7. Jiya
JIYA
After dropping Lucas off at school on a Monday morning, I returned home, grateful for the brief quiet that usually followed the morning rush. I had just placed my keys on the kitchen counter when there was a knock at the door.
The sound made my shoulders stiffen.
Visitors were rare at this hour, and a chill crept along my spine as I walked toward the front door. When I opened it, the sight before me rooted me to the spot.
Standing three steps away was Karena.
My birth mother.
She looked different, paler than before, with dark circles shadowing her eyes and hollow cheeks, as though sleep and peace had abandoned her long ago. Slowly, she removed her sunglasses, revealing red, tired eyes.
“Can I come in?” she asked quietly.
Memories flashed through my mind—the black car, the stalking, the fear that had wrapped itself around my children and me as heat surged through my body, rising swiftly to the surface.
Luckily, Lucas was at school, and Geeta had taken Emma to the park. If they had been here, this conversation would have been impossible.
I stepped aside without speaking and gestured for her to enter, my jaw clenched tightly.
“What do you want?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. I remained standing, deliberately refusing to offer her a seat. I wanted this conversation to be short.
She swallowed hard, her hands trembling.
“I’m here to find out if there is any way in your heart that you could forgive me,” she said, her voice breaking as a tear rolled down her cheek.
“I am truly sorry for all the stress and fear I put you through. That was not the right way to handle things. I thought I didn’t want to know you.
I believed I could live with my decision, with what I had done, but I can’t. ”
She sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue.
“I’m sorry for the pain I caused you, and for the hurtful things I said. The truth is, I do want to know you. I want to build a relationship with you.”
“Why?” I asked.
I didn’t trust her. Something about this situation felt wrong, and a knot formed in my stomach.
“What do you mean why?” She frowned. “You’re my daughter. You’re my child… my blood.”
“I was your daughter the first time you came to see me,” I replied, holding her gaze. “Wasn’t it obvious then?”
My body tensed as the memory of that painful encounter returned—her rejection, her cold words, the way she had walked away as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience. Being followed and watched afterward did not justify her apology or erase the damage she had caused.
“It was.”
Fresh tears streamed down her face.
“I just didn’t realize how much I would regret it until I went back home.
” She lowered her eyes briefly before lifting them to meet mine again.
“I tried to forget you, but meeting you that day made everything real. Before, you were just a name in an email. After speaking to you, after seeing you, I couldn’t ignore the feelings anymore.
I told my husband I would close that chapter of my life, but I realized I couldn’t do it. ”
How could this be happening now? How could her feelings change now? After all this time? Just when I had finally closed that painful door, she was standing in front of me again, asking me to open it.
Her tears looked genuine. Her emotions seemed raw and real, with her physical appearance matching it.
“I changed over the past few months,” she said, her voice trembling.
“My family noticed it. Derek noticed it. I became depressed. I started going to therapy, and my therapist helped me understand the root of my pain. It turned out to be my unresolved feelings toward you.” She wiped her face with shaking hands.
“I realized how wrong I was, and I am here to make amends. I am here to beg for your forgiveness.”
I studied her carefully, searching for signs of manipulation or dishonesty, but all I saw was exhaustion and regret.
“Why would you have me followed? That part doesn’t make sense to me.”
“That was wrong of me,” she said, her shoulders sagging.
“I had come down to see you on my own. I went to your restaurant and overheard a conversation that broke my heart. I learned that you had gotten married and that your husband was sick.” She took a step closer.
“I didn’t want to come into your life and add more stress or pain, so I stayed away. I waited.”
My head began to throb as I tried to process everything she was saying. The sudden flood of information blurred my thoughts, leaving me disoriented.
“I hired Dominic Peters,” she continued. “He used to be a private investigator. He informed me about your husband’s passing.” Her expression softened, her tone soothing. “I was worried about you. That’s the only reason I asked him to keep an eye on you.”
Her chin quivered as she stared down at the floor, her posture collapsing inward.
I sensed genuine remorse. The woman standing in front of me was telling her truth. Yes, she had acted irrationally by having me followed. Her actions were wrong, but I could finally understand the fear and confusion that had driven them.
My biological mother had come to terms with her feelings about me. Wasn’t this what I had wanted for so many years? A mother who acknowledged me… a mother who chose me.
My limbs trembled as conflicting emotions swirled inside me.
She wanted to build a relationship. Therapy had forced her to confront her guilt, and at last she had taken responsibility. She was standing in front of me, asking for another chance.
Anger still remained, but understanding slowly pushed its way forward.
Time had changed both of us.
I had made mistakes in my own life—decisions that caused pain to others—and I had been forgiven. The memory of Cole surfaced in my mind, reminding me that people sometimes make terrible choices out of fear, not cruelty.
Then, the choice had been hers.
Now, the choice was mine.
Was I ready to open my heart to the woman standing in my living room? Was I ready to call her my mother?
“I am truly sorry, Jiya,” she said, her voice cracking as she stepped back toward the door. “I understand if you don’t want a relationship with me anymore. I will accept your decision and walk away. But can you please try to forgive me? Can we build something together?”
Just because she had made a mistake in the past, did that mean she had to be punished for the rest of her life? She had come to make amends. She had come seeking a second chance.
I had searched for her for years, chasing leads through agencies and dead ends, until I had nearly given up. Then, last year, I finally found her.
At the time, she didn’t want a relationship, but now she did.
After longing for her for so long, she had finally returned.
Karena turned the doorknob slowly, breaking through my thoughts. “I guess the answer is no.”
An ache spread through my chest as I watched her prepare to leave—a longing to meet and know her since childhood, buried beneath years of disappointment and unanswered questions.
Before she could step outside, the words left my mouth before I could stop them. “Karena…”
She froze and turned to look at me.
I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “Would you like to meet the children?”