Chapter 44
COLE
In the last week of February, I picked Jiya up for our appointment with the caterers for the wedding reception. Just seeing her standing outside the café waiting for me, a rush of affection reminded me how lucky I was that she had chosen me.
“How was your day, sweetheart?” I asked as she got into the car.
“Busy, but wonderful,” she replied. “What about you?”
“Better now that you’re here,” I said, reaching for her hand and lifting it to my lips. I pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it, enjoying the way her eyes softened when I did.
“How’s the project going?”
“It’s quite good,” I replied as I pulled the car onto the road. “We finally managed to find a site for it. Talks are now in progress.”
I wanted to build a community centred around families—a place where grandparents, parents, and children could live close to one another instead of scattered across cities and towns.
I had seen too many families drift apart over the years, and I wanted to create something that encouraged people to stay connected.
The project meant a lot to me, and I had been working on the idea for months.
“That’s great, honey,” she said.
The drive to the venue in Duncan took us along winding roads that gradually opened into a landscape of gardens and farmland. Mount Tzouhalem rose in the distance, its slopes covered in dense green forest. The air felt fresh and clean as we stepped out of the car.
The venue was beautiful.
The grounds were surrounded by rolling farmland and colourful gardens that stretched toward the mountains. A table had been arranged for us near the edge of the property so we could enjoy the view while tasting the dishes.
The head chef approached us with a friendly smile as he began placing small plates in front of us.
“Here we have prosciutto pear bites with herbs and blue cheese,” he announced. “Smoked salmon bites with cucumber and capers, cheesy mushroom puff pastry bites, and mini kebab skewers.”
Jiya picked up one of the appetizers and tasted it.
“These are delicious,” she said.
I couldn’t have agreed more. Every bite seemed better than the last. As we worked our way through the menu, we confirmed lobster tails and beef filet as the main courses for the reception. By the time we finished discussing the mains, I could already feel myself getting full.
God, I should have skipped breakfast, I thought, shifting slightly in my chair.
“There will be a dessert bar set up for the guests to enjoy,” the chef continued. “A sample will be placed on the table shortly.” He paused briefly before adding, “Now for the wedding cake options.”
I leaned closer to Jiya and whispered in her ear. “God, I’m already stuffed.”
“Same here,” she said with a soft laugh. “But I always leave room for dessert.”
“Oh, I have room for dessert,” I replied with a playful pause. “But they don’t have what I want on the menu.”
I winked at her, a mischievous smile tugging at my lips.
She rolled her eyes but could not hide her smile.
After tasting the cake samples, we decided on a strawberry and cream filling for the wedding cake. It felt wonderful making these decisions together, discussing flavours and decorations for a day that was slowly becoming real.
When the meeting ended, I drove her back to the restaurant. She leaned over and kissed my cheek before getting out of the car.
“See you at home, sweetheart,” I said as she closed the door.
Once she was safely inside, I drove down the road toward the gallery.
As I pulled into the parking lot, my thoughts drifted back to another project I had been working on.
I wanted to create a charity event that would invite people from neighbouring towns and the city to attend an exhibition.
The money raised would go toward a shelter that supported women and children across Vancouver Island.
The project had become deeply personal for me.
I had begun assembling a collection of photographs that celebrated strength and resilience. There were images of women working on farms, flying airplanes, serving as police officers and firefighters. I wanted the exhibition to empower the women who saw themselves reflected in those images.
Alongside the photographs, I had also included some of my landscape and abstract paintings.
The final piece of the exhibition would be the most important one.
A painting of Jiya.
I had been working on it quietly in the evenings, carefully capturing the details of her that had captured my heart long before she ever noticed—the ones that made her uniquely, beautifully Jiya.
Around the painting, I planned to place photographs of her from the day she reopened my wife’s restaurant and changed something inside me forever.
It felt right that the exhibition should end with her.
When I reached the gallery, I stepped inside and greeted Andrea, the young girl at the front desk.
“Hi,” I said quickly. “I’ll be right back.”
A wave of nausea hit me so hard that I barely had time to react. I rushed to the bathroom and leaned over the sink, my stomach turning violently before I threw up.
After a few minutes, the worst of it passed.
I rinsed my mouth and splashed some water on my face. Feeling slightly better, I walked into my office and sank into the chair behind my desk. I rubbed a hand across my stomach, frowning. God… what is going on with my stomach?
A couple of days later, just before leaving for work, I threw up again after breakfast. It came suddenly and violently, leaving me gripping the edge of the sink while my chest burned and my head spun.
When it finally passed, I leaned back against the counter, breathing slowly as a dull ache spread across my upper abdomen.
My chest hurt.
I felt dizzy.
This is happening way too often, I thought uneasily. Why am I feeling this way? It made no sense.
I ate home-cooked meals made by Geeta and Jiya. Some days, though, my appetite vanished completely, and I barely managed to eat more than a few bites. Even when I forced myself to exercise at the gym, I left feeling drained instead of energized.
My upper abdomen throbbed again, and I pressed my hand lightly against it. I could feel a swelling there that had not been there before.
“That’s it, we’re going to the hospital to get this checked out,” Jiya said firmly from the kitchen doorway.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and walked into the kitchen. “I’m fine now. I feel better.”
“I understand, but this is not normal,” she said quickly.
“You’ve lost weight. A bunch of bruises appear and disappear on your body, and even after giving you home-cooked meals, you’ve not stopped throwing up.
” Her words came fast, fueled by worry. “I’m not listening to you anymore,” she continued.
“We’re going to the hospital, and there’s no ifs, ands, or buts about it. ”
“I would listen to her if I were you, Dad,” Lucas said casually from the table while munching on his cereal.
I could not help laughing.
“Alright, fine,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “Let’s go.”
