The golden morning sun filtered through the bedroom curtains, casting a soft, warm glow on the tangled sheets. Jerry stirred, her head throbbing with a dull, persistent ache. Her feet burned, every muscle in her body sore and swollen with pain. She blinked against the light, her throat dry, her mind foggy.
She turned her head slowly—and her breath caught.
Mira lay beside her, fast asleep. Her beautiful face, delicate and flushed, was turned toward Jerry. Her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, her soft lips parted slightly as she breathed. Her bare skin shimmered under the morning sun, glowing like warm silk. Jerry's eyes traced the faint love marks she had left the night before, guilt settling heavy in her chest.
Jerry tried to sit up—but groaned loudly, collapsing halfway against the headboard. A sharp jolt of pain tore through her body.
The sound stirred Mira.
"Jerry?" Mira's voice cracked, sleepy and alarmed. She sat up, the sheets slipping off her bare shoulders. "Jerry—are you okay?"
Jerry winced and cupped Mira's hands, bringing them to her face, breathing in her warmth. But her eyes remained shut.
Mira moved closer, brushing hair from Jerry's forehead. "You're burning up. Baby, talk to me."
Jerry gently pulled Mira's hands away. Her jaw clenched as memories of last night clawed into her thoughts—her pain, her drunken meltdown, and how she'd dragged Mira into the emotional storm.
She rubbed her face with both hands, groaning. "F**k, man… what did I do?"
She tried to get out of bed, but Mira caught her waist, stopping her. "Jerry, wait! Don't move like that."
"I need to—" Jerry gasped as pain shot down her leg. Her body went limp, and she collapsed back into bed.
Mira's eyes widened in horror.
"Jerry!" she cried, pulling away the sheets—and froze.
Blood.
A dark crimson stain bloomed across the sheets beneath Jerry's thigh. Mira's heart jumped to her throat.
Jerry's pants were soaked on one side, the fabric clinging to a long, deep gash running down her thigh. The cut oozed fresh blood. Her inner wear—a masculine, boxer-style fit—was already sticking to her skin from the wound.
Mira's hand trembled as she ripped the fabric aside to inspect it.
"God, Jerry," she whispered. "It's deep—why didn't you tell me?!"
Jerry gritted her teeth, the veins in her neck straining as the pain surged again. "I—I didn't even realize. I must've cut myself on the broken glass last night…"
Mira's hands dropped, overwhelmed. "You were bleeding all night. You could've passed out from blood loss."
She bolted toward the door.
"Mira—" Jerry grabbed her wrist, eyes desperate.
Mira turned, still frantic. "I'm calling the doctor! You're not okay!"
"I know," Jerry muttered, eyes flicking to Mira's bare chest. "Your shirt…"
Only then did Mira realize she was still half-naked. She blushed, grabbed a shirt from the chair, and slipped it over her head. She brought another for Jerry.
"Let me help you put this on—"
"I'll do it," Jerry said quietly, taking it from her. She turned away slightly, clearly in pain.
But Mira knelt beside her, trying to hold her steady. "Stop acting tough for a minute—please."
Jerry pulled away. "Don't look at me like that. I can take care of it myself. You've got a company to run. Go back."
Mira flinched, pain flashing in her eyes. She cupped Jerry's cheeks, forcing her to meet her gaze.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Not now. Not when my husband is bleeding and in pain."
Jerry looked down, silent.
"I left you alone when you needed me most," Mira said. "Not again."
Jerry blinked, her lashes wet. "Why are you being so gentle now? After everything I—"
"Because I love you," Mira interrupted softly. "Because even when you push me away, I see the pain in your eyes. And I know it's not from the cut."
Jerry's breath hitched, her voice barely a whisper. "I forced you. You said… you didn't want to be with me. That you were doing all this for Grandpa."
Mira's chest heaved as she remembered those terrible words. "I lied. I said that because I was scared. But last night—when I almost lost you—I realized something."
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Jerry's. "If I ever lose you for real… I won't survive it."
Jerry's lip trembled. Her voice cracked as she placed her palm over her heart. "It hurts. Mira, my heart's bleeding. It's burning. I've never felt this much before—it's too much."
"I know," Mira whispered, her tears falling freely now. "I feel it too."
Jerry's voice broke as she finally let go, her tears running down her cheeks. "I love you. Even when I wanted to hate you… I couldn't."
"I love you," Mira repeated, kissing Jerry's hands. "With all your mess, with all your scars."
