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 moment. Franklin was attentive, patient, and disarmingly kind—nothing like the shadowy figure my fragmented instincts sometimes whispered about. Hanging out with him, laughing over silly things, feeling his hand steady on mine... it made me wonder, deeply and often, what exactly my old self had found so hateful about him. He seemed like a man of honor, someone who carried his burdens without letting them dim the way he looked at me. 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. Memories 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 remembered?" 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. "Remembered what?"

"You said ’promise me 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 remember saying that to me before?" he asked, his gaze curious yet laced with something deeper—something 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 me. "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 me straight in the eyes and asked me to promise that what we had would be forever. I did. But it was short-lived. Something came between us—something 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 remember 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 remember everything, it isn’t something 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 same 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 name. A small sigh of disappointment escaped me.

"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 mentioned Franklin came 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 me. "Listen, I need to head to my book club meeting, but I’ll swing by this evening with dinner. Something warm and comforting—your favorite."

"Okay, Mom. Take your time."

"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 mention of her message. "I like that your mom asked about me," 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. Same with your dad. But they’re warming up—getting fond of me, I think."

"Meaning they love you," I teased gently, though the word carried more weight than I intended.

"Yeah, something like that," he shrugged, but his smile was soft.

I hesitated, then asked, "What about your parents? Do they love me 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 something raw without meaning 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 remember me 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 me, 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 me just a little more.

"Car accident," he replied, voice even but distant, as if the memory 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 me 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 me once more, and this time I let it settle.

"Let’s go have lunch," he suggested suddenly, standing and gripping the handles of my wheelchair. "Somewhere outside the hospital—proper food, not the cafeteria stuff."

"You mean outside?" I asked, glancing down at my plain hospital gown. "I’m dressed like I’m wearing someone’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 time it was Clinton. Franklin watched me closely as I answered, his arms folded, eyes sharp with something that looked a lot like envy.

"You said you’d come 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 me. "Tell me the truth, Clinton," I pressed, lowering my voice. "Did Franklin call and threaten you not to come see me?"

"No, he didn’t. He never called to threaten me. I’m just... really busy."

"Okay. Let me know when you can come, all right?"

"Sure. Hope you’re getting better."

"I’m solid. Don’t worry about me."

"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 me," 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, come 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 me settle onto the bed, his touch lingering a second longer than necessary.

"Regardless, it’s tragic," he said.

"Regardless, you’re watching it with me," 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 me, and for a moment 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 me who, for now, made everything feel possible.