At the hospital, the doctor first sent me for blood tests.
After reviewing the results, he ordered additional tests.
An ultrasound.
An MRI.
A PET scan.
And then a liver biopsy.
I could see the tension building in Jiya as the hours dragged on. While I lay inside the MRI machine, moving from one test to another, she sat outside waiting.
When I finally came out, she was pacing the hallway, tapping her foot restlessly.
I knew that look.
She was worried.
She had asked me to see a doctor several times before, but I had kept putting it off.
“I just don’t want to go,” I had told her more than once.
“But why?” she had insisted.
“Don’t force me to do something I don’t want to.”
Even though I had apologized afterward for my harsh tone, I still hadn’t gone.
Now, as I stepped out of the testing room, I felt weak and pale. My stomach still hurt.
“We’re almost done, honey,” she said gently when she saw me. “Let’s get the results from the doctor, and then we’ll head home so you can rest.”
I nodded and followed her into the doctor’s office.
We sat down across from Dr. Mitchell.
The moment I saw the expression on his face, a chill ran down my spine.
Jiya must have noticed it too because her fingers tightened around my hand.
“What is it, Doctor?” she asked, biting her lip as she held my hand.
Dr. Mitchell cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
I felt Jiya’s hand tremble in mine.
“Cole has liver cancer,” the doctor said.
The world fell apart beneath my feet.
Liver cancer.
“I don’t understand,” I said, the words finally sinking in. “How is that possible?”
Dr. Mitchell adjusted his glasses and looked at the computer screen in front of him.
“Well, your blood test revealed some abnormal liver function,” he explained calmly.
“I wanted to check my suspicions with the ultrasound, MRI, and PET scan.” He turned the monitor slightly as if the images might somehow make it easier to understand.
“There’s no doubt at all that it is liver cancer. ”
I sat there frozen.
“How long have you been throwing up?” the doctor asked.
“It’s been a while,” I replied quietly.
“Have you had stomach aches, nausea, bruising that stays longer than normal, or weight loss?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
Dr. Mitchell sighed softly.
“We’ll wait for the biopsy results to determine the stage,” he said. “There are a few options we can try in the meantime.”
His voice continued, explaining treatment possibilities, but the words blurred together in my mind.
I could still feel Jiya’s hand holding mine tightly, but my thoughts had shut down.
How could this happen to me? How could this happen now when everything in my life has finally settled? How could it all fall apart like this?
“Don’t worry,” Jiya said, pulling me back to the present.
I turned toward her.
Her eyes were glossy with tears, and her lips trembled slightly, but her grip on my hand remained strong.
“We’re going to beat it,” she said. Her voice shook, yet the determination in it was unambiguous. “We’re going to beat this.”
I looked at her, my chest tightening.
How could this happen now?
Now, when I had finally found love again.
Now, when I had finally found a reason to live.
How could I do this to her after everything she had already been through?
The next day, I sat silently in the passenger seat while Jiya drove us to another hospital in a different town.
Neither of us spoke much during the drive.
The quiet inside the car felt suffocating.
I kept my eyes fixed on the passing landscape outside the window, watching trees and houses blur together while my mind struggled to accept what was happening.
We were going for a second opinion.
I desperately hoped that the first doctor had made a mistake.
But when the tests were repeated and the second doctor studied the results, he came to the same diagnosis.
Liver cancer.
The words felt like slow cracks forming in glass, breaking my heart piece by piece.
On the drive back home, I stared straight ahead while Jiya kept both hands firmly on the steering wheel.
“We’ll tell everyone once the doctor confirms which stage I’m at,” I said quietly. “No need to scare anyone yet.”
She nodded, but I could see the tension in her face.
The truth was that I was scared.
Terrified.
I just refused to show it.
Not yet.
I needed to be strong for her.
For the children.
So when we got home, I forced myself into normal routines as if nothing had changed.
“Let me help you with your homework,” I told Lucas that evening. “Let’s start with math,” I said, pulling a chair beside him at the table.
The numbers on the page barely registered in my mind, but helping him focus on fractions and equations gave my thoughts something else to cling to.
Nearby, Oreo lay stretched across the floor while Milo curled lazily beside Emma’s feet, purring softly every time she reached down to pet him. Even the familiar sight of the two animals peacefully sharing the same space brought a sense of comfort to the heaviness inside my chest.
After we finished, I played with Emma for a while, lifting her into the air and making her giggle before helping set the table for dinner.
Every small, ordinary moment felt precious now.
That night, however, I tossed and turned for hours.
At some point, I rolled over and looked at Jiya lying beside me. Her face was turned away, but even in the dim light I could see the damp marks on the pillow beneath her cheek. She must have cried when she thought I was asleep.
My chest constricted.
Carefully, I slipped out of bed and went downstairs.
The house was quiet and dark as I opened my laptop at the kitchen table.
I needed answers.
I needed to understand what I was facing and accept the reality of it.
So I began searching.
Stage one.
Stage two.
Stage three.
Stage four.
Each page I read ended the same way—with grim statistics and words that felt cold.
The symptoms listed on those pages matched my own experiences too closely.
I had noticed all of them.
I just had not taken them seriously.
For years, I had pushed my body too far, using alcohol to bury my demons when I had wanted nothing more than to disappear from the world.
Back then, I had been drinking myself into oblivion without caring what it might do to me.
And now here I was.
The consequences had finally caught up.
The irony made me shake my head bitterly.
When the second doctor had confirmed the diagnosis, the last fragile thread of denial snapped inside me.
This was real.
There was no escaping it.
I needed to accept what was happening, and I needed to make important decisions… the kind that forced me to come to terms with this diagnosis.
There were things in my life that needed to be handled.
Resolutions that had to be made while I still had time.
I did not know how long I had.
But I needed a plan.