Chapter 25
JIYA
The doorbell rang, and my legs felt like they were stuck in concrete. For one terrifying second, I could not move. My hand hovered uselessly at my side while my pulse pounded. I forced myself to gather my courage, and before opening the door, I turned around.
Jack, Maureen, and Cole stood a short distance behind me, their presence strengthening me. The silent encouragement in their eyes felt like a hand at my back, gently pushing me forward and wishing me luck.
I opened the door.
A beautiful, fawn-skinned woman in her early fifties stood there staring at me. She had dark brown hair and light brown eyes.
My mother.
Karena Townsend.
I could barely breathe. I could not believe I was standing there looking at my mother.
The woman I had imagined a thousand different ways in my head.
The woman I had wondered about for years.
The woman whose face I had searched for in crowds without even realizing it.
I could see some of my features in hers, small traces that made something twist painfully inside me, but I saw nothing of myself in the man standing next to her.
He was tall, and his green eyes narrowed at me in a way that immediately made me uneasy.
A sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and something about it made my stomach tighten.
I smiled at both of them, trying to appear warmer and calmer than I felt.
Other than the slight curling of my mother’s lips, I got very little in return.
There was an immediate stiffness in the air, something formal and restrained, as they walked past me into the living room after a subdued greeting.
I closed the door behind them and tried to ignore the sinking feeling growing in my chest.
After quick introductions, drinks, and appetizers were handed around, the anxiety in the room only seemed to increase, making it heavy and inescapable.
Small talk about the weather, their flight, and their hotel experience took up half an hour, with me doing most of the asking and carrying almost the entire conversation.
Every answer felt clipped.
Every pause felt too long.
Every smile felt forced.
Wanting to break the ice further, wanting desperately to make the evening feel normal and hopeful, I introduced my children.
“This is my son, Lucas. He is eight years old, and this is my daughter Emma, who just turned eight months.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lucas said with a sweet smile.
I passed Emma back to Geeta, and Lucas slipped his hand into hers before walking to the backyard with her. I watched them go for a second, trying to steady myself before turning back to the people in front of me.
“So this is my family,” I said. “Why don’t you tell me about yours?”
“Well,” Karena said, placing her hands carefully on her folded legs. “We live in Vancouver, and we have a daughter and a son. Mirella is eighteen years old, and Cody is fifteen.”
“That’s great,” I said eagerly, clinging to any chance of connection. “Do they know about me?”
No was the quickest response I got all evening.
It was a no filled with shame and repulsion, as if I had asked something offensive, as if my existence itself was something to hide.
Behind me, the air seemed to tighten. I caught the faint sound of Jack clearing his throat, while Cole’s posture grew rigid, his attention fixed squarely on the conversation.
“Oh,” I said, pausing as my heart dipped. “Why don’t you tell me about what happened and how I ended up in an orphanage?” I asked, trying to lighten the strain in the room even though my throat had already begun to tighten. “I’m guessing you were very young when you had me.”
“Yes, I was,” Karena said, glancing down at her hands. “I was eighteen. Your father got me pregnant and didn’t take any responsibility after you were born.”
I sat very still, listening.
“I was young and scared. I didn’t know anything about raising a child, but I knew I didn’t want to have an abortion.”
Her chin trembled, and for the first time that evening, I thought I saw something vulnerable in her.
A small movement drew my attention. Maureen’s hand tightened around the edge of the table, her expression soft but troubled, as though she wished she could reach across and protect me from what was coming next.
“My parents told me I would have a better life without you, so they left you at an orphanage. A couple of years later, I did think about you and started a search.” She lowered her chin briefly before continuing.
“Then I met Derek at university.” She looked at her husband, then back at me.
“I thought I had deleted the application, but I guess that didn’t happen.
That’s how Family Finder Tree contacted me.
I felt like it was my duty to at least meet you once and tell you my side. ”
And that was it.
That was her story.
That was all.
A heavy silence muted the room.
Cole remained quiet, the tension in him unmistakable, like a coiled spring holding itself in check.
My heart sank so hard it almost felt physical. Even though I had spent days telling myself not to expect too much, I realized that some foolish, tender, hopeful part of me still had.
The few hopes I had built so carefully in my heart began to crumble one by one into disappointment and melancholy. A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to swallow.
Still, I asked the next question because I needed something, anything, to hold on to.
“What about my father?” I asked, hoping that maybe, somehow, I could still feel connected to someone.
“I found out a couple of years ago that he died,” Karena said with a sigh. “He was Spanish-Canadian. You look exactly like him. The dusky complexion, dark hair, and dark eyes.”
I did not know whether that was meant to be a compliment, an observation, or something else entirely.
I only knew that I heard sadness in her voice when she said the word died, and I found myself wondering if she had loved him once.
If he had mattered. If I had come from something real and not just something regretted.
In that moment, I realized the irony of my name—it was half Spanish and half Indian, as if someone had tried to cover all their bases. Jiya was Indian. Flores was Spanish. The orphanage that named me, if it still existed, would probably be patting itself on the back for such creative matchmaking.
“So,” I said, forcing the words out through the heaviness in my chest, “do you think we could see each other again? Maybe you could bring your children next time?”
