Chapter 127
~ Octavia ~
Getting to know the man I had married felt like stepping into a warm, sunlit room after wandering in the dark for too long. There was a quiet bliss in it, a gentle unfolding that made my heart feel lighter with every shared mont. Franklin was attentive, patient, and disarmingly kind—nothing like the shadowy figure my fragnted instincts sotis whispered about. Hanging out with him, laughing over silly things, feeling his hand steady on mine... it made wonder, deeply and often, what exactly my old self had found so hateful about him. He seed like a man of honor, soone who carried his burdens without letting them dim the way he looked at . Maybe this amnesia was a blessing in disguise, a chance to rewrite our story without the weight of old wounds. Or maybe I was speaking too soon. mories had a way of crashing back when you least expected, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for whatever storm they might bring.
"You rembered?" Franklin’s voice broke the comfortable silence between us. We were still outside in the hospital’s small park, seated on a weathered wooden bench as the afternoon breeze carried the faint scent of blooming jasmine and distant city traffic.
I looked up at him, puzzled, tilting my head. "Rembered what?"
"You said ’promise this is forever,’" he began, his eyes searching mine with a mix of hope and hesitation.
"I know I did," I nodded, the words still fresh on my tongue from earlier.
"You don’t rember saying that to before?" he asked, his gaze curious yet laced with sothing deeper—sothing vulnerable that made my chest tighten.
"No?" I shook my head slowly, trying to sift through the fog in my mind.
"Are you sure?" he pressed, uncertainty flickering across his face like a shadow.
"Yes," I said firmly, though a tiny thread of doubt tugged at . "Why? Does it matter?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You have said it before. The night I took you to the beach... after we made love under the stars, you looked straight in the eyes and asked to promise that what we had would be forever. I did. But it was short-lived. Sothing ca between us—sothing that divided us."
"What made us divide?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, the question heavy with unspoken fears.
"It was why I needed your forgiveness," he said carefully, his thumb brushing my cheek in a gesture so tender it made my breath catch. "Though it wasn’t entirely my fault. I can’t tell you more right now, Octavia. If I do, it might jumble everything up in your head, and I refuse to be the reason your recovery gets set back. I need you to rember on your own... and when you do, I hope you stay. I don’t want to lose you again."
We stared at each other then, the park around us fading into a soft blur—the rustle of leaves, the distant laughter of another patient’s family, the warmth of sunlight on my skin. His words wrapped around my heart like a promise and a warning all at once. "I just hope that when I rember everything, it isn’t sothing bad," I mumbled, the fear of what might surface making my stomach twist.
"Let’s just see how it goes," he murmured, though his eyes held the sa quiet storm I felt inside.
Just then, my phone rang from the pocket of my hospital gown. For a fleeting second, I hoped it was Clinton, following up on his visit, but the screen showed my mother’s na. A small sigh of disappointnt escaped .
"Who’s that?" Franklin asked, curiosity lifting his brows.
"My mother," I replied, answering with a quick swipe. "Hey, Mom."
"Hey, honey. I just called to check how you’re doing," she said, her voice warm but brisk, the way it always got when she was balancing a dozen things at once.
"I’m good," I told her, glancing at Franklin. "Really good, actually."
"Okay. Your father ntioned Franklin ca by this morning for a visit."
"Yeah, he did. He’s still here, actually," I said, smiling faintly as Franklin’s hand found mine again.
"That’s good," she replied, a note of approval in her tone that surprised . "Listen, I need to head to my book club eting, but I’ll swing by this evening with dinner. Sothing warm and comforting—your favorite."
"Okay, Mom. Take your ti."
"Send my regards to Franklin," she added before hanging up.
I set the phone down and relayed the conversation, watching his face light up at the ntion of her ssage. "I like that your mom asked about ," he said, a touch of genuine warmth in his voice.
"Before the accident... did she not ask about you at all?" I ventured cautiously, sensing layers I couldn’t quite touch.
"Not really," he admitted. "We weren’t close then the way we are now. Sa with your dad. But they’re warming up—getting fond of , I think."
"aning they love you," I teased gently, though the word carried more weight than I intended.
"Yeah, sothing like that," he shrugged, but his smile was soft.
I hesitated, then asked, "What about your parents? Do they love the way mine seem to love you?"
His mood shifted instantly, like a cloud passing over the sun—from easy happiness to a quiet sadness that settled deep in his eyes. I knew I’d touched sothing raw without aning to. "They... they’re deceased," he said, the words struggling out like they still carried shards of pain.
"Oh my God, Franklin, I’m so sorry," I whispered, reaching to grab his hand, my fingers tightening around his. "I didn’t know."
