Chapter 124

~ Franklin ~

That afternoon, sunlight slanted through the hospital windows in soft, golden shafts as I made my way down the familiar corridor to Octavia’s ward. The air carried the faint, sterile tang of antiseptic mixed with the subtle floral notes from a nearby nurses’ station bouquet. My steps felt lighter than they had in days, buoyed by the quiet hope that had taken root since her MRI results. But outside the door, I paused when I spotted her father, Ben, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a gentle smile softening the lines of exhaustion on his face.

"She remembered Nola, her cat," he said without preamble, his voice warm with quiet wonder. "And Victoria, her best friend from college who is her colleague at work. Just like that—fragments coming back in a rush this morning." He smiled wider, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Isn’t that great?"

"Yeah," I replied slowly, the single word heavy on my tongue. It was progress, a bright thread in the tapestry of her recovery, yet it tugged at something raw inside me. Now she recalled the fluffy white feline that used to curl in her lap during lazy Sunday mornings and other days and then the sharp-witted best friend who had shared late-night confessions and inside jokes. She remembered everyone else—her family, her circle—but not fully me. Even as she remained kind, even warm, even eager for my company, the deepest parts of us stayed locked away. It left a quiet ache in my chest, a hollow echo of what we once were. Still, I clung to hope. Dr. Aris had promised that with time, patience, and emotional safety, the rest would surface. "It is," I added, forcing a nod.

"I’m glad she’s getting better," Ben said, studying me with that fatherly perceptiveness that missed nothing.

"Me too," I offered with a sad, lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

"Everything all right?" he asked, his gaze sharpening as if reading the undercurrents I tried to hide.

"Yeah, everything’s okay," I assured him, though the weight of secrets—the investigator, the shadows around her fall—pressed heavier than I let on. "I want to go in and see her."

"Okay. I have to head back home and rest," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I stayed with her through the whole night—didn’t want her waking up alone."

"You need the rest," I told him sincerely. "I’ll stay with her now."

"Okay, thank you," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder in a gesture of quiet gratitude.

"My pleasure," I replied, meaning it more than he knew.

We stepped inside together. Ben exchanged a few soft words with Octavia, pressing a kiss to her forehead before slipping out, the door clicking shut behind him and leaving us in a cocoon of privacy. The room felt warmer somehow, the afternoon light painting the walls in gentle hues.

"Good morning," I greeted her, though the clock had long passed noon.

"Good morning," she echoed, her voice carrying that soft, melodic lilt that always steadied me.

"Sleep well?" I asked, settling into the chair beside her bed.

"Yeah. You?" she returned, tilting her head with genuine curiosity.

"Mmm-hmm," I nodded, though the truth was restless hours haunted by what-ifs. "Your father told me you remembered Nola and Victoria."

"Yeah," she said, eyes lighting up as the memories danced across her face. "I woke up this morning and it all just flooded in—the way Nola would purr like a little engine when I scratched behind her ears, and Victoria’s laugh, that loud, unfiltered one she’d let out during our ridiculous late-night talks. I saw her number in my phone and called her right away. She was so surprised, Franklin—practically squealed when I mentioned our old inside jokes. We talked for ages. She’s coming to visit tomorrow. It felt... good. Like pieces clicking back into place."

"Well, I’m glad your memories are returning gradually," I told her, the words laced with real relief and a thread of longing.

"Me too," she said softly, then brightened. "Let’s eat breakfast here—well, late breakfast. Or brunch. Whatever it is."

"Hmm, that isn’t a bad idea," she agreed, a smile blooming that made the sterile room feel brighter.

"Yeah," I said, already pulling out my phone. I called Walter, instructing him to pick up takeout from the cozy diner nearby—fresh croissants, fruit, coffee strong enough to chase away hospital monotony. Minutes later, he arrived with the bags, the aroma of buttery pastry and berries filling the space. We ate together, sharing bites and easy conversation, the kind that felt effortless despite the gaps in her mind.

"I don’t know what it is about you," Octavia said after we finished, wiping her hands on a napkin, "but I’m starting to like hanging out with you. A lot."

"I’m glad you do," I replied, my heart swelling at the admission. It was small, but it felt like a victory.

"I have good news," I added, leaning forward.

"Which is?" she asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"I’m less busy today. Cleared my schedule completely. I get to spend the whole day here with you—if you’ll have me."

"That’s good news," she said, nodding with unmistakable delight.

"Is it?" I clarified, needing to hear it again.

"Yeah," she confirmed, her smile widening.

Just then, my phone rang, slicing through the moment. I’d already told Anthony to clear everything so I could focus on her, just as Dr. Aris had advised—more time, more emotional anchors, more chances for memories to surface. The caller ID was unknown. I answered cautiously.

