Chapter 134

~ Franklin ~

That evening, as the hospital ward softened under the warm glow of bedside lamps, Patricia returned with a quiet determination in her step. The faint scent of her herbal tea lingered in the air, a small comfort amid the sterile hush. Octavia had been waiting for this moment, the weight of her nightmare pressing on her like an unseen shadow. She sat up a little straighter against the pillows, her hands twisting the edge of the duvet, and began to speak, her voice low but steady at first.

"I dreamt I was Rose from the movie Titanic," she said, eyes distant as if the images were still playing behind them. "I was standing at the edge of the ship, no Jack this time, just the wind whipping around me. I was enjoying the breeze, the salt air on my face, feeling... free. Then I felt someone behind me—close, too close. Before I could turn to see who it was, I was pushed. Hard. I fell into the cold ocean, screaming the whole way down. The water was freezing, like needles against my skin. I thrashed and screamed for help, but there was nobody. No one came. I thought I was going to drown, really drown."

Patricia and I exchanged a heavy glance across the bed. The parallel hit like a quiet thunderclap. In her nightmare, someone had pushed her—just as they had in reality, down those unforgiving stairs. The dream wasn’t random; it was her mind piecing together the trauma in the only language it knew right now.

"Only to my relief, you woke me up," Octavia continued, her voice cracking slightly, "and I realized it was all a dream." I pulled her close without hesitation, wrapping my arms around her as if I could shield her from the echoes still chasing her. Patricia reached out, taking her daughter’s hand in both of hers, her touch gentle but firm.

"You’re safe now," I whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of hospital shampoo mixed with her own warmth. "It can’t touch you here."

"The dream felt so real," Octavia murmured, leaning her head on my shoulder as I rubbed slow circles on her back. "The water... I could feel how cold it was, how it pulled at me, how helpless I was. I was so scared."

Patricia leaned in, drawing her into a hug that enveloped us both for a moment. "It’s all over, honey. It isn’t real. You’re safe with us, okay?" She kissed the top of her daughter’s head, the gesture filled with a mother’s quiet strength.

"I’m glad," Octavia mumbled, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction as we held her between us.

When they pulled apart, she turned to me, a small, wry smile breaking through. "I don’t think I’ll want to watch Titanic again... at least not for a long while."

"Okay," I said softly, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "As long as it’s what you want."

Patricia cleared her throat gently. "Honey, can you excuse Franklin and me for a moment? I need to speak with him, please."

Octavia looked from me to her mother, a flicker of reluctance crossing her face. "Why? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, everything’s fine," Patricia assured her with a calm smile. "I just need a quick word."

"Okay," Octavia nodded, though her eyes lingered on us with quiet curiosity. "I’ll be right back," I promised her, squeezing her hand before following Patricia into the hallway.

The corridor was dimmer now, the overhead lights humming softly as evening settled over the hospital. Patricia closed the door behind us, her expression turning serious in the muted glow. "I think her dream is manifesting what happened to her in real life," she said, voice low to keep it between us.

"That’s what I think too," I replied, leaning against the wall, the cool surface grounding me. The nightmare wasn’t just fear—it was memory trying to break through, raw and unfiltered.

"What do you think we should do?" Patricia asked, arms crossed tightly. "Do you think the dream will recur again? Keep haunting her like this?"

"I don’t know," I admitted, running a hand through my hair. "The only person who can give us real answers right now is Dr. Aris. He’ll know if this is normal or something we should watch more closely."

"He isn’t on duty," Patricia told me, her brow furrowing.

"He isn’t?" Surprise lifted my voice slightly.

"Yes. I went to his office earlier to ask for Octavia’s latest MRI scan results, but the door was locked. I checked with the nurses—they said he’s off until tomorrow morning."

"Okay, then we wait until tomorrow," I said, nodding. The delay felt like another small weight added to the growing pile, but rushing wouldn’t help her fragile recovery.

Patricia hesitated, then asked the question that had clearly been weighing on her. "But is it really true that Octavia was pushed down those stairs?"

"Yes," I confirmed, meeting her eyes steadily. "The footage doesn’t lie. Someone was there."

"Did you find out who did it?" Her voice was steady, but the fear behind it was unmistakable—the protective fire of a mother who had almost lost her child.

"Not yet," I said, keeping my tone even. "I have someone working on it—a private investigator I trust. With time, we’ll know who pushed her. I won’t stop until we do."

"I pray it comes soon," she whispered, glancing back toward the door as if she could shield her daughter through it.

"Me too," I mumbled, the words heavy with everything I couldn’t yet say.

"Let’s head back," she said finally, and we returned to the ward together, the soft click of the door sealing us inside once more.

"What did you guys discuss about?" Octavia asked the moment we stepped in, her eyes sharp with curiosity despite the fatigue lining her face.

"Nothing that concerns you for now," Patricia replied smoothly, reaching into the dresser for a light blanket and spreading it gently over Octavia’s legs.

Octavia turned to me, not letting it go. "What did you and my mother talk about?"

"Like she said—nothing that concerns you right now," I chuckled lightly, trying to keep the mood from darkening further.

She rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Let me guess. The reason you both don’t want to tell me is because I’m too delicate and fragile in this state."

"Something like that," Patricia admitted with a soft laugh, tucking the blanket around her.

"Can’t really wait to get my memories back," Octavia mumbled, staring at the ceiling as if the answers were written there.

"You will," I told her quietly. "Don’t worry."

Later that night, as the ward grew quieter and the city lights twinkled faintly beyond the window, I announced I was leaving. "You’re leaving?" Octavia asked, surprise lifting her brows.

"Yes. I have an early morning meeting I can’t miss, and I need to sleep well in my own bed." I hesitated, then added with a gentle smile, "Sorry to say, while I slept on the hospital bed with you, it kind of hurt my back. But I didn’t care—I needed to hold you close."

"It’s fine. I understand," she mumbled, though her eyes said she wished I could stay.

I reached down, kissing her lightly on the lips, right there in Patricia’s presence. Her mother politely pretended to focus on serving herself dinner, giving us the moment. "Don’t worry—if I come tomorrow, I’ll bring you some things to make this room feel more like home."

"As long as you come back, I’m okay with it," she smiled, the words warming me more than she could know.

"Goodnight, sunshine," I said, grabbing my suit jacket from the foot of the bed.

"Sunshine? That’s new," Patricia remarked with a raised brow as she stirred her meal.

"Yeah, it’s what he calls me—along with ’my queen, and ’baby’’" Octavia explained, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

"That’s brilliant," Patricia said approvingly.

"Thank you," I replied, smiling as I headed for the door. "Goodnight, Franklin," Octavia called after me.

I paused in the doorway, the sight of her—safe, smiling, waiting for me—filling my chest with a quiet hope I hadn’t felt in days. I wished Patricia goodnight and stepped into the hallway, the door closing softly behind me. A smile lingered on my face as I walked toward the elevators, the echo of my footsteps the only sound. I liked that she couldn’t wait to see me again. I wished, more than anything, that this version of us—the one without the shadows of the past—could last forever.