Chapter 80

~ Octavia ~

Two missed calls. Eight. Ten. Fourteen. By the time the counter hit sixteen, I stopped looking. Ten voicemails and a mountain of texts, all from Franklin, sat like lead in my digital inbox. I wasn’t in the mood to hear his voice, to listen to his practiced apologies, or to fall for the smooth timber of his lies. My mind was a battlefield, cluttered with the wreckage of the night at the resort.

I couldn’t stop the loop in my head: those photos of Franklin, naked and vulnerable in a bed that wasn’t mine. How could he betray me so effortlessly? After that night of passion we shared on the beach—a night where I thought our souls finally touched—he couldn’t even wait to run into the arms of another woman. The sting of it was physical. Why do the people I let in always turn out to be the ones who hold the knife?

Desperate to blow off some steam and escape the suffocating walls of my apartment, I decided to dress up and head to the one place that consistently offered me a shred of comfort: the orphanage.

The moment I stepped onto the grounds, the heavy cloud over my heart lifted slightly. The children were overjoyed, their high-pitched cheers acting as a temporary balm. I had brought bags of gifts and treats, and since it was the weekend and classes were out, we spent the afternoon on the wide, grassy field.

"Look what I drew yesterday, Octavia!" Stacy, a quiet seven-year-old with bright eyes, hurried over and thrust her sketchpad into my hands.

I took it, expecting the usual stick figures. Instead, I gasped. It was a unicorn and a pony, but the shading and proportions were startlingly realistic for a child. It looked like the work of an apprentice artist.

"Wow, Stace, this is incredible," I said, lowering the book to see her blushing furiously. "The detail on the unicorn’s mane...it’s beautiful."

"I really wanted you to like it," she whispered.

"I love it. You have a real gift, Stacy."

"Do you want to keep it?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh, sweetie, I couldn’t take this from you. It’s a masterpiece."

"It’s okay! I have the drawing right here," she said, tapping her temple with a grin. "I remember every line."

I smiled, amazed by her photographic memory.

"If you’re sure, I would be honored." She carefully tore the page out and handed it to me. "I will cherish this forever, I promise."

I opened my arms, and she dove in for a bear hug. "You just made my day, Stace."

"Can I get a hug like that too?" Jack, a boisterous boy from across the field, called out.

"Sure, come here!" I laughed. Soon, a chorus of "Me too!" and "What about me?" broke out.

"Okay, everyone in! Group hug!"

For the first time since the resort, I laughed genuinely. They swarmed me, a tangle of small limbs and pure energy. Their joy was infectious, and for a few minutes, the image of Franklin’s betrayal faded into the background.

"Octavia?" Dora, a pint-sized girl with pigtails, asked as we started blowing bubbles across the field.

"Yes, Dora?"

"What about that man?" she asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

My heart stuttered. I knew exactly who she meant—Franklin, from the last time I’d visited.

"Oh...that man? What about him?" I tried to keep my voice light as the other children chased the shimmering bubbles through the air.

"Is he your husband? He told us you were husband and wife."

The mention of him brought a surge of cold anger, but I fought to keep my expression neutral. I wouldn’t let my mess stain their afternoon. "Yes, Dora. He was right. We are."

"So that means you’re a Mummy and he’s a Daddy!" she chirped, showing off a gap-toothed grin. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"Dora! Where did you learn that?" I felt the heat rise in my cheeks.

"Sister Agnes told us in science! She said when people get married, they become Mummies and Daddies."

I held my forehead, feeling sheepish as several other children gathered around to hear the verdict. "Well...is it true?" Dora pressed.

"Yes, is it?" Kenny added, tugging on my sleeve. "Tell us, Octavia!"

"Okay, okay, calm down," I said, realizing I was trapped by a dozen tiny inquisitors. "Listen, Sister Agnes is right in a way. That is what happens when people start a family. But it’s part of being an adult, and you’re all still very little."

"But if you’re married, why aren’t you a Mummy yet?" Stacy asked softly.

The question hit me like a physical weight. "Oh, well...we aren’t ready for a baby just yet," I said, the words feeling hollow and awkward.

The truth was, I had always dreamed of being a mother, but the thought of bringing a child into the chaotic, broken mess of my life with Franklin was a nightmare I wasn’t ready to face.

"When will you be ready?" Kenny asked.

"Will you bring the baby here to see us?"

"Soon, Kenny. Maybe," I replied vaguely.

"I hope it’s a boy," Jack declared. "Boys are better at soccer."

"No! A girl!" Dora countered, pinching his arm. "Girls are prettier!"

"Ow! I’m not lying!" Jack winced, sticking his tongue out.

"Hey, hey! No fighting over a baby that doesn’t exist yet," I laughed, stepping between them.

"It doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. As long as the baby is loved by all of you, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?"

A chorus of "Uh-huh!" followed, and I felt a pang of longing for a life that was simple and honest—a life far away from corporate boardrooms and secret hotel rooms.

As the nuns called the children in for lunch, I went to find Mother Superior. She was just finishing up with some visitors.

"Octavia, my dear. I’m so glad you could visit," she said, her face lighting up. "I heard you were out on the field. Did the children behave?"

"They were wonderful," I told her as we began to stroll toward the quiet garden behind the main building. "A bit too curious for their own good, perhaps, but wonderful."

Mother Superior chuckled. "Curiosity is the engine of the soul, Octavia. But tell me... how are you? Truly? How are things with Mr. Flemington?"

The smile slid off my face. "If I told you things were good, Mother, I’d be lying. We are...not in a good place."

"I’m sorry to hear that. Marriage is a sacred bond, but it is also a difficult one. God is never happy to see his children suffer in their unions, especially when the strife isn’t caused by something as grave as adultery or abuse."

I looked away, the secret of the photos burning in my throat. Franklin had committed adultery—at least the evidence pointed that way. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

"Maybe you should seek a counselor," she advised gently. "Communication is the bridge over many troubled waters."

"Thank you, Mother. I’ll think about it," I said, though in my heart, I was already picturing the divorce papers. I didn’t want a bridge; I wanted to be on a different continent.

The goodbye to the children was bittersweet, as it always was. They clung to my coat, making me promise to return soon.

As I drove away from the orphanage, the heavy reality of my life crashed back down on me. The laughter of the children faded, replaced by the silent, haunting images on my phone. I gripped the steering wheel tight, heading back to a home that felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cage.