Episode 21 — Time is Just Pocket Change that I'm wasting away

Five Years Later

The town had finally healed.

Ivy crept lazily up the repaired walls of homes once scarred by fire, now painted in warm, welcoming hues. Window boxes overflowed with fresh flowers, their colors a soft declaration of life returned. The plaza, a new landmark in the town bustled with energy —children darting in dizzying circles around the fountain, merchants calling out over the scent of warm bread spilling from the new bakery.

The scars of the past had slowly faded, though memory lingered.

“Don’t you think it’s bad luck to be out today?” a man muttered adjusting a basket of produce on his arm.

“Five years, Harold,” his wife said with a patient smile. “Nothing’s happened in five years.”

“Exactly,” he whispered, glancing at the sky. “That’s how it starts. Nice and quiet, then…bam!”

“Relax,” another neighbor called from a bench. “The only thing you’ll get today is a sunburn. Stop scaring the kids!”

Their voices faded near the Memorial Gardens. A cobblestone path wound through lush greenery, flanked by soft beds of wildflowers. Iron hooks lined the walkway, each holding a lantern that flickered even under the sun.

At the garden’s center stood a circle of polished stone tablets. The names of the departed were carved deep into their surfaces, each letter engraved with painstaking care. Even those who’d left no family behind were remembered —an entire tablet dedicated to preserving their bloodlines and legacies.

Jasmine knelt before the third tablet, her fingers brushing over a single name in the cold stone.

Arlon Griffin.

Tears threatened, but she forced a soft smile instead. She laid a bouquet of lilac and white roses at the base of the memorial, straightening the stems with trembling hands.

“Oh, Grandpa,” she whispered, voice barely more than breath. “I wish you were here to walk me. It feels like just yesterday you gave me Mom’s ring. Don’t worry… I’ll wear it proudly.”

A familiar set of footsteps approached behind her.

“Ready?” Clark asked softly, standing there in a neatly pressed suit, his hands tucked awkwardly into his pockets. His crooked smile, so unguarded, eased the tightness in her chest.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she murmured, slipping her hand into his.

Later, sunlight streamed through the rebuilt church’s upper chamber as Sasha worked carefully on Jasmine’s makeup. Jasmine’s veil lay draped across the bed, catching the light as if spun from glass. Her hair was pinned in soft, flowing curls woven with delicate pearl pins.

“Where are they?” Jasmine asked, her nerves rising.

Sasha hesitated. “They… can’t make it.”

“What?!” Jasmine spun her eyes wide.

“I know, I know,” Sasha said holding up her hands. “I called, but they’re still far away…something about a delay at the airport. They won’t get here until after five, but…they’re bringing enough gifts to make up for it.”

“They’d better,” Jasmine let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Two years since I last saw them and they’re late. Figures.”

“Yeah,” Sasha said, looping a strand of Jasmine’s hair through her fingers before fastening the final pearl pin. “I miss them too.”

“Do you… ever think about leaving again?” Jasmine asked quietly, her voice vulnerable.

Sasha paused, then shook her head. “Not really. After all those years curious about what else was out there, then finally getting to go… I don’t know. I guess it didn’t live up to the hype. There are plenty of beautiful places out there, don’t get me wrong, but it’s like that saying: home is the best. And I have everything I need right here.”

“Okay, fine,” Jasmine said with a teasing grin. “But where’s your Prince Charming?”

“With the baby at his mother’s,” Sasha replied, laughing. “Apparently Mrs. Clara has a stash of old baby clothes she swears are perfect for the occasion.”

“You can’t say no to Mrs. Clara,” Jasmine said with mock defeat. “And I can’t believe you still haven’t named that baby.”

“The right name hasn’t clicked,” Sasha pouted. “Besides, my dad didn’t name me until I was much older than him.

“Just saying… Bruce is still on the table,” Jasmine smirked. “Wouldn’t it be cool if he had the pastor’s name?”

“No thanks,” Sasha said with a laugh. “Even Dad doesn’t like his own name. I’ll know when the right name comes. Everyone just needs to stop pressuring me.”

