Chapter 5
1414 Words
MIRANDA
We didn’t have a grand wedding.
Just a courthouse, a Tuesday morning, and two people who couldn’t wait another second to belong to each other.
Sloane was the one who drove us there.
She blasted music the whole way, singing off‑key, yelling at Jasper to stop looking so nervous.
Jasper’s best friend, Ethan Rowe, met us on the courthouse steps. He clapped Jasper on the back and whispered something that made him laugh — a real laugh, the kind that crinkled his eyes and softened his whole face.
I remember thinking:
This is what happiness feels like.
Inside, the courthouse was nearly empty. A bored clerk stamped papers. A couple argued in the corner. A toddler cried somewhere down the hall.
But when Jasper took my hand, the world went silent.
“You ready?” he asked, voice low, warm, steady.
I nodded. “Are you?”
He smiled — the kind of smile that made my knees weak. “I’ve been ready since the day I met you.”
The judge was an older woman with kind eyes and a no‑nonsense tone. She asked us to stand facing each other. Jasper took both my hands in his, thumbs brushing my knuckles, grounding me.
His palms were warm.
Mine were shaking.
“Do you, Jasper Hale, take Miranda—”
“I do,” he said before she even finished.
The judge chuckled. “Eager, are we?”
He didn’t look away from me. “Very.”
My heart fluttered.
“And do you, Miranda, take Jasper—”
“I do,” I whispered, and it felt like stepping into sunlight.
Jasper exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.
When the judge pronounced us husband and wife, he didn’t wait for permission. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me — soft at first, then deeper, like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth.
Sloane cheered.
Ethan whistled.
The clerk rolled his eyes.
But Jasper didn’t care.
Neither did I.
He pressed his forehead to mine, breath warm against my lips.
“You’re my wife,” he whispered, wonder in his voice. “I can’t believe you’re my wife.”
I laughed, breathless. “Believe it.”
We've only been dating for barely two months. Not enough time to know each other well. And yet, here we are.
He kissed me again, slower this time, like he wanted to savor every second.
We signed the papers.
Sloane took blurry photos on her phone.
Ethan Rowe insisted on buying us cheap champagne from a corner store for the hell of it.
We drank it on the courthouse steps, the four of us passing the bottle around, laughing at nothing, the sun warm on our faces.
Jasper wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close.
“No matter what happens,” he murmured, “I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to make you happy.”
I leaned into him, believing every word.
“I already am,” I said.
He kissed the top of my head. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”
And in that moment — simple, imperfect, beautiful — I felt like the luckiest woman alive.
It was just us and a promise we both believed in.
The memory still warms me, even now.
Even after everything.
Because once upon a time, Jasper Hale loved me with a sincerity that felt unbreakable.
And that’s why, even years later, even after the hurt and the distance, a part of me still remembers the man who held my hands in a courthouse and said I do like it was the easiest decision of his life.
**
I woke up to the smell of something I hadn’t experienced in years.
Breakfast.
I walked into the kitchen and froze.
Jasper was at the stove, hair messy, sleeves rolled up, flipping pancakes like he’d been doing it every morning of our marriage. The table was set for two. Fresh fruit. Coffee. Flowers.
He turned when he heard me.
“Good morning,” he said softly.
I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t trust my voice.
He walked toward me slowly, like I was something fragile he didn’t want to break.
“I know last night was… awful,” he said. “And I know I’ve hurt you. But I want to fix this, Miranda. I want us.”
I crossed my arms. “Words are easy.”
“I know.” He swallowed. “So I’m showing you.”
He pulled out my chair.
I sat.
He served me breakfast.
He sat across from me, watching me like he was afraid I’d disappear.
His phone buzzed.
Laney.
He didn’t even look at it.
He silenced the call and flipped the phone face‑down.
My eyebrows lifted. “You’re not answering?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Not today.”
Something in my chest tightened — not hope, not forgiveness, but surprise.
He reached across the table, brushing his fingers over mine.
“Give me time,” he whispered. “Let me prove I can be better.”
I didn’t pull away.
But I didn’t lean in either.
He stood, walked around the table, and cupped my face gently.
“Miranda,” he murmured, “I miss you.”
His lips brushed mine — soft, hesitant, almost reverent.
I didn’t kiss him back.
Not at first.
But when he deepened the kiss, something inside me cracked — not the old softness, but the memory of who we used to be.
He lifted me onto the dining table, his hands on my waist, his forehead pressed to mine.
“Let me love you,” he whispered.
His phone rang again.
He ignored it.
He kissed me harder.
And for a moment — just a moment — it felt like the beginning again.
We showered together afterward, steam curling around us, his hands gentle, his voice soft. He washed my hair like he used to. He kissed my shoulder. He whispered apologies against my skin.
It was the closest we’d been in years.
And I hated how much I needed it.
When we stepped out, wrapped in towels, his phone rang again — this time his assistant.
He sighed. “I have to take this.”
I nodded.
He answered, pacing. “What? No, that contract wasn’t supposed to— Okay. I’ll handle it. Give me an hour.”
He hung up, rubbing his temples.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Crisis at the office.”
Before I could respond, his phone rang again.
The hospital.
He froze.
“Hello? …Yes, this is Jasper Hale. …What? …I’ll be there.”
He looked at me, panic in his eyes.
“It’s my mom.”
My chest tightened. “Go. I’ll meet you there.”
He blinked. “You… you will?”
“Yes,” I said. “She’s family.”
He exhaled shakily, relief flooding his face. “Thank you.”
He kissed my forehead and rushed out the door.
**
I arrived at the hospital first.
His mother was stable but unconscious. I sat beside her bed, holding her hand, whispering soft reassurances even though she couldn’t hear me.
I was still there when the door opened.
Jasper walked in.
With Laney.
She was clinging to his arm like she was the one who belonged there.
Her body pressed against his side.
Her head leaning on his shoulder.
My stomach twisted.
“Miranda,” Jasper said, stepping forward.
Laney didn’t move.
She tightened her grip on him.
On purpose.
I stood slowly, my eyes narrowing.
Jasper followed my gaze — and finally seemed to understand.
He gently pried Laney’s hand off his arm.
“Sit,” he told her, pointing to the couch.
She blinked, surprised.
“Jasper—”
“Sit,” he repeated, firmer.
She sat.
He walked to me.
And kissed me.
Not on the forehead or the cheek.
On the lips.
Except I turned my head at the last second.
His lips landed on my cheek instead.
He froze. His jaw tightened.
“What now, Miranda?” he whispered, frustration bleeding through. “What did I do wrong this time?”
I stared at him — at the man who wanted to fix everything in one morning, at the man who still didn’t understand the depth of the damage.
“You brought her,” I said quietly.
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