Chapter 3
JIYA
Lucas started Grade Two in September at a new school that was only minutes away from the house.
While getting him ready for school one morning, I cringed as the memory replayed vividly in my head of the day I had picked him up from summer camp with Oreo sitting in the back seat.
The whole drive home had been thick with tension, and even now, remembering it made my chest clench painfully.
Lucas had been worried the moment he saw my hand in a sling.
His little face had scrunched up with concern, and because I had not been ready to tell him the truth—not the real truth—I had brushed it off and told him I got injured at work.
I bit my lip as I remembered that moment and how, not long after, I had told Lucas that we were not going back to the apartment.
“What do you mean, Mama?” he had asked innocently, unaware that his whole world was about to shift.
“We’re moving to a new village,” I had told him gently. “It’s called Cowichan Bay.”
“But why do we have to move?” he had asked, his voice breaking as tears rolled down his cheeks. “You can get another job. We can stay here or move somewhere smaller.”
Trying to explain something so complicated to a seven-year-old had taken more out of me than I expected. I had already been stretched thin by everything I had been carrying—the fear, the uncertainty, and the grief I kept burying because I did not have the luxury of falling apart.
“I’m sorry, but we can’t,” I had said, forcing steadiness into my voice as I met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “You will love the new place. It has a backyard, and you can run around with Oreo.”
“I don’t want a house,” he had cried. “I want my friends, my school, and my teachers.”
“You’ll make new friends,” I had said, trying to sound certain even as doubt churned quietly within me.
“What about Caleb? I want to talk to him.”
At the sound of his name, my chest had tightened painfully, as if his name alone still had the power to bruise something tender inside me. His betrayal and his relationship with Caroline were what pushed me to leave. That truth was something I could never reveal to my son.
“That’s not going to be possible,” I had replied, swallowing hard. “He won’t be in our lives anymore.”
“But why?” Lucas had asked, his voice filled with confusion.
“Because Caleb and I are no longer together,” I had said carefully, choosing each word with care. “And it’s best if you don’t keep in touch with him either.”
He had gone quiet for a moment before saying the words that cut deeper than anything else could have. “I hate you, Mama.”
The sting of it had taken my breath away, and I had quickly wiped the tear that slipped down my cheek before he could see it. I had already been carrying too much, and hearing that from my son, even in anger, felt like another fracture in a heart that had not yet healed.
Lucas had not spoken for the rest of the drive, and the silence between us had felt heavier than any argument.
When we finally reached the house hours later, he had stepped out without a word and walked inside with slumped shoulders, while I followed behind him with dread curling in my stomach, bracing myself for more tears, more anger, more hurt I would have no choice but to absorb.
Instead, when he saw his room with Oreo waiting beside him, his eyes had widened. “It’s exactly like my old room, Mama.”
I had nodded, watching him carefully. “Do you like it?”
He had lowered his gaze and nodded again. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean what I said.”
I had pulled him into my arms and held him tightly. “I know you didn’t.”
Children forgave so easily. They felt deeply, but they also loved without calculation. In that moment, his softness reminded me that not everything had been broken beyond repair.
He had continued exploring until his voice rang out again, filled with excitement. “Mama, there’s a pink room!”
I had followed him inside and paused at the doorway.
The white crib stood against a soft grey wall decorated with delicate flowers, while sunlight filtered through pink curtains. It was the one space in the house where I had allowed myself to dream again.
“This is for your baby sister,” I had said softly.
His eyes had widened in wonder. “A baby sister?”
A slow smile had spread across his face before he asked, more quietly, “Is Caleb the father?”
“Yes,” I had answered.
When Lucas was younger, I had spoken to him many times about boundaries and safety.
I had explained what was appropriate and inappropriate when he met strangers and how people should interact with him.
I always monitored him whenever he used the laptop or a phone, and I had also spoken to him about families and genders.
I had tried so hard to raise him with honesty, with care, with awareness.
That was why moments like this felt so hard.
He deserved the truth, but not all truths were meant for children.
“Does he know?”
I had shaken my head.
He hesitated before asking, “If you tell him… do you think he might come back and we can be a family again?”
My heart had ached at the hope in his voice because I had once wished for the same thing, but I knew it was not possible.
Caleb had broken my heart. He had cheated on me and lied to me.
I had loved him with everything I had, and in the end, that had still not been enough to protect what we had.
I did not want him back just because we had a baby together.
Even if he came back after learning about the baby, what would stop him from cheating again?
What would stop the same pain from destroying us all over again?
That would only bring more hurt into our lives, and Lucas had already known enough of that.
