Page 3 of Broken Destiny

1

JIYA

“Would you like to know what Emma did today?” I asked, stroking the gravestone, my fingers tracing the cool, unyielding marble as if I could somehow coax life back into it. “She drank bathwater and said it wasn’t tasty.” I let out a soft giggle, the sound reverberating against the silence that surrounded me.

Visiting my husband’s grave had become part of my daily rhythm, as natural and necessary as breathing. Milo and Oreo came with me every single time, trotting quietly beside me. Milo would walk straight to Cole’s grave and rest his head gently against the tombstone, just as he used to rest it on Cole’s knee when he was alive. Oreo usually settled close to my feet the moment we arrived, keeping watch over me.

I would sit down and talk to him as though he were simply resting nearby. I told him about the children, about the restaurant, about the tiny victories and exhausting setbacks that filled my days. It hurt to know he lay beneath the cold earth below me, unreachable, yet coming here and speaking to him preserved our connection—the invisible cord that still bound my heart to his.

Every two weeks, I placed fresh flowers on thegraves—three bouquets carefully arranged for the people who had shaped my life in ways words could never fully capture.

Cole.

Eva.

Chloe.

A family bound by love and loss, resting side by side beneath the open sky.

It was August, three months after Cole had passed away. Three months that felt like both a lifetime and a blink of an eye.

Reminders of him clung to my world everywhere—pictures stored on my phone, his clothes still hanging neatly in our closet, the faint scent of his aftershave still lingering in the bathroom no matter how many times I cleaned.

“Today is the big day,” I said, tracing the outline of his name carved into the white marble headstone. The letters felt sacred beneath my fingertips, each groove a testament to the man I loved. “The charity event for your gallery, your work, your pictures.” I swallowed against the ache rising inside me. “I can’t wait to see it. I’m so proud of you, and so are Lucas and Emma. Take care, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I leaned forward and pressed my lips gently against the cold stone, pretending it was his cheek, pretending he could feel me. Then I adjusted the T-shirt I was wearing—his T-shirt, soft and worn, still carrying the memory of him. Wrapping myself in it felt like borrowing his strength for a little while.

With a final glance at the grave, I turned and walked out of the cemetery towards the car, carrying both love and grief inside me like two halves of the same heartbeat.

“Didi, are you ready to go?”Geeta asked an hour later as she stepped into my bedroom.

Geeta had been my strength and comfort after Cole’s passing,standing beside me when the world felt as though it had cracked open beneath my feet.

I nodded and turned my gaze toward the window again, staring out at the quiet street. Wearing a knee-length black dress with minimal makeup, I walked downstairs and saw my children waiting for me.

Lucas, who was ten years old, looked handsome in his new midnight-blue suit and striped bowtie, standing tall with a seriousness that reminded me so much of Cole. Emma, who was two and a half, looked adorable in her yellow dress, her tiny shoes tapping softly against the floor as she bounced.

Huddling into the car with the children and Geeta, I drove over to the gallery. The short distance had my nerves fluttering like restless birds inside my chest.

Today mattered.

Today was about honouring Cole, about showing the world the legacy he had left behind.

Arriving at the gallery, I noticed the black car again.

My eyes narrowed as I slowed the vehicle. I couldn’t see if anyone was inside, but the hair lifted again on the back of my neck. I had seen that car practically every week—sometimes near the house, sometimes parked close to the restaurant.

Biting the inside of my lip, I stepped out of the car and saw Jack and Maureen walking toward me, their familiar faces bringing a sense of comfort and calm.

“How are you doing, dear?” Maureen asked.

She and Jack were like the parents I never had, stepping into my life at a time when I needed guidance, patience, and unconditional love.

They had taken care of me from the time we’d met, offering support without hesitation. My children adored them, calling them Nana and Pappy with a natural affection that filled my heart with gratitude.

“I’m good. Taking it a day at a time,” I replied, forcing a small smile. Each day felt like walking across a bridge, unsure whether theground beneath me would hold, but I kept moving forward because my children needed me to.

“I can’t believe Cole planned the whole thing,” Jack said, blinking rapidly and then staring at the gallery.