Chapter 21
“You okay?” Jasper asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper as his gaze flicked to the bassinet.
Jayla slept peacefully, her tiny fists curled near her face, lips pursed in that soft, fluttery way newborns had when they dreamed. The room was still except for the faint hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional snuffle from the baby.
Jemma sat on the worn couch, knees pulled up, a crumpled tissue clutched in one hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes spiky with tears. She didn’t look at Jasper when she spoke.
“He’s going to take her from me,” she whispered, her voice brittle, like something already cracking under pressure. She was staring at her daughter, the grief plain in every line of her face. “He’s going to take her, and I’ll never see her again.”
Jasper’s throat tightened.
He wanted to say No, he won’t. Saif wouldn’t do that. He wanted to give her some comforting lie to ease the fear in her eyes. But he couldn’t.
He’d seen the fury on Saif’s face when he’d stormed out of the building.
That wasn’t the kind of anger that fizzled out.
That was the kind that fueled courtroom wars.
And though Jasper had tried—God, he hoped Saif had heard him—it was hard to say if the man would understand.
Understand Jemma’s scars. Her trauma. The ghosts she still lived with, even now.
So instead of false promises, he walked across the room and dropped down beside her on the couch.
The cushions sagged beneath them. He slipped an arm around her thin shoulders, gently pulling her close.
She didn’t resist. Her head tipped to his shoulder like it belonged there, and within seconds he felt the warmth of her silent tears soaking into his shirt.
There were groceries to put away—milk, eggs, the good fresh stuff they’d been able to afford this week because, finally, finally, Jemma had insisted they stop paying off the old medical debt from their mom’s cancer. It wasn’t their responsibility anymore, she’d said. They deserved to breathe.
So they’d bought fresh fruit. Green grapes. Strawberries. Zucchini for roasting. Carrots with the tops still on. It had felt like a celebration.
But now?
Now none of that mattered. The milk could spoil for all he cared.
What mattered was the girl beside him—the woman, really—who’d spent most of her life being everyone else’s anchor, and who finally, for once, needed someone to be hers.
“I was just thinking about Mom,” Jasper said suddenly, his voice husky with emotion.
Jemma didn’t answer, but her hand gripped his shirt, fingers trembling.
“Remember Christmas Eve, that year when it snowed so hard we couldn’t go to Grandma’s?”
She gave the faintest nod, her forehead still resting against his shoulder.
“We stayed home and made cookies instead. That tiny kitchen smelled like vanilla for days.” He smiled softly, staring ahead as the memory came into focus.
“You dumped half a bottle of red sprinkles onto the sugar cookies. Mom didn’t even yell.
She just laughed and said they looked like they were bleeding. ”
A watery chuckle escaped Jemma.
“She let me eat so much dough, I puked the next morning,” Jasper added with a grin. “And you tried to blame the dog even though we didn’t have one.”
That got a real laugh. Just a breathy one—but still, a laugh.
He kept going, afraid that if he stopped, the heaviness would return.
“Or that ugly yellow dress Mom sewed for one of your picture days? Remember? The one with the weird lace collar?”
Jemma groaned softly into his shoulder. “I looked like a baby canary with mange.”
“You cried because it itched so bad,” he said, grinning now. “But you wore it anyway. And Mom cried when you brought the school pictures home. She said she’d never seen you look more beautiful.”
Jemma pulled in a shaky breath, wiping her nose with the tissue.
“And that time you tried to fix my hair?” Jasper added, mischief in his tone. “You said I looked like a mushroom and then decided to ‘help.’ You slicked my curls down with conditioner and used, like, twenty of those little rubber bands to make ponytails all over my head.”
“You looked ridiculous,” Jemma whispered with a snort. “Like a very confused sea urchin.”
“Yeah, well, I still went to school like that because you promised it was cool.”
She laughed again, but her body shuddered with the effort. The tears returned, quiet and slow, trickling down her cheeks as the laughter faded.
Jasper pulled her closer. “You’ve been everything to me, Jemma. Everything. You gave up so much to keep me safe. You protected me. You held this family together when it was just ashes.”
He turned, looking at her now, willing her to believe him. “You are not going to lose your daughter. I don’t know how yet. I don’t have the plan. But I’ll figure it out. I’ll get another job. We’ll find a way. A lawyer. Something.”
Jemma blinked at him, her eyes swimming.
“Even if Saif has all the money in the world,” Jasper continued, “he doesn’t know her like you do. He didn’t sit up with her every night. He didn’t memorize the sound of her hiccups or count the little creases in her fingers.”
He looked at the bassinet, where Jayla still slept peacefully, and his jaw tightened. “The rich always win because they’ve got the firepower. The lawyers. The time. But I’ll be damned if we don’t at least try.”
Jemma leaned into him again, and he could feel her breath steadying.
“I’ve got you,” Jasper whispered fiercely. “Just like you always had me.”
And as the late afternoon sun dipped below the buildings and cast golden light through their thin curtains, Jasper swore silently to himself that he’d do whatever it took. Whatever it cost. He would not let this world steal one more thing from his sister.
Not again.