“I wish it was possible,” I had said gently as I knelt in front of him. “But it isn’t. Caleb and I have gone our separate ways, and I need you to respect that.”
Tears had filled his eyes, and I had softened my voice. “You’re going to be an amazing big brother. Emma can’t wait to meet you.”
“Really?” he had asked.
“Truly,” I had said as I pulled him into another hug.
After that, we explored the house together, and with every small smile and excited gasp that escaped him, I felt some of the weight inside my chest begin to lift.
“It’s just like our old home,” he had said thoughtfully. “Except now we have stairs and levels.”
I had laughed softly and held him close. “I love you, Lucas. Always remember that.”
“I love you too, Mama.”
“Let’s go meet the neighbours,” I had said.
Hand in hand, we stepped outside together, carrying a tray of goodies.
Now, as I watched him smile in front of me, I gently combed his hair and packed his backpack, grateful for how well he had adjusted to our new life.
There had been nights when I lay awake, terrified the move would break something in him, that he would grow distant or resentful and never forgive me for taking him away from everything he had known.
But children were resilient in ways adults often were not.
He had quickly found comfort in the neighbourhood children who attended the same school, and knowing he could stay with them until I returned from work made the transition easier for both of us.
I filled Oreo’s bowl with fresh food and water while he circled happily around my legs. Lucas knelt beside him, scratching behind his ears as Oreo’s tail wagged furiously against the kitchen cabinets.
“Be good, okay?” Lucas whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Oreo’s head.
I smiled softly and crouched beside them, scratching Oreo behind the ears before kissing his forehead too. “We’ll be back later, buddy.”
After dropping Lucas off at school, I headed to the hotel. I parked my car in the staff parking lot and walked through the staff entrance, grateful that I did not have to decide what to wear every day.
Standing in the locker room, I caught my reflection in the mirror and wished the uniform looked better on me as I adjusted the ill-fitting white shirt and red waistcoat.
The fabric pulled awkwardly in places, and no amount of tugging seemed to make it sit right.
I sighed softly and tied my hair back, studying the exhaustion in my face for a moment longer than I intended.
Another day, another dollar.
The thought moved through my mind with a dull kind of resignation. This was not the life I had once imagined for myself, but it was the life I had now. And for the sake of my children, I had to keep showing up for it.
“Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Ryerson,” I said with a practiced smile. “It’s so good to have you back with us.” I handed them their keys. “Executive Lounge access is open all day, and we will be serving afternoon tea and snacks shortly.”
Checking guests in and out and answering the phones quickly became monotonous.
“Yes, Mr. Stanilov,” I said while picking up the phone. “How can I help you?” After listening to his request, I replied, “No problem, I’ll send the shaving kit up right away.”
Nothing exciting ever happened at this hotel.
It was nothing like the Lexington, where drama unfolded almost every day and kept me constantly on my toes.
The responsibilities and energy of that job had been completely different from the routine here.
At the Lexington, every shift felt alive.
There had always been something to solve, someone to assist, some crisis brewing beneath the polished surface.
I had thrived in that chaos.
I had earned respect there.
I had mattered there.
Here, everything felt smaller… safer… quieter.
“Jiya,” the front office manager said.
I looked up at him.
“I need you to make sure the washrooms are clean.”
“But the housekeepers are supposed to take care of that,” I replied carefully.
“Well, they are not doing a good job, so you need to make sure it’s done,” the balding man in his late forties insisted. “Along with the trash in the bins.”
Desperate to keep the job, I did exactly what I was told. Even though I had some savings, I needed the paycheck, the structure, and the reassurance that I could still stand on my own two feet, no matter how far I had fallen from the life I once had.
After moving into the new house, I applied for countless positions, spending my days at the dining table circling job listings in the newspaper, something I had not done in years.
The process felt surreal and humbling, as if life had pushed me backward instead of forward.
Interview after interview, rejection after rejection, slowly wore me down.
The messages blurred together until I could barely distinguish one from another, each one chipping away at my confidence and feeding the self-doubt I was trying so hard to suppress.
After three interviews, I finally secured a front desk agent position, and I was grateful for it.
The routine that followed—dropping Lucas at school, working, coming home, making dinner, and falling into bed—might have felt monotonous at times, but it brought a sense of stability into his life, and that was all that mattered.
My children.
Lucas and my unborn daughter.
And for reasons I could not explain, the brief moment when my eyes had locked with the stranger at the restaurant unnerved me, as though the weight in his gaze had recognized the same hidden fractures I tried so hard to keep buried.