"Could it be that you aren’t less busy again?" Octavia teased lightly.

"No, I doubt it," I mumbled, then waited for the voice on the other end.

"Is this Franklin Flemington I’m speaking to?" a crisp, professional male voice asked.

"Yes, this is Franklin Flemington. Who’s this?"

"Detective Tate. Your grandfather Frederick hired me to assist with a case. I’m at your service."

"Okay, hold on a second," I said, muting the line briefly. I turned to Octavia with an apologetic look. "Could you excuse me for a moment, please?"

"Sure," she replied, though a flicker of puzzlement crossed her features.

I gave her a reassuring smile and stepped into the hallway, the door closing softly behind me. The corridor hummed with distant footsteps and beeping monitors. "Okay, I’m here," I began, voice low and urgent. "Thank you, Detective Tate. I need you on this, but first I need your word—you won’t fuck up or back out at the last minute like the last guy. I’m trusting you completely."

"You have my word, Mr. Flemington," he replied steadily. "I won’t let you down. Loyalty is non-negotiable."

"Good to hear," I said, exhaling. I laid out the details: Octavia’s accident, the footage of her being pushed down the stairs, the shadowy figure in gloves who seemed to know exactly how to avoid the cameras. "The plan was too perfect. I need you to dig into who did this—and trace a private number that sent incriminating photos right before it happened. I’ll text you the digits."

"I’ll handle it all and report back promptly," he assured me.

"Thank you. And Tate? This stays between us—absolutely no one else. Confidential. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Your secrets are safe. I won’t breathe a word."

"Good. Update me the second you have anything."

I ended the call, pocketing the phone with a mix of resolve and unease, then returned to the room. "Hope everything is okay," Octavia said, searching my face.

"Yeah, it is," I assured her, sinking onto the sofa across from her bed.

"My mom brought my laptop last night," she continued, reaching for it on the dresser. "I was thinking... maybe we could watch a movie together?"

"Sure, of course," I smiled, warmth blooming in my chest. She was initiating this—choosing me, even without full recall. It meant everything.

She patted the space beside her on the bed. I joined her in seconds, the mattress dipping under our weight. "Have you watched The Notebook?" she asked, queuing it up.

"I’ve heard of it, but never seen it. Someone said it’s emotional."

"They were right. Grab a box of tissues—we’re both going to cry," she warned with a playful grin.

I adjusted closer, our shoulders brushing. "Can’t wait to cry together then," I said huskily. She blushed, that familiar rosy tint I adored, and leaned in. Our lips met in a soft, lingering kiss before we pulled back, breathless.

"We haven’t even started the movie and we’re already making out?" she chuckled, eyes dancing.

"I guess it’s because we can’t get enough of each other," I winked. She laughed again, hitting play.

We settled under the duvet, her laptop balanced between us, my arm slipping around her shoulders to draw her nearer. She nestled in, content. I found myself watching her more than the screen—every flicker of emotion across her face, the way she leaned forward during tender scenes, as if the story stirred something buried deep. Halfway through, she paused it.

"Wait," she said, turning to me. "Why is she with the other guy? If she loves Noah so much, why not stay?"

"Maybe because life isn’t that simple," I smirked gently.

"That isn’t an answer," she frowned, playful challenge sparking in her eyes.

"It’s the one that matters," I shrugged, but her intensity pulled me in.

"No, Franklin. If she loves him that deeply, she doesn’t just walk away because it’s hard," she insisted. "She fights for it."

My chest tightened. Her words mirrored my own silent vow—fighting for us amid the chaos, the amnesia, the threats. "You choose then," she pressed.

"And what if choosing them destroys everything else?" I asked quietly, vulnerability slipping through.

She smiled faintly, glancing back at the frozen screen. "Then maybe it was worth it."

The line hit harder than the movie ever could. It gave me hope—raw, anchoring hope. "You’re looking at it from the outside perhaps," I said.

"And you’re not?" she challenged, brow furrowing.

I chuckled softly. "I’ve just seen what happens when things aren’t that simple. Like what happened to us, for example."

"So you and I... we’re like them?" she asked, voice softening.

"In a way."

"And in other ways?"

"We were worse," I admitted.

She fell quiet, processing, then leaned her head on my shoulder, the weight of it comforting. "I still think she should’ve chosen Noah."

"Of course you do, my queen," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple.

We relaxed deeper into the bed, the duvet cocooning us as the film played on—one of cinema’s most iconic romances unfolding beside the woman I loved. In that moment, amid the hospital beeps and the story’s pull, our bond felt real, tangible, and worth every fight ahead.