Cole stayed behind to help Geeta clean up.
Afterward, I put the children to bed. As I walked toward my room, my body slouched with exhaustion, and something inside me finally cracked. I felt blue in a way I could no longer push away. My mother’s words and actions replayed in my head over and over until the full weight of what had happened came down on me like a landslide.
The next thing I knew, I was standing in the shower with cold water gushing down on me.
This was my fault.
There was no one to blame but me.
I had built unreal expectations.
Dreamlike hopes.
I had been warned, and I should have listened.
I should have controlled my emotions.
What felt like ages with the water striking through my clothes and pricking my skin was probably only a few minutes. Then I felt Cole’s hand on my shoulder after he turned the shower off. I tried to lift my head and look at him, but I couldn’t. My gaze stayed fixed on the bathroom tiles as if they had become the most important thing in the world.
He wrapped me in a towel and carried me out of the shower. After carefully settling me into a chair, he removed my jewellery and wiped away my makeup. With quiet care, he dried my hair and helped me into fresh pyjamas.
No words were spoken.
None were needed.
The silence said everything.
As my head sank into the pillow and darkness wrapped around me, I heard Cole’s voice near me, soft and low, almost like a promise carried through the dark.
“You are worth more than you can ever imagine, Jiya. I promise never to let anyone hurt you ever again.”
26
JIYA
In the weeks following my biological mother’s visit, I kept myself busy. I made a deliberate effort not to talk about what had happened and, more importantly, not to think about it. If I allowed my mind to dwell there for too long, the ache returned like a bruise pressed too hard. I was upset, hurt, and angry, though I rarely admitted those emotions out loud.
Did I really think it was going to be perfect? Did I expect her to fall on her knees and beg for forgiveness? Did I imagine she would cry and embrace me, asking me to forgive her?The questions circled in my mind often, and every time they did, I felt a mixture of embarrassment and sadness at my own naïveté.
A golden opportunity soon presented itself as a distraction. One morning, while reading the newspaper at the kitchen table, I came across an article announcing that a famous Canadian fast-food restaurant chain was offering investors a chance to own two new franchises. The opportunity immediately caught my attention. Candidates had to pass interviews, create a business plan, and demonstrate that they had sufficient funds and financial stability. I decided to make that my next goal.
Throwing myself into something productive felt like exactly what I needed.
I began getting back into shape, going for runs and burning off nervous energy while thinking through ideas for the business plan. At night, I researched franchise owners and studied interviews to understand how they had built successful locations. Over the following weeks, I worked tirelessly, drafting and revising my business proposal until I finally had something I felt confident about.
Still, no matter how busy I tried to keep myself, the painful memory of my meeting with my mother would creep back in now and then. I tried to block it out, but it never stayed buried for long. Watching Cole reconnect with his brother had given me hope that maybe something similar could happen for me.
I had seen how their relationship had slowly healed, and I had allowed myself to believe that my own story might unfold the same way.
I had been wrong.
“Didi, dinner is ready,” Geeta called out to me from the kitchen.
“I’ll be right there,” I replied, pushing my chair back and heading toward her to help.
I was deeply grateful for Geeta’s presence in my life. After I hired a lawyer to sort out her immigration paperwork, a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. Between cooking shows, Skyping with her brothers back home, and caring for the children, she always found ways to keep the house lively.
She began receiving a monthly allowance, which she accepted reluctantly, saving most of it and occasionally sending some to her brothers. During quiet hours, she read to improve her English, while Lucas proudly took on the role of her personal technology instructor, teaching her how to use the computer.