Before Jasmine could reply, the soft toll of a bell rang out from below.

Once.

Twice.

Sasha darted down the stairs to check and returned, slightly out of breath.

“Everyone’s here.” she said. “Do you have your vows?”

Jasmine tapped her forehead. “Right here.”

Sasha grabbed the train of her dress as they descended the stairs.

“You could name him Michael Junior,” Jasmine teased as she adjusted her veil.

“Shut up and keep your eyes upfront,” Sasha shot back, rolling her eyes.

The church was alive with a hushed anticipation, every pew brimming with familiar faces dressed in their best. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, scattering jewel-colored light across the aisle that now formed a perfect path between the divided rows of guests. Whispered conversations quieted as the music shifted, signaling the bride’s arrival.

Kovac stood at the doorway in a sharp black suit, leaning on a cane, expression stern. the moment he saw them, he lifted his arms.

“We’re behind schedule,” he said, eyeing them. “We should be doing the vows by now. Are you sure you really want to get married? Because if you’re having second thoughts, I can call this off right now.”

“No, I’m not, Mr. Scherbatsky,” Jasmine’s lips quivered into a smile.

“You sure?” he asked, still unconvinced.

Robin appeared behind him and swatted at his arm. “What are you doing? Are you trying to sabotage Jasmine’s happiness?”

She turned to Jasmine, her expression softening. “Don’t mind him, sweetie. He’s just nervous about giving you away. You look so beautiful. I know your grandfather would be so proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Robin’s words struck deep, and Jasmine’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes burned as she blinked rapidly, unwilling to let the tears fall. Robin noticed and gently cupped her face.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Robin whispered, her own voice wavering, “don’t cry yet. Sasha would murder me if I ruined that perfect makeup.”
A shaky laugh slipped out of Jasmine’s lips as she leaned into Robin’s embrace, holding on just a little tighter than necessary. “You’re not making this easy,” she murmured, her voice breaking.
Robin pulled back, brushing her thumbs against Jasmine’s cheeks to catch the moisture before it could fall. “I just want you to know how proud we are of you.”

Jasmine nodded, unable to speak for a moment, then exhaled softly. “Thank you… for being here.”

Robin gave Jasmine’s hands one last squeeze before joining Sasha at the front pew. Clara sat proudly beside them, cooing softly at their two-year-old son, who was far less interested in behaving. The little boy squirmed and kicked his legs, his wide eyes darting between the flickering candles and the unfamiliar sea of faces. Michael tried, with limited success, to keep him from sliding out of his lap.

At the back of the church, Kovac extended his arm toward Jasmine. “Alright,” he muttered gruffly, though the tightness in his voice betrayed the swell of emotion in his chest. “Let’s get you married.”
Jasmine slipped her hand through his arm, squeezing gently. Together, they began their slow walk down the aisle. Clark waited at the altar in a perfectly fitted suit, his smile so bright and steady it anchored her nerves at once.

Pastor Mathers stepped forward to begin the ceremony, his beard now streaked with grey.

“Dear friends,” he began, his deep voice filling the church, “we gather today to celebrate the union of two souls who have faced shadows together and chosen the light.” He looked at Clark with a twinkle of pride. “And I still don’t know how our former Undertaker managed to woo Jasmine, but I suppose miracles do happen.”

Laughter rippled through the pews, breaking the nervous air.

“May their love be as enduring as this town’s spirit,” Mathers continued. “May it remind us all that from even the deepest wounds, hope can grow.”

Jasmine and Clark exchanged vows, voices trembling with emotion as they promised to cherish one another.

“You may now kiss your wife,” Pastor Mathers declared.
Cheers erupted as Clark leaned forward, brushing a tear from Jasmine’s cheek before kissing her tenderly, their hands entwined as though they would never let go again.

From the seats, Michael leaned over and kissed Sasha softly on the cheek, their son cradled between them.

That evening, lanterns bathed the plaza in a warm golden glow. The smell of roasted bread and sweet cider filled the air as music drifted under the budding trees. Children twirled in circles as the newlyweds swayed to the soft rhythm of the fiddles, laughter weaving through the night.

