Imagines with Jenna Ortega

The Marriage 2

The morning light poured softly through the nursery curtains, casting golden stripes across the floor. Jazz was on the rug with his toy cars, making little engine noises as he pushed them around.

For once, Jenna was the one sitting with him. She had traded her usual designer outfits for a loose sweater and leggings, her hair tied back carelessly. No cameras. No stage. Just her and her son.

"Vroom," Jazz said proudly, holding up a red car.

Jenna smiled faintly, taking it from him. "That's a fast one. Want to race?"

His eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly. "Race, Mommy!"

They lined up their cars, Jazz's tiny hand bumping against hers. She let him win, of course, and his laughter filled the room. Jenna couldn't help but laugh with him, the sound surprising even herself—it felt real, not forced, not for show.

"Again, Mommy!" Jazz shouted, climbing onto her lap with his car.

Jenna wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as he bounced with excitement. For a moment, the weight of scandals, expectations, and her marriage faded. All she could see was her son's joy, his small arms around her neck, his trust that she'd always be there.

Her throat tightened unexpectedly. "You're too good for me, Jazz," she whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair.

And for the first time in a long time, Jenna felt like she wasn't rebelling, wasn't running—she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Jazz wiggled happily in her arms, pressing his sticky hands against her cheeks. "Love you, Mommy," he said, his voice soft and sweet.

The words shattered something inside her. Jenna froze, her chest tightening until it hurt. Slowly, tears welled in her eyes, slipping down her face before she could stop them.

Jazz pulled back, confused. "Mommy?"

She quickly wiped her face with the sleeve of her sweater, forcing a shaky smile. "I'm okay, baby. Mommy's just... silly." But the tears kept coming.

Y/n's voice from the night before echoed in her head—If you destroy yourself, that's one thing. If you drag Jazz down with you, that's unforgivable.

She held her son tighter, her body trembling. The thought of him ever suffering because of her choices—because of her selfishness—was unbearable.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered against his hair, rocking him gently. "I'm so, so sorry, Jazz."

Her son, too young to understand guilt or shame, only giggled and hugged her back, his little arms warm and forgiving. And that made the tears fall harder.

For the first time, Jenna wasn't angry at Y/n's words. She was terrified that Y/n might be right.

Jenna clutched Jazz tightly, tears slipping down her cheeks as she rocked him on the nursery floor. His small hands patted her face clumsily, trying to cheer her up.

The door creaked open.

Jenna stiffened, quickly wiping her face with her sleeve, but it was too late—Y/n was already standing in the doorway. Her gaze softened for Jazz first, then shifted to Jenna, unreadable but sharp enough to make Jenna's chest ache.

Jazz squirmed out of Jenna's arms and waddled toward Y/n with his toy car. "Mama, race!" he chirped.

Y/n crouched down, brushing his hair back fondly. "Later, sweetheart. Go build the track for us."

Jazz giggled and ran back to his pile of toys, leaving the two women staring at each other.

"You heard me," Jenna said quietly, her voice hoarse.