Chapter 172~ Octavia ~
The world had already cracked open the mont the officer spoke the words "plane crash." Now, it threatened to swallow whole.
Still trembling, I forced the question past my numb lips. "Where?" My voice cracked. "Where exactly did it happen?"
Officer Reynolds answered with careful professionalism. "Search teams are focusing on a sector deep within the Amazon rainforest, ma’am. The terrain is extrely challenging—dense jungle, limited visibility, and difficult access. Progress is slow, but every available resource has been deployed."
The Amazon rainforest. The words landed like stones in my stomach. Fear clamped around my heart with icy fingers. I pressed a shaky hand to my mouth, desperate to contain the rising panic that clawed up my throat. My mind betrayed , flashing back to the last ti Franklin and I had stood face to face. The resentnt in my voice, the harsh words I had hurled at him like weapons. I hadn’t even called him before he left the States to wish him a safe journey. How selfish I had been. How cruel. The regret burned hotter than anything I had ever felt. I could see his face so clearly—the resignation in his eyes when I’d turned away from him, the quiet hurt I’d inflicted knowing exactly where it would land.
"Mrs. Flemington," the officer continued gently, "we will keep you updated the mont we receive any confird information—whether good or bad."
"Okay," I whispered. The single word sounded foreign, as if it belonged to soone else. Soone who wasn’t shattering inside.
"Do you have anyone with you right now?" he asked, his tone softening with quiet compassion.
I lifted my gaze to my parents. They stood frozen, watching with wide, fearful eyes, their concern so palpable it filled the room. "Y-yes... my parents," I stamred, barely holding myself together.
"That’s good. Stay with them. I’ll call as soon as there are any developnts."
The line went dead.
For a heartbeat, silence swallowed everything. Then the phone slipped from my trembling fingers and clattered to the floor with a dull, final sound. The noise echoed in my ears like a gunshot.
"What happened, Octavia?" my father demanded, his voice tight with worry.
My mother quickly scooped up the phone, her fingers flying across the screen as she tried to check the call log. I stared up at them, my face empty of expression, as if all feeling had been drained from my body. Slowly, I pushed myself to my feet. My chest rose and fell in rapid, shallow bursts, yet it felt like I wasn’t breathing at all. Tears blurred my vision, spilling silently down my cheeks. I didn’t bother wiping them away—I didn’t have the strength.
Without a word, I turned and walked toward my bedroom, each step heavy, chanical. I closed the door behind with a soft click that sounded deafening in the quiet apartnt.
"Honey? Octavia?" My father’s voice followed , laced with confusion and fear. He knocked gently on the door. "Who was that on the phone? Is everything okay? Talk to us, sweetheart."
I sank slowly to the floor, my back sliding down the door until I was curled on the cold hardwood. My eyes stared at nothing, yet everything felt too loud—the frantic thud of my heartbeat, the ragged sound of my breathing, and worst of all, Franklin’s voice echoing relentlessly in my mind. The mory of that letter Briggs had given , his careful handwriting, all those words he’d poured onto the page because he couldn’t say them to my face—words I’d barely read before my anger had consud again. What had he written? What final things might he have wanted to know?
"I’m sorry, Octavia..."
The words replayed over and over, a cruel loop that tore at my soul. I had thrown his apology back in his face. I had walked away angry. And now...
"Should I call the number back?" I heard my mother ask, her voice muffled through the door. She still held my phone.
"Yes, do it now," my father replied urgently.
A mont later, Mom spoke again, frustration and worry mixing in her tone. "The line is unavailable."
"Try again," Dad insisted.
They did. Once. Twice. Still nothing.
I heard my father sigh deeply, then his knuckles rapped softly against the wood once more. "Octavia? Sweetie, please talk to . I need to know what’s going on. You’re scaring us."
My chest tightened with such vicious pain that it felt as though sothing inside was being ripped apart. I pressed both hands against my sternum, gasping sharply. The tears ca faster now, hot and relentless. Everything—the phone call, the accident, every cruel word I had spoken to Franklin—crashed over like a tidal wave. The realization that I might never get to tell him I was sorry, that I might never have the chance to unsay the things I’d said, that the last mory he might have of was my rejection—it was too much. It was unbearable. A broken sob tore from my throat, then another, until I was wailing openly.
I clutched my ears, trying to block out the noise in my head, and curled into a tight fetal position on the floor, rocking slightly as grief consud .
The door finally opened. Strong arms wrapped around —my father’s familiar, protective embrace. He pulled against his chest as my mother crouched beside us, her hand gently stroking my hair.
"Dad..." I cried, my voice raw and childlike.
They exchanged a worried glance over my head.
"What happened, baby?" Dad asked softly, his voice trembling with restrained fear.
"S-sothing... sothing happened to... Fran-Franklin," I stamred between sobs.
My mother’s breath hitched. "What happened to him, honey?"
Tears stread down my face in rivers now. I drew my knees tighter to my chest, feeling weaker than I had ever felt in my life. My vision swam, the room tilting at the edges.
"He... he had a plane crash," I whispered, the words barely audible.
The mont the confession left my lips, darkness rushed in from all sides. The last thing I heard was my parents calling my na—over and over—before everything faded to black, and I passed out in my father’s arms.
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