others draw conclusions on their own, the same way Willow once nudged him toward decisions he thought were his idea. The shockwave hits when Willow overhears a conversation she was never meant to hear, Drew explaining to someone that memory loss doesn’t excuse manipulation, that good intentions can still cause harm, and that sometimes the most loving thing you can do is force someone to see themselves clearly. In that moment, Willow realizes this isn’t revenge fueled by anger, it’s accountability delivered with surgical precision, and that realization terrifies her far more than shouting ever could. She confronts Drew privately, demanding to know why he’s doing this, and his response is devastating in its simplicity: he tells her he learned from the best, that while he was lost she taught him exactly how power works when one person believes they know better than another. The past comes rushing back for Willow then, every rationalization she made, every boundary she crossed while telling herself she was helping, and Drew lets her sit with that discomfort without offering absolution. The most shocking twist comes when Drew admits he still cares about her, not in spite of what she did but because he understands how easy it is to convince yourself you’re right when you’re scared, yet caring doesn’t mean erasing consequences, and forgiveness doesn’t mean pretending harm didn’t happen. By the time the truth becomes public, Willow’s carefully maintained image has shifted, not destroyed but altered, and she finds herself facing the same judgment she once quietly passed on others, realizing how fragile moral superiority really is. Drew doesn’t walk away victorious, he walks away changed, reclaiming his agency by refusing to be either victim or villain, and the taste of Willow’s own medicine lingers long after the confrontation, because it forces her to grow or break under the weight of self-awareness. In classic General Hospital fashion, the storyline doesn’t end with neat resolutions but with uneasy truths, damaged trust, and the unsettling knowledge that sometimes the most painful lesson isn’t being punished by someone else, but recognizing yourself in the mirror they hold up, steady and unflinching, once the fog finally clears.