23. Caleb
CALEB
Ichatted with Jiya about the marketing strategy for the project while watching her move around the kitchen, preparing dinner.
“Liam and I had a short conversation,” I said, leaning against the kitchen counter as I watched her stir the pot. “But I thought maybe you and I could work on it in the next meeting.”
“Sounds good,” she replied without looking up. “The marketing team from our side has come up with a few ideas. I’ll bring those along with me next time.”
“Great. We can do another site visit next week. Is that all right? I can call and check your schedule.”
“Okay,” she said calmly. “Let me check right now.”
She set the ladle down on the chopping board, turned, picked up her phone, and scrolled through her calendar while I found myself watching her.
Seeing her here, in this village, surrounded by her children, living a life that felt steady and grounded, pulled me in two opposite directions at once.
One part of me still burned with anger, haunted by the money she had taken, her connection to Jeremy, and the betrayal that had once made me believe revenge was the only way to restore balance.
Yet standing here now, watching her cook for her children while their laughter echoed through the house, the version of her I had carried for years no longer matched the woman in front of me.
Was I missing something? Was there another piece to this puzzle that I hadn’t uncovered yet?
The story I had believed and the reality in front of me didn’t align. The need to understand her—her new name, her disappearance, this carefully rebuilt life—gnawed at me.
I wanted to know everything, but I knew I couldn’t push too hard. Not yet.
Trust had to come first.
I needed to lay a foundation before I started asking questions. The last thing I wanted was to attack her inside her own home, especially with her children just a few steps away. Not after I had only just managed to smooth things over following my accusation about her and her late husband.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Yes,” Jiya replied, lifting her eyes from her phone.
“Jiya Flores?”
“It’s my birth name,” she said. “I wanted my original identity back.”
Original identity and an escape.
I studied her face closely, waiting for her eyes to dart away or her composure to crack, but she held my gaze without flinching, her expression calm and unwavering.
“What does it mean?”
“A friend told me once that Jiya means ‘heart’ or ‘soul’ in Hindi,” she said. “Life. Something that keeps beating no matter what happens.”
“And Flores?” I asked, unable to stop myself.
A faint smile touched her lips, but it did not quite reach her eyes.
“It’s Spanish,” she said. “It means flowers.”
Flowers. Life. Heart.
I studied her face again, letting the meaning roll through my mind.
“So your name means a heart that keeps blooming,” I said slowly.
Her gaze lifted to mine, and for a fleeting second, her lips parted, and the tension in her face eased before her shoulders straightened and the guarded look returned to her eyes.
“Maybe,” she murmured.
“And how come you chose this village?”
She lowered her gaze, her fingers curling more tightly around the phone.
“A—” she began.
The door burst open, and the children came running into the house, their voices loud and energetic as they interrupted us.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, glancing toward them. “It’s bath time. I’ll be right back.”
I nodded and stepped aside, watching her scoop Emma into her arms while reaching out to take Lucas’s hand.
I stood there in silence as she guided the children upstairs, their footsteps fading into the distance.
My thoughts returned immediately to the question she hadn’t answered.
What explanation could she possibly give that would change what I believed?
Because no matter how much this place rattled me, no matter how little the woman in this house resembled the one I had spent years hating, one thing remained.
The truth sat inside my wallet, tucked securely in my pocket.
“There’s this kid named Thomas. His brother is four years old and funny,” Lucas said.
“Last time when they were having dinner, his brother said, ‘My butt is itchy, but did you know forks make good scratchers?’ and then his brother took a big bite of pasta off his fork. So gross.” Lucas scrunched up his face, and then two seconds later, he burst into laughter. “But so funny.”
“Lucas...” Jiya said, giving him a warning look. “Watch what you say when we’re eating dinner.”
“Sorry, Mama,” he replied quickly. “I thought I’d forget the story if I didn’t tell it now.”
Jiya shook her head and rolled her eyes.
I let out a chuckle. I couldn’t believe how sweet and obedient Lucas still was. That respectful nature I remembered about him had remained unchanged.
“Mama, I no eat cawiflowah,” Emma said, pouting as she pushed the vegetable around her plate. “I hate it.”
“Me too,” I said, pushing my own cauliflower to the side just like she had done, smiling at her.
“It’s good for health, sweetheart,” Jiya said patiently.
“Then you eat mine,” Emma replied, looking at her mother with complete seriousness. “Mama, I like shake-shake.”
Jiya nodded, smiling gently at her.
“Mama, I like water too.”
“That’s great, pumpkin.”
“Mama... I got drinky pwoblem,” Emma said.
I looked at her, then at Jiya, and we all burst out laughing at the same time.
Laughter erupted around the table, and it continued long enough that Emma started laughing too, even though she clearly didn't understand why.
I hadn’t expected that to come out of her mouth. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this kind of environment. I loved the atmosphere at the dinner table.
Watching the children talk freely while Jiya fed Emma, as Milo and Oreo wandered beneath the table, hoping for scraps and attention, a wave of nostalgia swept over me.
It pulled me back to memories of her small apartment years ago, when it had been just her, Lucas, and me sharing meals around the table and talking about the future as though it were guaranteed.
A lump formed in my throat, making it difficult to swallow.
After dinner, we settled onto the couches in the living room while Geeta handed out bowls of ice cream before joining us.
The Lion King played quietly in the background as Lucas leaned comfortably against my arm, Milo stretched across the floor near our feet, and Oreo curled up beside Geeta’s chair. Across from me, Jiya sat with Emma curled on her lap, gently stroking her hair as she watched the movie.
By nine o’clock, the children were already fighting sleep, their eyelids growing heavier by the minute.
Jiya and I helped them upstairs while Geeta cleaned the kitchen. Afterwards, I headed back downstairs, with Jiya following behind me.
“It’s about time I leave,” I said. “I think I have overstayed my invitation.”
She smiled, her expression warm but tired.
“This was nice,” she said softly. Then her brows pulled together. “Did you drive here?”
I nodded and reached for my jacket from the couch, draping it over my arm. I walked toward the door, then paused and turned around to face her. “Thank you for dinner.”
She smiled again. “You’re welcome. Message—”
I knew exactly why she had stopped herself.
Back when we were together, she would always tell me to message or call when I reached home. It had been her way of making sure I was safe, of reminding me that someone was waiting for me on the other side of the journey. Habit had pulled the words from her mouth tonight before she could stop them.
Tatiana had never said anything like that to me. Whether I travelled for work or stayed out late, she had never checked in to make sure I was safe and sound.
Standing there in Jiya’s doorway, the difference between the two women felt sharper than ever.
“Good night,” I said. “I’ll see you at the office.”
I opened the door and stepped outside, walking slowly toward my car with thoughts crowding my mind and emotions I couldn’t quite name settling heavily inside me.