50. Caleb
CALEB
Watching Jiya walk out of the church killed me.
What undid me completely was the sight of tears in her eyes that I had seen for the first time, and it crushed me in a way nothing else ever had.
Jiya never cried—not when we were dating, not when we had fought, not even when Emma had gotten hurt. But today she had looked at me with tears streaming silently down her cheeks, and the heartbreak in her eyes felt sharp enough to cut straight through my chest.
I stood frozen near the altar, unable to look anywhere else.
Before she walked away, I had been waiting for her to look at me, to say something, to give me any sign that this was not truly the end of us.
Then I saw it.
And I wished it was anything but tears in her eyes.
She still loved me.
Every fibre in my body told me that.
I felt it as clearly as my own heartbeat.
And God help me, I still loved her too.
My gaze followed her as she walked away, every step carving more distance between us. I couldn’t look away, no matter how badly it hurt.
I didn’t care if Tatiana was waiting for me to walk towards her and take her hand. I stood still, paralyzed with what I had seen.
I did not want to go through with the wedding anymore.
It would be the biggest mistake of my life.
Please God, I prayed silently. Please help me!
The sight of Jiya’s tears dragged me back to the chaos of that morning.
Nothing made sense anymore from the time I had found out the truth about what my mother had done in the morning.
The mansion had filled within minutes with photographers, makeup artists, florists, and wedding planners rushing through the halls, preparing for a celebration that no longer felt real to me.
I barely remembered standing under the shower afterward, letting hot water run over me while questions tore through my head.
Should I stop the wedding? Should I tell Tatiana everything? Was I really about to marry someone while loving another woman?
The entire morning passed in a blur after that.
Greg and Simon helped me get dressed while cameras flashed around us.
“Do you still want to do this?” Greg asked quietly once we were finally alone.
Simon had obviously told him everything.
“I don’t know,” I admitted honestly.
Greg studied me carefully. “Then stop and think before it’s too late.”
“We can still cancel this whole thing,” Simon added. “Just say the word.”
I stared down at my cufflinks, unable to answer immediately.
“I don’t know anything anymore,” I said finally.
That feeling had followed me all the way to the church.
And then I saw Jiya.
The moment she walked toward me in that coral dress, something inside me tightened painfully. Her hair fell in soft waves over one shoulder, and even now, after everything between us, she still took my breath away.
She wished me happiness with Tatiana as though she meant it, but there had been something guarded in her eyes that I could not quite read.
Even then, she had not defended herself.
She had not pleaded her case.
She had continued to let me believe she was the one who had destroyed us while the truth about my mother sat like a stone inside my chest.
Now, standing at the altar with Tatiana beside me, her hand in mine, I watched Jiya disappear through the church doors.
I should have stopped her.
I should have followed her.
Before I could move, the heavy church doors suddenly burst open.
“I object!”
Everyone’s head turned toward the entrance, including mine.
A man strode quickly down the aisle toward us, his face flushed and his tie hanging crookedly around his neck.
Confused murmurs spread through the church as he stopped several feet from the altar, breathing heavily.
“I can’t let you do this,” he said, staring directly at Tatiana. “I’m in love with you, and I know you feel the same.”
Tatiana immediately let go of my hand.
Silence fell over the church.
“The last few months have been amazing,” the man continued, shaking his head. “Please don’t marry him.”
Gasps rippled through the pews.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tatiana’s mother lift a trembling hand to her mouth while whispers spread rapidly around the room.
“What’s going on here?” Tatiana’s father roared, his voice booming through the sanctuary.
Tatiana stepped forward, panic cracking through her carefully controlled expression.
“Daddy, please,” she whispered shakily. “This is a misunderstanding. Martin, please... I’m getting married. What are you doing?”
“A misunderstanding?” Martin snapped. “Then tell them the truth. Tell them about us.”
He pointed toward the maid of honour, Ashley, Tatiana’s best friend.
Ashley looked at Martin, then at Tatiana, her face draining of colour before she slowly lowered her head in silent confirmation.
The truth hit me instantly.
Tatiana had been cheating on me for months.
I had prayed for a miracle to stop this wedding, but this was not the miracle I had wanted.
