22. Jiya
JIYA
“Would you like to meet my friends and play with them?” Lucas asked Caleb, his face lighting up with a wide smile.
He had long abandoned the idea of taking a nap and was now outside, playing with his friends—and Caleb.
I hadn’t had much of a choice after that.
I was still upset with Caleb, but the innocence in Lucas’s voice when he asked him to stay for dinner made it impossible to say no without hurting him.
Lucas didn’t know why Caleb and I had broken up.
He had been upset with him earlier, and I couldn't help wondering if part of him had expected Caleb to stay in touch. He didn’t know the truth—that Caleb hadn’t been able to find us. That it had been me who had disappeared from his life after everything fell apart between us.
I had made that decision to protect myself and my child, and I had lived with the consequences ever since.
I didn’t want Lucas to know any of that.
He had been close to Caleb once. He had trusted him, looked up to him, loved him as though he were his father.
Watching them together again stirred a fear inside me.
I worried Caleb staying for dinner might somehow lead to awkward moments or difficult questions.
That was the last thing I wanted. I didn’t want to be cornered or forced to explain the past in front of my children.
I didn’t want to lie to them while they stood there looking at me with wide, trusting eyes.
Earlier that day, I had asked Liam to take over the meeting. I had still been angry after what Caleb had said to me, and I needed distance. So I had taken the children out instead.
We watched Finding Dory, then went to the Tipsy Cow for lunch, where Emma happily drank her “shake-shake,” and Lucas got a snow cone from Will.
On the drive home, I had planned a trip to the water park for the next day and made a mental note to invite Elle and her family.
Back at home, I played with them in the backyard until they both fell asleep on me beneath the tree.
And then I saw him.
Standing at the window.
Watching us.
Even though he had come to apologize, forgiveness felt far out of reach.
The things he had said… they had cut deeper than he realized.
The assumptions he had made about my character had reopened wounds.
I had believed he had grown, that time and experience had softened him, that he had learned to see beyond his own anger and pride.
But that day had made one thing painfully clear—he still carried the same doubts about me.
And he probably always would.
Now, standing in the kitchen beside Geeta, helping her cut vegetables and chicken, I glanced toward the backyard.
Lucas was laughing again with his friends. Running. Playing with Caleb.
A smile touched my lips before I could stop it.
And that scared me.
I didn't want him to become attached to Caleb again only to be disappointed later.
It had taken so much time for Lucas to find himself after Cole's death.
He had grown quiet and withdrawn, his laughter replaced by silence, his confidence replaced by uncertainty.
The same thing had happened when I moved him to this village, uprooting his world.
“I’ll check on Emma,” I said to Geeta, wiping my hands on a towel.
Walking upstairs, I pushed open the bedroom door and saw my daughter stirring beneath her blanket, rubbing her sleepy eyes with tiny fists.
“Did you sleep well, my little pumpkin?” I asked gently, looking at her.
“Yes, Mama,” she replied, stretching her arms above her head. “Playtime now.”
“Okay,” I said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, “but only for an hour, and then it’s bath time.”
Emma’s lips pushed forward into a stubborn pout. “No bathy today.”
I crossed my arms and mirrored her expression. “Then no playtime, Emma.”
She narrowed her eyes, calculating her next move.
“Fine. Mama win.”
A laugh escaped me as I scooped her into my arms.
Emma looked so much like Caleb. The same blue-green eyes that caught the light in a way that made them sparkle.
The same peaceful expression when she slept.
Sometimes the similarities startled me. Other times they appeared in unexpected ways, like her dislike for cauliflower, which she rejected with theatrical disgust every single time it appeared on her plate.
She carried pieces of both Caleb and me within her, but there was no denying how much of him lived in her features.
And tonight, she would be having dinner with her biological father.
Should I tell him? Would he believe me? Or would he doubt me again and assume the worst, just like he had before?
I held my daughter a little tighter, drawing comfort from her warmth, before pushing those thoughts aside.
Not tonight.