"You did, once," he said gently. "You just don’t rember telling you."
"And I made you relive it. I’m sorry," I apologized again, guilt blooming hot in my chest.
"No, it’s fine. It’s not your fault you have amnesia," he assured , patting my hand where it rested on his. His touch was steady, grounding.
"Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it if it makes you sad," I offered, wanting to shield him from the ache I’d unintentionally stirred.
"Watching Titanic is sadder than the way I feel right now," I joked lightly, trying to coax a smile back.
He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "It’s fine, Octavia. Really."
"But still—" I started.
"It’s fine," he repeated, squeezing my hand with quiet conviction. "How did they die?" I asked cautiously, needing to understand the man beside just a little more.
"Car accident," he replied, voice even but distant, as if the mory still hovered at the edges.
"Oh God, that’s brutal," I murmured, tightening my hold on him, wishing I could chase the sorrow away.
"Yeah. I was shattered when it happened. But now... I’m okay. It doesn’t pain the way it used to."
"I’m sorry, Franklin," I said again, the words inadequate but sincere.
"Don’t worry. It’s fine, really," he assured once more, and this ti I let it settle.
"Let’s go have lunch," he suggested suddenly, standing and gripping the handles of my wheelchair. "Sowhere outside the hospital—proper food, not the cafeteria stuff."
"You an outside?" I asked, glancing down at my plain hospital gown. "I’m dressed like I’m wearing soone’s old pajamas, and this wheelchair belongs to the hospital. They don’t exactly allow their property off the premises."
He laughed, the sound rich and easy, chasing away the last traces of sadness. "Don’t worry about that. You look perfect even in hospital scrubs. And as for the wheelchair? I already cleared it with the doctor—if it gets misplaced, I’ll buy a new one."
"I bet he’d love a brand-new one with golden wheels," I joked.
"He’d probably sell it and pocket the change for a regular one," Franklin shot back, and we both dissolved into laughter that felt healing.
We headed to a cozy restaurant just a block away, the streets alive with the gentle hum of afternoon life. Over plates of warm pasta and fresh salad, we talked about everything and nothing—favorite books, silly childhood stories I could still recall, dreams that felt safe to share. His laughter mixed with mine, and for those stolen hours, the hospital felt worlds away.
When we finally returned to the lobby, my phone rang again. This ti it was Clinton. Franklin watched closely as I answered, his arms folded, eyes sharp with sothing that looked a lot like envy.
"You said you’d co this afternoon once your morning schedule cleared, but you’re not here," I said, wheeling a short distance away so Franklin wouldn’t overhear every word.
"Yeah, I know. About that... I can’t make it today after all," Clinton replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion that sounded genuine.
"Why? What happened?"
"I’m caught up with work. Thought I’d be free this afternoon, but I’m not. I’ll let you know when I can swing by."
I glanced at Franklin, who hadn’t taken his eyes off . "Tell the truth, Clinton," I pressed, lowering my voice. "Did Franklin call and threaten you not to co see ?"
"No, he didn’t. He never called to threaten . I’m just... really busy."
"Okay. Let know when you can co, all right?"
"Sure. Hope you’re getting better."
"I’m solid. Don’t worry about ."
"Take care of yourself."
"I will. Bye."
I wheeled back to Franklin, his expression unreadable but tense. "What exactly did you say to Harrington that made you wheel away like that?" he asked, the jealousy clear in the set of his jaw.
"Just asked if you’d threatened him not to see ," I admitted.
"Do you think I’m capable of that?" he smirked, though there was an edge to it.
"Yes. That smirk just gave it away," I narrowed my eyes, and he chuckled, the tension easing.
We stepped into the elevator, the doors closing with a soft ding. "Ready to watch the iconic Titanic?" I asked, looking up at him with a playful grin.
"Yeah," he sighed dramatically, holding his forehead. "Oh, co on—it’ll be fun!" I insisted.
"I doubt it."
"Don’t doubt. Have hope."
"Have hope for a movie with a sad ending?" he shook his head as the elevator reached our floor.
"Yeah—at least not everyone died, right?" I teased as we entered the ward. He helped settle onto the bed, his touch lingering a second longer than necessary.
"Regardless, it’s tragic," he said.
"Regardless, you’re watching it with ," I mimicked his tone, earning another laugh.
I grabbed my laptop, powering it on with a flourish. "Okay, let’s do this!" I rubbed my hands together excitedly. Franklin chuckled softly, settling beside , and for a mont the world outside the room—the mysteries, the fears, the uncertain future—faded. All that mattered was the story about to unfold and the man beside who, for now, made everything feel possible.
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