Page 173 of Broken Destiny

I paused the video at the bags, leaning closer to the screen, my pulse pounding in my ears.

I closed my eyes and tried to recollect the bag I had seen in Jiya’s house—the one my mother had shown us, the one that had convinced all of us she had stolen the money.

Both were leather duffel bags.

But then the details came into focus.

The handles were different.

The colours were different.

Heat rushed to my face, my cheeks burning with shame as if the truth itself had slapped me. My chin dropped to my chest, and I buried my face in my hands, shaking my head slowly.

How had I not seen it before? How had I been so blind?

My eyes flicked back to the laptop screen.

There were more files on the USB.

The cursor blinked quietly on the screen.

My hand hovered over the mouse again, my fingers tense, my instincts screaming at me to stop while there was still time.

But I couldn’t look away.

I clicked the next folder.

INVESTIGATION — N. RODRIGUEZ

My stomach tightened as the contents appeared on the screen, arranged in neat rows, each document labelled. The sight alone made my chest ache.

This was not curiosity or casual concern.

My mother had documented Jiya’s life with disturbing precision, building a case against someone she had already decided to hate.

I swallowed hard and opened the first file.

The report confirmed what I already knew about Jiya’s childhood—her years in the orphanage, the incomplete records, and the absence of clear information about her parents.

It was written in a detached, clinical tone that reduced her life to dates and observations, stripping away the resilience and quiet strength I had come to admire in her.

Still, nothing in those early pages surprised me.

What stopped me was the next section.

My breath slowed as I read the details more carefully, making sure I had not misunderstood what I was seeing.

A DNA test had been conducted.

For the first time, two names appeared beside Jiya’s—names connected to a part of her life she had never known.

Karena Townsend.

Carlos Sanchez.

My mother had discovered who Jiya's parents were years ago. She had known the truth all this time and kept it hidden, as though it belonged to her instead of Jiya.

I leaned back slightly in my chair, my thoughts racing as the weight of that discovery began to sink in. My mother had been sitting on answers she had no right to keep. Instead, those answers had been quietly locked away, withheld without explanation.