I carried her downstairs and stepped back into the kitchen.
“Geeta, I’ll finish up,” I said, placing Emma gently on the floor. “Why don’t you finish your work and leave Emma with Lucas? I’ll bring the children in later and bathe them.”
“Okay, Didi,” she replied with a nod.
I put on some music, relieved that I had the kitchen to myself while cooking.
The familiar rhythm filled the space, and before I realized it, my hips began to sway gently to the beat.
I sang along softly to the words of Shakira, letting the music carry me, allowing myself a rare pocket of lightness in the middle of a complicated evening.
For those few minutes, it felt like I could breathe again.
Thirty minutes later, I heard the door open and close.
Assuming it was Geeta coming up from the basement, I called out without turning around. “You still have time, Geeta. I’m almost done with dinner.”
“Ahem!”
The sound froze me mid-motion.
I stopped stirring the pot and slowly turned my head over my shoulder.
Caleb stood behind me across the kitchen island.
“I was a bit thirsty,” he said quietly. “But I’ll come back if you want me to.”
“It’s fine,” I replied, keeping my tone even.
I covered the pot with the lid, the soft clatter of metal against metal. I filled a glass with water and handed it to him without meeting his eyes. The moment my fingers brushed against his, a jolt of unwanted awareness shot through me, and I quickly pulled my hand back.
His apology had been interrupted earlier, but the rage inside me hadn’t disappeared. It sat there, stubborn and burning, fed by the memory of the accusations he had thrown at me.
“They’re amazing kids,” he said after a moment.
“Hmm,” I answered.
“I can’t believe how much Lucas has grown. He’s going to be eleven this year, right?”
I nodded, crossing my arms tightly across my chest. My breathing sounded far too loud in the silence between us as my entire body felt rigid with him standing there in my kitchen, trying to make small talk.
He took a couple of slow sips of water.
“I didn’t get to finish my apology before,” he said, lowering his gaze briefly before lifting it back to meet mine.
“No, you didn’t,” I replied, grinding my teeth together.
“I’m sorry about what I said and what I assumed.”
“Are you really?” I asked, slamming the cupboard door on the island after pulling out a serving dish. “Your accusation was wrong and hurtful. I can’t believe you would think that I would do something like that.”
How could he have thought something so awful about me, much less accuse me of it?
Yes, we had been apart for years. Yes, time had changed many things in our lives.
But my values had never changed. My principles had never wavered.
I would never stoop so low as to steal another woman’s husband or build my happiness on someone else’s pain.
The fact that he could believe that about me made it painfully clear that he didn’t truly know me at all, even after everything we had shared…
after all the love, the trust, and the dreams we had once built together.
“I know… I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ve hurt you, and I know I can’t take the words back, but I just wanted to let you know that I wish I had never said it.”
He lifted his eyes and looked directly into mine.
“I hope you can forgive me.”
His apology landed straight in the center of my chest.
For the first time since re-entering my life, he looked stripped of all his arrogance. His arms hung loosely at his sides, and his eyebrows dipped downward the way they always did when he knew he had made a mistake.
And he knew it.
I didn’t want to carry this fight any longer.
Part of me had already forgiven him, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it out loud.
But more than anything, I didn’t want a can of worms reopening right there in my kitchen, with my children right outside.
The past had a way of spilling out when emotions ran high, and I wasn’t prepared to let that happen—not tonight, not in front of them.
The less we interacted with each other, especially inside my home and around my children, the better.
Our relationship now was strictly professional, and it had to stay that way.
He didn’t need to know anything about my personal life, and I didn’t need to know anything about his.
I was moving forward with my life, building a future for my children and creating stability. He was moving forward with planning his wedding and preparing for a life that no longer included me.
I let out a slow breath and met his gaze.
“I accept your apology,” I said finally.
“Thanks for letting me stay for dinner,” he replied.
“Sure,” I answered. “You still owe me ice cream.”
A slow smile spread across his face as I turned back toward the stove.