Chapter 110

~ Franklin ~

During lunchtime, I decided to get some food for Octavia now that she was awake. I headed to a nearby restaurant to buy a meal she could eat right there in the ward.

As I approached the room, I heard muffled voices coming from inside. Curious, I walked closer and saw Clinton sitting beside Octavia’s bed, chatting with her while Ben stood nearby. What hit me hardest was the way Octavia was laughing—bright, genuine, and completely at ease with Clinton. Something inside me snapped.

"What the hell is going on here?" I hissed.

"Franklin, you’re here," Ben said, walking toward me.

"What is he doing here, Mr. Herman?" I demanded, shooting a sharp glare at Clinton. Octavia looked puzzled.

"He came..." Ben started.

"I came to see Octavia," Clinton interrupted, rising to his feet. "I needed to see her."

"Even after I forbade you from coming?" I frowned.

"Wait... you forbade Clinton from seeing me?" Octavia asked, turning to me.

"Yes, because he wasn’t needed here," I confessed.

"But seeing you two together now... you remember him, don’t you?" I mumbled, my voice tight.

"Look, I’m sorry that I remember him but not you," Octavia said gently. "My brain is all jumbled up. I can’t even remember certain things."

"But you still remember him," I said, the hurt slicing through me as I glanced at Clinton.

"I’m sorry," she whispered.

"He needs to leave," I muttered, then looked up to glare at Clinton. "Now."

"There’s no way in hell I’m leaving," Clinton said firmly, "not until Octavia tells me to."

"Harrington..." I began.

"Franklin..." Ben warned.

"No!" I raised my voice. "Mr. Herman, he needs to leave. I can’t stand him being here, talking to my wife. You know it’s inappropriate. He has to go."

"You need to calm down, Franklin. Lower your voice," Ben said calmly.

"I’ll calm down and lower my voice once this jerk leaves the ward. I mean it," I snapped.

"He’s not going anywhere," Octavia spoke up suddenly. All eyes turned to her. "I don’t want him to go, Franklin."

"What?" I mumbled, stunned.

"Clinton is my friend, and I want him to stay with me," she said softly.

"Well, I’m not okay with that," I replied, my jaw tightening. "I’m your husband, Octavia. Letting another man come see you feels like I’m being cheated on."

"I know you say you’re my husband," she countered, "but why don’t I remember anything about you? Right now, a stranger who claims to be my husband is restricting me from seeing a friend. Don’t you think that sounds selfish?"

I clenched my teeth, quietly glaring at Clinton.

"I don’t care. You’re my wife and..."

"Franklin!" Ben said sharply. "Let’s talk outside."

"And leave them alone?" I scoffed, pointing toward the bed.

"Outside. Now," Ben ordered, ignoring my protest. He walked out, and I turned back to Octavia and Clinton.

"Don’t you dare try anything funny," I warned, pointing my index finger at Clinton before storming out.

I met Ben in the hallway. He stood with his arms crossed, clearly upset.

"What was that back there?" he demanded.

"I’m trying to mark my territory and remind that douchebag that Octavia is still my wife," I shot back.

"Have you forgotten what the doctor said about Octavia’s health? The most important thing right now is to take it easy with her," Ben reminded me.

"She doesn’t remember me, Mr. Herman, yet she remembers that man in there. If you were in my shoes, you would have done the same... or worse."

"I understand how you feel. I really do. But this is about my daughter’s health. You can’t force her to remember you immediately. She needs time to recover her memories."

"Right? Memories she lost... except the ones of him. This is absurd," I scoffed, rubbing my temples.

"Calm down, Franklin."

"How am I supposed to calm down when my wife has no memories of me, but she remembers him? It’s driving me crazy. I hate it."

"I know it isn’t fair, but we can’t stop her from remembering whoever she remembers. You just need to be patient. I believe with time, she’ll remember you. Just don’t push it."

"And what about him?" I frowned, pointing toward the ward door. "Am I supposed to pretend to be happy that he’s visiting her?"

"If it helps Octavia recover, then yes," Ben said firmly. "The doctor said we must take it easy on her. Forgotten memories don’t return overnight. You need patience."

"Fuck," I whispered harshly.

"I don’t think I have that kind of patience, Mr. Herman. I admit it—I’m jealous. I’m jealous that another man came to see my wife without my consent, and you allowed it."

