Chapter 125

~ Franklin ~

"Franklin," Octavia’s voice drifted through the haze, soft yet insistent. "Franklin." She called my name again, a gentle melody laced with amusement. "Franklin, hey — wake up." Her hand shook my shoulder lightly, pulling me from the depths of an unplanned nap.

I fluttered my eyes open, disoriented for a heartbeat, only to realize I was lying beside her on the narrow hospital bed, the thin mattress dipping under our combined weight. The room smelled faintly of lavender from the scented candle her mother had brought, mingling with the ever-present antiseptic undertone of the ward. I rubbed my eyes and sat up slowly, muscles protesting from the awkward angle, yet the warmth of her proximity lingered like a promise.

"You fell asleep right as the movie was almost ending," she said, her tone teasing but fond, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched me.

"Oh, I’m sorry," I stretched, arms reaching overhead, then glanced at her laptop perched on the bedside table. The screen had gone dark, the credits long since faded into silence.

"It’s okay," she reassured me, closing the device with a soft click. "I’m just glad we watched it together. Sharing that...it felt nice."

"Yeah, me too," I murmured, stifling a yawn as the remnants of sleep clung to me like morning mist. The quiet intimacy of the moment wrapped around us, a fragile bubble in the sterile world outside.

"Hope you liked the movie," she ventured, tilting her head with genuine curiosity.

"Yeah, though I liked watching you watch the movie more," I admitted, my voice low and sincere. Her smile bloomed then, radiant and unguarded, chasing away the last shadows of my drowsiness.

"Me too," she echoed softly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the blanket between us.

"Hey, want to know a secret?" she asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Sure, fire away," I nodded, leaning in closer, drawn by the playful glint that made her seem so alive, so her.

"I have a crush on Noah from The Notebook," she teased, then burst into giggles, the sound light and infectious, filling the room like sunlight piercing clouds.

"Oh hell no," I protested, feigning outrage as she continued to giggle, her shoulders shaking. "I’m going to be overly jealous if you say that again."

"I just did," she shot back, still laughing, the joy in her voice wrapping around my heart like a lifeline.

"I guess I’ll have to act and look like Noah then," I said, leaning even closer until our faces were inches apart. "So you’ll have a crush on me too."

"I won’t have a crush on you because you aren’t Noah," she declared, eyes dancing.

"But I’ll act and look like him...what’s the difference?" I scratched my chin in mock confusion, playing along to keep the lightness alive.

"The difference is that you aren’t Noah," she repeated, grinning wider.

"But you do know Noah’s a fictional character, right? He isn’t real," I pointed out, unable to hide my amusement.

"But he’s real to me," she insisted, dissolving into another fit of giggles that made my chest tighten with affection.

"Fine, you win," I conceded with a dramatic sigh, not wanting to argue when her laughter felt like the best medicine either of us could receive. "You can have him."

"Good," she said, finally composing herself, though the sparkle remained in her gaze.

"What’s the time?" I asked, glancing around for any clock.

"Past twelve," Octavia replied, checking her phone with a quick swipe. "Why? You want to head back to the office?"

"No," I said firmly, reaching out to lightly tap her nose. "I told you—all my schedule is cleared for the day. I’m spending every single minute right here with you."

"Glad to hear that," she murmured, her smile softening into something deeper, more vulnerable.

"Can I ask you a question, Franklin?" she ventured after a quiet beat, her voice tentative now.

"You know you can ask me anything," I reminded her gently, and she nodded, gathering her thoughts.

"Do you think my memory of you will ever return?" The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears, and it made me pause, searching her eyes for the right words.

"It will return," I assured her, my tone steady despite the storm inside. "It’s just a matter of time. The brain is resilient—Dr. Aris said so himself."

"What if I don’t want it to return?" she whispered, the confession slipping out like a secret she’d been holding too long.

I sat up straighter, giving her a confused look that bordered on alarm. "Why would you say that?"

"Because remembering everything means facing the bad memories too," she explained, her voice cracking slightly. "The way you treated me before...the hurt. I don’t want to relive that pain. I want to hold onto this — these moments with you, right now, where everything feels safe and good." She reached out, her fingers brushing my cheek with a tenderness that nearly undid me.

"As much as I love the idea of you remembering only the good, I wish for you to recall it all," I said quietly, my hand covering hers. "The good and the bad. They made us who we are—who we are together."

She sighed, the weight of her uncertainty pressing between us. "But what if I remember it all and end up hating you for it? What then?"

I paused, the question slicing deep. The thought of her resentment haunted the edges of my mind like a ghost—tormenting, inevitable if the past resurfaced unchecked. Yet losing her entirely, even to this gentle amnesia, felt worse. "Then it’s okay to hate me," I lied, the words bitter on my tongue. "Even though it would break me inside." Truth was, it wouldn’t be okay; it would shatter something vital. But I’d endure it if it meant she found her way back to herself.

She reached for me then, pulling me into a hug that caught me off guard. I wrapped my arms around her, holding tight, soothing slow circles on her back as her breath warmed my shoulder. "That’s what scares me the most," she mumbled against me.

"It’s all right," I whispered softly, though deep down, nothing felt all right. The fragility of our rebuilt connection loomed like a tightrope over an abyss.

