Page 15 of Broken Destiny

“Can you please leave this piece here?” the young man in his early twenties asked, clasping his hands under his chin, as he gestured toward the painting Cole had created of me.

I hesitated, not wanting to agree. Not when Cole was no longer there to see it. Not when that painting carried so much of his love within it.

“I won’t sell it, I promise,” the young man continued. “I feel like it just belongs here… you know. This is its home… plus it’s an inspiring piece.”

I looked at the painting again—the brushstrokes that captured my expression, the colours that reflected the way Cole had seen me. I had loved that piece from the moment I first laid eyes on it. It held memories too precious to measure.

I had taken the framed photographs home with me and placedthem along the stairwell. He had captured so many moments of the children and me—quiet smiles, thoughtful glances, ordinary days transformed into something extraordinary through his lens.

“I wanted to re-home it,” I said, my gaze still fixed on the painting, “but I can’t think of where yet.” Turning back to the young man, I met his hopeful expression. “I’ll let you keep it here temporarily until I decide where to house it, but on one condition.”

“Sure,” he replied quickly. “What is it?”

“No matter who comes in here, and no matter what they say, this piece is not for sale. Am I clear?”

The young man nodded immediately, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Deal!”

Drawing up the contract, I wished the young man luck and success. The contract felt like sealing a promise—not just to him, but to myself.

A promise to protect the pieces of Cole that remained in this world.

A promise to honour the love we had shared.

And a promise to hold on to the memories that continued to shape the life I was still learning to live.

The holidays seemedto change with the years.

This year, I had lost someone else… someone precious and deeply woven into my heart.

My husband, my love, and the father of my children.

And somehow, I found myself standing in the quiet aftermath of grief all over again, haunted by the same emptiness that seemed to follow me wherever I went.

“Jessica and I want you to bring the kids over for Christmas and New Year,” Liam called that evening.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure,” I said quietly.

“I know you’re still hurting, Jiya,” he said gently, pausing long enough for his words to sink in. “But do it for the children.”

Thinking about it, I realized I had tried to do everything I could for them since Cole’s passing. Every decision I made revolved around their well-being, their stability, and their happiness. I didn’t want them to carry the weight of my grief, and I didn’t want them to suffer because of the emptiness I felt.

“Sure, alright,” I said finally. “We’ll be there.”

Jack and Maureen showed up on both occasions as a surprise.

“I’m worried about you,” Jack said, studying my face. “You’ve lost weight. You don’t seem to eat. When was the last time you slept?” he asked, tilting his head and touching my shoulder.

His concern tugged gently at my heart.

“Don’t worry, I’m doing fine,” I replied, patting his hand that rested on my shoulder.

“You don’t look it,” he said, shaking his head. “You haven’t taken a break from work. You keep running between the children, the restaurant, and the cafés. You’ve been working with Liam too. You need a break, Jiya.”

I let out a slow breath.

“The best way for me not to fall apart is to keep busy,” I explained softly. “And that’s what I’m doing.”

“Can you at least take it easy and put on some weight?” he pressed, his tone half-teasing, half serious. “Your clothes look like they’re hanging on a skeleton.”