Tatiana turned toward me. “I can explain. This is not what it looks like.”
I stared at her numbly while panic continued breaking apart the calm composure she usually carried so perfectly.
Tatiana swayed slightly on her feet, her hands trembling as she struggled to maintain her balance.
For a moment, I thought she might collapse entirely.
The church buzzed with whispers around us, but the noise sounded distant now, muffled beneath the pounding in my ears.
I inhaled slowly and forced myself to regain some control before looking at her.
“Can I speak to you privately?” I asked quietly.
She nodded weakly, unable to form words.
Then I turned toward the guest.
“Excuse us,” I announced, “We’ll be back. Until then, please sit down and enjoy the music.”
I guided Tatiana down the aisle while whispers followed us through the church like shadows.
Every pair of eyes remained fixed on us.
And with every step I took, the crushing weight of the wedding eased slightly from my shoulders, making me realize that somewhere in the middle of all this chaos, God had finally answered my prayers.
I opened the door to a private room and led Tatiana inside, closing it quietly behind us. The noise from the church faded into a distant murmur, but the tension followed us in like an unwelcome guest.
She stood frozen near the centre of the room, her chin trembling as tears streamed down her face.
The sight of her—usually so poised and confident—sent a strange ache through my chest. I gently guided her toward the chair and made her sit down.
My mind felt completely overloaded.
Shock, disappointment, relief, and confusion tangled together inside me so tightly that I could barely separate one emotion from another.
But beneath all of it, one truth stood firm and undeniable.
I did not want to get married.
And judging by what had just happened in the church, odds were she did not want to get married either.
The situation was humiliating for both of us and for our families—something we would have to explain, defend, and endure in the days to come.
Yet embarrassment was not the real problem.
Questions needed answers.
And the only way to get them was to ask.
Tatiana sat hunched forward in the chair, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “I’m really sorry. I made a mistake.”
Shocking revelations seemed to be unfolding one after another on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life.
First, the truth about my mother. Then this—my fiancée standing in front of me, confessing a betrayal she could not take back.
I did not know what else to expect anymore, but I knew I had to handle this carefully—for her sake and for mine.
Taking a steady breath, I knelt in front of her so we were at eye level.
“Do you love him?” I asked calmly.
She lowered her hands slowly and looked at me, her mascara smeared beneath tear-filled eyes. The vulnerability in her expression made my chest tighten, but I forced myself to hold her gaze.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
A knot formed in my stomach.
This is not good.
I swallowed hard, steadying myself before asking the next question.
“Okay,” I said gently. “Do you love me?”
Her lips trembled as another sob escaped her.
“I don’t know.”
Oh, God!
The words echoed in my ears, hollow and final.
I looked away briefly and exhaled slowly through my nose, trying to process the finality in those words.
“Tatiana,” I said quietly, my voice firm but compassionate. “Do you want to get married?”
Her eyes darted back and forth, searching the floor, the walls—anywhere but my face.
“Forget about your parents,” I continued. “Forget about the people in the church. Forget about the media.” I paused, making sure she heard every word. “Do you want to marry me?”
Seconds stretched into an eternity as I waited for her answer, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
“No,” she said, sniffling. “I don’t. I don’t want to get married. I don’t think I was ever ready.”
Relief washed over me so suddenly that my knees felt weak.
I bowed my head and let out a slow, steady breath, as if releasing months of tension that had been trapped inside my chest.
If she had said yes, both of us would have walked straight into a marriage built on guilt, obligation, and resentment.
Neither of us deserved that.
“If it makes you feel any better,” I said gently, “I’ve had my doubts about this whole thing too.”
She looked up at me, her eyes widening in surprise. “Really?”
I nodded.
“I just wish we had told each other sooner,” she said softly, wiping her cheeks.
“I know,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
A softer silence filled the space between us, no longer painful and suffocating.
“Then it’s settled,” I said, rising slowly to my feet. “I’ll tell everyone that we have decided to cancel this wedding. You don’t need to say anything to anyone if you don’t want to.”
Her eyes filled with fresh tears as she looked up at me.
“You’d do that for me after what happened?” she asked, blinking rapidly.
I nodded without hesitation.
“Ready to go?” I asked, extending my hand toward her.