"Let’s get out of here for some fresh air," I suggested, pulling back gently and offering my hand.

"Where are we going exactly?" she asked, slipping her hand into mine, trust shining in her eyes.

"The hospital has a little park area for patients—quiet, with benches and trees. We could stroll. Just outside to breathe," I replied, helping her settle. I called the nurse, who soon arrived with the wheelchair. Once Octavia was comfortably seated, I wheeled her out into the afternoon light. The mini park greeted us with rustling leaves, soft grass underfoot, and the distant hum of city life beyond the walls. A gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and a few other patients dotted the benches, lost in their own quiet recoveries.

We found a sun-warmed bench and sat, the world feeling momentarily kinder. "So when is Olga coming to see me? I’m thrilled to meet her," Octavia began, her voice bright with anticipation.

"Probably whenever it’s convenient for her," I said, keeping it light. "She’ll make time soon."

"Okay," she nodded, content.

The wind whispered through the branches overhead, scattering a few golden leaves like confetti. I watched them fall, a metaphor for the pieces of her life slowly returning. Then she spoke again, casual yet loaded. "I called Clinton."

I turned to her, frowning slightly, the name alone stirring old tensions. "When? And why?"

"Right after I spoke with Victoria this morning," she explained. "I wanted to talk to him in person. He hasn’t come back since that first visit."

"You should have asked for my permission before inviting him," I said, the frown deepening despite my effort to stay calm.

"I didn’t decide fully—Clinton suggested it, and I liked the idea," she countered, undeterred.

"Hey," she reached for my hand, squeezing gently. "What’s really going on between you two? Did you fight? Swear to be enemies or something?"

"I just don’t like him," I admitted, jaw tight.

"You can’t dislike someone for no reason, Franklin," she pressed, her gaze searching mine. "There has to be more."

"The correct word is hate," I corrected, the truth spilling out. "And yes, there’s a reason. He’s in love with you. I see it in the way he looks at you—like you’re the only light in his world. It makes him competition, always vying for your attention."

"What?" Surprise widened her eyes.

"It’s true," I continued, voice low. "I’m uncomfortable with it. No man who isn’t me should look at my wife that way."

"Meaning you’re jealous," she observed softly, not accusing, just understanding.

"Yes I am," I confessed. "Wouldn’t you be, if the roles were reversed?"

"I didn’t know he had feelings for me," she murmured, processing.

"You did, once," I said quietly. "But memory loss changes everything."

"Maybe," she shrugged, though the revelation lingered. "So what now? Should I call him off, or..."

"No, don’t bother," I decided, exhaling. "Let him come. But his visit will be supervised by me. No funny business."

"He’s not that kind of person," she insisted. "He respects me. He wouldn’t ruin our friendship."

"Regardless, I’ll be there," I said firmly, and silence settled between us, not uncomfortable but thoughtful.

"Would you like to watch another movie with me?" she asked after a moment, shifting gears with a hopeful smile. "Second time today."

"Sure, of course. What do you have in mind?"

"Titanic," she replied brightly.

I groaned, playfully hitting my forehead. "What is it with you and sad romances?"

"They’re iconic, okay?" she giggled, the sound chasing away the earlier tension.

"But Titanic and The Notebook both have such heartbreaking endings. The romance is beautiful, but it hurts."

"I like them anyway," she pouted, adorable and stubborn.

"You got emotional watching The Notebook," I said dryly.

"I wasn’t!" she protested.

"You were. I saw it in your eyes—the way you argued about Allie choosing Noah. It looked like you wanted to cry a river."

"Hey! That is not true," she insisted, though her blush betrayed her.

"I watched you more than the screen," I admitted with a wink. "It’s true."

"You should’ve paid more attention to the movie than to me," she chided, though her tone was playful.

"Don’t blame me," I held up my hands innocently. "Watching you was far more captivating."

"Then how did you know exactly what to say about the characters?" she challenged.

"I just knew," I shrugged, and she sighed in mock exasperation.

"That settles it—we’re watching Titanic tonight," she declared.

"And this time, pay attention to the movie, not me," she added sternly.

"Okay, Mom," I chuckled, earning an eye-roll that made me laugh harder.

She leaned her head on my shoulder then, the contact warm and grounding as we watched the park’s peaceful scenery—the sway of leaves, the soft chatter of birds, the quiet resilience of those around us. She looked up at me, smiling, and I smiled back, the moment stretching like a held breath.

"Franklin?" she called softly.

"Hmm?"

"Promise me this is forever." 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

The words hit like a thunderclap. Those exact words. She had said them before—on that moonlit beach night, when our love had felt unbreakable. Could this be a fragment returning? A echo of our past slipping through the fog? I stared at her, surprised, heart racing with possibility, but I didn’t push. Not yet. The timing felt too delicate, too precious.

"I promise," I whispered instead, sealing it with quiet conviction.

She grinned, content, and rested her head on my shoulder once more. We sat there, watching the world turn gently around us, my mind still reeling with hope and the quiet fear that forever might be harder to hold than either of us imagined. Yet in that sun-dappled park, with her beside me, it felt possible—worth every shadowed step ahead.