Jerry leaned her head on Mira's shoulder, shaking with silent sobs. Mira wrapped her arms around her tightly, like she'd never let her go again.
And in that fragile morning silence, where sunlight met blood and love, they finally healed not just their wounds but each other's hearts.
Two hours later…
Jerry sat on the edge of the bed, bandaged and sulking.
"Can't believe I'm wrapped like a damn burrito," she muttered, arms crossed. "I look like I lost a fight with a sushi roll."
Mira giggled, carefully tying her silky robe and walking back in with a tray of soup. "You did lose. To a wine bottle. And your own dramatic entrance into the glass cabinet."
Jerry huffed, narrowing her eyes. "That cabinet had it coming."
Mira smiled and leaned down to feed her. "Open your mouth, my wounded warrior."
Jerry pulled back, eyes wide. "I can feed myself—"
"Nope." Mira sat on the bed, placing the tray on her lap. "You bleed, I lead."
Jerry groaned. "Please don't say that again."
Mira smirked, scooping soup with a spoon. "Say 'ahhh'."
Jerry gave her a deadpan stare. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Maybe." Mira tilted her head sweetly. "Because for once, you're not running away. You're here. With me. And letting me take care of you."
Jerry looked down, quietly sipping the soup. Her cheeks flushed slightly.
"You know," Mira said suddenly, "you make the cutest pain faces when I cleaned your wound."
"Cute?" Jerry scoffed. "You think my face bleeding is cute?"
"No," Mira said, eyes softening. "You. Trying to act tough while clearly needing me. That's cute."
Jerry covered her face with her hand, groaning again. "God, you're killing me."
Mira reached out and brushed Jerry's messy hair back. "I thought I lost you last night."
Jerry's smile faded a little, her hand slipping down to her lap. "I'm sorry. For scaring you. For… everything."
"Just don't disappear again," Mira said, her voice small but firm.
Before Jerry could answer, her phone buzzed.
Mira reached to grab it—but stopped when she saw the name flashing.
Mira's face changed instantly.
"Who the hell is Sierra?" she asked, a sweet smile on her face… but her tone? Deadly.
Jerry blinked. "Oh. She's—uh—an old friend. From New York."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "Old friend… or 'old friend'?"
Jerry blinked again. "Why does it sound like you're about to stab me with that spoon?"
Mira handed her the phone like it was a weapon. "Go ahead. Answer. Let's both hear how friendly Sierra is."
Jerry scratched her head awkwardly. "You're jealous…"
"No. I'm curious," Mira said, smiling innocently. "The same way you were curious when that CEO chick texted me at 1 a.m. saying 'miss your vibe.'"
Jerry scowled. "That was one time. And I did knock her espresso over."
"And now I get my espresso moment," Mira grinned, watching Jerry pick up the call.
"Sierra, hey. Uh… yeah. Now's not the best time—uh-huh… yeah, I'm with someone. Yep, she's my… wife."
Mira's eyes sparkled with satisfaction.
Jerry quickly ended the call and looked at Mira like a scolded puppy. "She didn't even know I got married."
Mira leaned in close, smirking. "Good. Now she does."
Jerry coughed, trying to play it cool. "You're really hot when you're possessive."
"I'm always hot," Mira whispered, "but thanks for noticing."
Jerry gave her a lazy smile. "You're dangerous."
"And you're mine," Mira said softly, crawling into her lap gently, careful of her wound.
Jerry winced slightly but pulled her in with one arm. Mira's weight was comforting—warm, grounding.
Mira played with the collar of Jerry's shirt. "You always wear these rough button-ups… I should buy you something soft."
Jerry raised an eyebrow. "What, like your silky floral pajama sets?"
Mira beamed. "Yes! I want to see you in pink. Satin. Maybe even lace."
Jerry almost choked. "You want me to wear lace?"
"You'd look edible," Mira teased, running a finger down Jerry's chest.
"You're evil."
"I'm in love."
Jerry's smile dropped slightly—so did Mira's.
"I mean it," Mira whispered. "I don't want to ever wake up without you again."
Jerry leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. "You won't. Even if I act stupid sometimes… even if I bleed… I'll still crawl back to you."
"You better not crawl," Mira whispered. "I'll carry you next time."
Jerry chuckled. "You're barely 5'4". You'll break." "I'll still try."
And right then, in the sunlight, with the scent of soup between them and the sounds of their soft breathing, Jerry kissed her—slow, sweet, and secure.
Mira melted against her.
And for the first time in days, everything felt right.