"Yes, because I would do anything to make my daughter happy. This isn’t about you or your hurt feelings. This is about Octavia and her health. She needs to get better. So if letting her see that young man helps—even if it hurts you—then I’m okay with it."

"Just don’t cause a scene in there. Be patient. I’m sure her memories of you will return. We’re not saying you aren’t her husband or our son-in-law. This is only about her getting better. I’m sorry it’s hurting you this way, but try to get along with him for now, okay?"

I stared at him, still seething with anger, and finally sighed.

"Fine," I said, even though I didn’t mean it.

"Good." Ben patted my shoulder and headed back into the ward.

I looked down at the two plastic bags I was still carrying and frowned deeper. When I entered the room, Clinton and Octavia were deep in conversation. Clinton was joking about something, and Octavia was laughing again—that bright, beautiful laugh that used to be reserved for me. It pained my soul.

The moment they noticed me, they stopped talking. Octavia’s smile faded.

"I got you lunch," I said, lifting the plastic bag.

"Oh, that’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you," Octavia replied.

"You’re welcome."

"But..." she began. I already knew there was a "but."

"I’ve already eaten. A nurse brought my lunch before you all arrived."

"I see," I said quietly.

"Maybe you can save it for dinner," I suggested.

"The food would be cold by then," Clinton interjected. "She’ll need a hot meal."

"Then I’ll get her a fresh hot meal when it’s time for dinner," I snapped.

"Or maybe she should just decide whether she wants the restaurant food or the hospital food," Clinton continued. "I think the hospital meals are healthier anyway."

My frown deepened.

"Then I will..."

"Franklin," Ben cut me off. "Remember what we discussed."

"Fine," I muttered, turning to Clinton. "She can eat whatever she wants—restaurant food or hospital food. It’s her choice." I shrugged, pretending not to care.

"Octavia?" Clinton turned to her. "Which one do you want? Hospital food or restaurant food?"

"Uh... hmm," Octavia said, looking slightly confused. Then she turned to her father. "Dad, is Mom coming back today?"

Both Clinton and I looked equally confused.

’Did she hit her head so hard she’s avoiding the question?’ I thought.

"Yes, she just needed to rest. Why do you ask, sweetheart?" Ben replied.

"I was thinking... maybe she could make homemade chicken soup and sourdough breadsticks and bring them for me this evening? I’d prefer homemade."

"That’s a great idea, sweetheart. I’ll call her now," Ben said, stepping out of the ward to make the call.

"Is that what you want, Octavia?" I asked.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Okay."

My phone suddenly rang. I pulled it out of my jacket pocket—it was my secretary.

"Excuse me," I said, answering. "Yes, Anthony?"

"Mr. Flemington, are you aware you asked me to schedule a meeting with Mr. Carter around this time? I thought you’d be at the office by now."

"The meeting starts now?" I asked, glancing at my watch.

"In about five minutes, yes sir."

"I’ll be right there," I said, suddenly remembering the important meeting.

"Okay, sir." I ended the call.

I turned and frowned when I saw Clinton still there.

"I’m being called back to work," I told Octavia.

"Okay," she nodded.

"Do you need anything before I leave?"

"No, but if I do, my dad will let you know," she said simply.

"Okay." I nodded. "Maybe you should get some rest. I can escort your friend Clinton out."

"No, it’s fine. I already took a nap earlier. Clinton is okay staying with me," Octavia replied.

I clenched my teeth. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure."

"Okay. I’ll be back before dinnertime to see you."

"Alright. Bye."

"Bye," I said, then left the room.

"You’re leaving?" Ben asked as I stepped into the hallway.

"Yes, work is calling me back." Even from outside, I could hear Octavia’s laughter filtering through the closed door.

"Can you do me a favor, Mr. Herman?" I asked.

"What is it?"

"Can you keep an eye on that douchebag—I mean, that man with Octavia—please?"

"Nothing is going to happen between them, but if you feel that insecure, sure, I’ll keep an eye on them. Is that okay with you?"

"Very well," I nodded.

"Alright. I’ll be off now. I’ll return later."

"Okay," Ben said.

As I walked away, my mind flooded with unwanted images of what might happen while I wasn’t there. Clinton was really testing my patience. It was taking everything in me not to explode and knock his lights out.

The bastard.