She placed her hand in mine and stood up.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Thank you, Caleb.”
She leaned forward and kissed my cheek, then wiped the remaining tears from her face. “Thank you for everything.”
I walked back down the church aisle with Tatiana’s trembling hand in mine.
The sanctuary buzzed with whispers the moment people saw our expressions. Guests leaned toward one another, murmuring while photographers lowered their cameras uncertainly.
I stopped at the front of the church and turned toward the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, my voice steady but firm. “First of all, thank you very much for coming here today. However, we regret to inform you that Tatiana and I will not be getting married today. It was a mutual decision, and we are sorry for any inconvenience caused.”
A ripple of gasps moved through the guests.
The wedding planner stepped forward immediately, taking control of the situation with professional composure, guiding the guests and families through the chaos that followed.
People gathered around our families, offering apologies, asking questions, expressing concern, but their words sounded distant, muffled, as if I were underwater.
None of it mattered.
There was only one thought pounding through my mind.
I needed to get out of there.
I needed to find Jiya.
I needed to tell her everything.
Most of all, I knew with absolute certainty that nothing—no embarrassment, no scandal, no family expectations—was going to stop me from getting to her.
“Let’s get you outta here,” Greg said quietly, gripping my shoulder.
We hurried out through the side entrance.
The moment we reached the car, I slid into the passenger seat, my heart racing.
“Take me to my parents’ house,” I said quickly. “I need to get something from there.”
A memory had surfaced suddenly—something I had seen earlier but never had the chance to read properly.
“I’ll call and get the chopper ready,” I added, pulling out my phone.
After calling the pilot, I messaged Simon, letting him know about my plan. My fingers moved fast, driven by adrenaline and a growing sense that time was slipping through my hands.
Greg pulled into my parents’ driveway, and before the car had even come to a complete stop, I jumped out and ran toward the house. I pushed the door open and rushed inside, taking the stairs two at a time.
I entered my bedroom.
The folder was still there on the table, exactly where I had left it.
I grabbed it immediately and flipped it open.
Papers rustled as I searched through them until my eyes landed on the medical report.
It was Jiya’s report—from the day we had been rushed to the hospital after Jeremy shot us.
My mother must have paid a fortune to get that report from the hospital. I had scanned it earlier, but something inside me had insisted I look again, as if my instincts had been trying to warn me that I had missed something important.
I forced myself to slow down and read every line carefully.
Gunshot wound.
Blood loss.
Treatment details.
My eyes moved steadily down the page until they reached the final note at the bottom.
And then everything stopped.
Six weeks pregnant.
Emma!
My knees weakened, and I dropped into the chair behind me, the breath leaving my lungs in a rush.
That was my daughter.
Our daughter.
A wave of emotion surged through my chest, colliding all at once. My hands trembled as I pressed them against my face.
Jiya had not moved on from me.
Emma was not Cole’s child.
She was mine.
The little girl who climbed into my lap.
The little girl who wrapped her arms around my neck.
The little girl I played tea party and built sandcastles with.
She was mine.
A smile spread across my face before I could stop it, growing wider and wider until it felt impossible to contain. A laugh escaped my throat, as tears stung the corners of my eyes.
I had always felt a connection to Emma—something I could never explain. From the moment I first held her, there had been a pull between us.
Now I understood why.
Any anger I had left shattered completely.
The pieces no longer fit.
Nothing I had believed about Jiya made sense anymore.
She was the mother of my child.
After everything I had accused her of… after the cruel words I had thrown at her… after the way I had turned my back on her when she needed me most… the fact that she had kept the truth from me suddenly made sense.
She had tried to tell me.
Somehow, my mother had made sure I never saw the truth.
And because of that, Jiya had carried our child alone, endured everything alone, protected our daughter alone—all while I had been blinded by lies.
Enough time had already been wasted.
I pushed myself to my feet, energy surging through my body like a spark catching fire.
I needed to see her.
I needed to hold her.
I needed to tell her the truth.
I needed to tell her that I still loved her.
Without another second of hesitation, I ran out of my room, down the stairs, and through the front door.
Greg was still waiting in the car.
I slid into the passenger seat, my heart pounding.
“Get me to the airport,” I said, my voice breathless.