Sasha drifted from the crowd to the founder’s statue, her son nestled close to her chest. She kissed the soft crown of his head, clutching the small leather-bound book tighter under her arm

“This is the world you’ll grow up in now,” she whispered softly. “And I hope you’ll always know how much you’re loved.”

A faint creak behind her made her turn.

The shadows shifted, and from them stepped a familiar figure.

The Witch stood just beyond the statue’s light. Her porcelain doll body was Sasha’s height but her hair shorter now, the faint glow of dusk casting her in an ethereal shimmer.

“Mother,” Sasha breathed, clutching the baby closer.

The Witch’s voice was soft, almost trembling. “Sasha…my kind daughter.”

Her button-eyes lingered, as she reached to touch the baby’s tiny hand. The baby gurgled and reached up to her. “He’s beautiful…just like you. How have you been my daughter?” the Witch asked.

Sasha smiled. “I have been well, mother but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“It’s still nice to hear it from you. You have built something wonderful here. My little grandson…have I been lucky to watch him grow….”

She stopped for a moment and Sasha noticed.

“Mother…I have missed you but is there a reason you came to see me?”

The Witch smiled faintly, her dark eyes glimmering. “You can read me like a book, my daughter. I came to say goodbye.”

Sasha’s heart pounded. A thousand questions rushed to her lips, but she stayed silent, clutching her son closer. “Goodbye? Why now? I haven’t seen you since in years….”

“I apologize for that. I felt it would be uncomfortable to show up after all that has happened, but I have been watching over you…all of you. And in all these years of waiting, I ‘ve realized that you were right to believe in your…family. Without those debts of vengeance I carried, I am no longer bound here. It is finally time for me to rest.”

Tears welled in Sasha’s eyes, but she managed a smile. “I wish we had more time… but you’re right. You spared this town, and I’ll be forever grateful. It’s time.”

The Witch stepped closer, kneeling so she was level with the baby’s gaze. Her hand hovered just above the child’s chest, a soft warmth radiating from her palm.

“The boy, he should have a name,” she said gently. “If you want, you could give him a name that means something. One connected to his bloodline.”

Sasha blinked, confused. “Not you too. I don’t know…”

“Call him Christian.”

Sasha moved to speak but stopped. “Christian,” she whispered, tasting the name for the first time. “Yeah… I think that’s perfect. How did you even think about it?”

“Christian has always been a personal favourite of mine. It belonged to your biological father.”

Sasha’s breath caught. “My father? What was he like? I don’t know anything about him.”

“I have forgotten much about him myself,” the Witch replied, sadness in her voice. “But he was a good man. A kind man, quite similar to you actually. He loved you and would have been honoured for his grandson to carry his name.”

The air shimmered faintly around the Witch, her form already softening at the edges.

“Wait!” Sasha reached forward, tears blurring her vision. “Will I ever see you again?”

The Witch gave a small, wistful smile. “You will always have me in your heart. This is it for now. Goodbye, Sasha.”

Her porcelain form dissolved like mist in moonlight, the faintest glimmer lingering in the air before it vanished. The empty shell of the doll dropped gently onto the grass.

Sasha knelt, cradling it in one hand and her son in the other. “Goodbye, Mother,” she whispered, pressing the cool porcelain to her lips. Christian gurgled happily when she held it up.

“Look what we have here, Christian,” Sasha cooed, smiling through her tears. “A gift from your grandmother. Just don’t lose it like your other toys.”

Christian giggled and held the doll tight.

Elsewhere, Tania glanced at her phone: 5:05 p.m.

“Let’s go, Tania!” Anya called from by the car. “We’re late.”

Tania jumped in the passenger seat and thumbed a quick message to Sasha:

Dude, we’re on our way. Save me some cake.

The reply came almost instantly: Hurry up! Jasmine’s almost finished it all.

Tania laughed, then her phone pinged again. A photo this time—Sasha holding up her baby boy, eyes shining.

Meet Christian, the caption read.

Tania’s chest tightened with warmth as she replied: I can’t wait to meet him!

✨ End.