Leaning back, Karena stroked her throat and grimaced. “That won’t happen.”
My heart stopped—as if something inside me had been cut loose and left to fall.
I heard Jack shift in his seat behind me, the scrape of the chair legs against the floor breaking the fragile stillness in the room.
She pressed her knees together and leaned forward. “I don’t want them involved in my past. That’s what I came to tell you.”
“But—” I started, desperate now, my voice breaking under the weight of everything I was trying not to feel.
“No. I didn’t want to come here either,” she confessed. “I’m sorry. The only reason I came was to explain my side of the story to you. I didn’t want you to keep wondering. I am settled in my life, and you seem to be settled in yours.”
I swallowed thickly.
Her side of the story. Her truth. She had given me what she came to give, and now I was supposed to accept it. It did not feel like a choice.
It felt like being handed a wound and being told to call it closure. As painful and difficult as it was, I knew I had no power to change what she was saying.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cole stand up, and Jack stir in his seat. Neither of them looked happy. Their eyes were wide, and their faces had flushed red.
“I hope you understand what I am telling you,” Karena said.
I nodded silently because I did not trust myself to speak.
Then she took an envelope out of her purse and handed it to me.
I looked down at it, confused, and slowly opened it.
It was a cheque for $50,000.
“I thought this would help you out in some way... for all the years I wasn’t there to look after you,” Karena said as she stood.
Derek stood too.
I stared at the cheque, disbelief washing through me in a slow, nauseating wave. My stomach clenched.
I did not want her money.
I did not want compensation.
I did not want to be paid off and dismissed like some loose end she had finally decided to tie up.
I wanted her love… her acceptance… a chance.
“Thank you very much for coming over,” I said as I stood and looked directly at my mother.
My pulse accelerated, and heat rose through me, burning away the numbness.
“But I don’t need your money. I just wanted to get to know you and build a relationship with you.
” I stepped toward her and placed the cheque back in her hands.
“Your message of not keeping in touch was loud and clear.” Then, with a steadiness I did not know I possessed, I said, “And one more thing, you can’t buy back time or a clean conscience with a cheque. ”
Her jaw dropped, and her eyes bulged.
I watched them turn and walk out the door in a hurry.
I do not know how long I stood there after that, staring at the space they had left behind, until Maureen came to me, turned me around, and pulled me into a hug.
“You are much better off without her,” she said.
I stood there feeling numb.
Completely numb.
I felt no sadness, no tears, no anxiety.
Nothing.
It was as if every feeling inside me had gone dark all at once.
I had imagined that night in a completely different way. I had pictured hugs, tears, kisses, questions, joy, maybe even healing.
None of that had happened.
Expectations were far from reality.
Walking with Maureen into the kitchen, I shrugged because I did not know what else to do with myself and said, “No use letting all my efforts go to waste. Let’s have dinner.”
Geeta placed the food on the table, and I fed Emma with hands that felt detached from the rest of me.
“Did she not like us, Mama?” Lucas asked.
His question startled me. I had not realized he had been observing everything so closely. I had not realized he had picked up on my emotions.
Cole, Jack, and Maureen all paused while eating.
“What makes you say that?” I asked him.
“Because you’re sad... and they left without eating.”
Pain hit my chest all over again.
My mother’s words came rushing back, crueller now that they were echoing through my son’s innocent understanding.
“Sometimes things don’t work out the way you want them to,” I told him gently, forcing myself to stay calm for his sake, “but that doesn’t mean the person is bad. Sometimes they are just weak and scared.”
“I’m always gonna be here for you, Mama!”
I smiled at him, and deep in my heart I knew that his words were truer than true.
When I looked around the table, everyone smiled back at me, and I felt the comfort of the family I had made, even while mourning the one I had hoped to find.
I did not eat much of the food I had prepared. I managed only a few bites while the others tried to keep the conversation light.
The night ended with apologies and words of encouragement from Jack and Maureen.
Cole stayed behind to help Geeta clean up.
Afterward, I put the children to bed. As I walked toward my room, my body slouched with exhaustion, and something inside me finally cracked.
I felt blue in a way I could no longer push away.
My mother’s words and actions replayed in my head over and over until the full weight of what had happened came down on me like a landslide.
The next thing I knew, I was standing in the shower with cold water gushing down on me.
This was my fault.
There was no one to blame but me.
I had built unreal expectations.
Dreamlike hopes.
I had been warned, and I should have listened.
I should have controlled my emotions.
What felt like ages with the water striking through my clothes and pricking my skin was probably only a few minutes.
Then I felt Cole’s hand on my shoulder after he turned the shower off.
I tried to lift my head and look at him, but I couldn’t.
My gaze stayed fixed on the bathroom tiles as if they had become the most important thing in the world.
He wrapped me in a towel and carried me out of the shower. After carefully settling me into a chair, he removed my jewellery and wiped away my makeup. With quiet care, he dried my hair and helped me into fresh pyjamas.
No words were spoken.
None were needed.
The silence said everything.
As my head sank into the pillow and darkness wrapped around me, I heard Cole’s voice near me, soft and low, almost like a promise carried through the dark.
“You are worth more than you can ever imagine, Jiya. I promise never to let anyone hurt you ever again.”