Chapter 18
Ten days ago
Ronin stood in the hall, staring at the empty hook by the door. Her keys were always there...always. It annoyed her when someone left the keys anywhere else. His eyes flicked to the dresser, to the shelf by the stairs. To the kitchen counter, where he had found them.
A chill climbed up his spine. He turned towards the kitchen island, towards the faint slant of light where a book was left there, along with two sheets of paper with Sage's neat handwriting.
"David!" His voice rang up the stairs with panic, harsher than he meant. "David!"
There was a pause, then heavy footfalls. His son appeared at the top of the stairs, still in his school uniform with his headphones around his neck, hair rumpled, expression wary.
"What?" His voice was devoid of the usual affection. In fact, it had been absent for the past two months, if Ronin was being honest. Ever since he found out.
"Have you seen your mum?" Ronin's voice rose with panic, cracking at the edges.
David turned as if to go back to his room.
"Have you seen your mum?" Ronin bellowed, the words bouncing off the walls. That stopped him short, and he turned with a question on his face, finally noticing something was wrong.
Together, they went up, stopping first at the guest bedroom. The bed was neatly made, pillows smoothed, but the space was empty, stripped of her presence. The wardrobe doors yawned open with emptiness. No clothes. No shoes. No Sage.
They tore through the other rooms, desperation rising, as if she might be hiding in plain sight.
Nothing.
When David came back into the kitchen, he started looking through her books on her desk in the kitchen. On the counter sat another sheet, written in her neat, precise hand—instructions, meals, school events, passwords, even the Netflix login. She had thought of everything. All this felt planned.
Ronin dragged both hands through his hair, breathing hard.
He hadn't believed she'd actually leave.
He thought, foolishly, that they'd talk and they'd work it out.
Only today he'd spoken to Graham, his lawyer, who had confirmed after reading Amanda's messages that Ronin could request a paternity test. But Graham's face had been stiff and his question had cut deep. "What about Sage?"
Ronin had stammered excuses: she hadn't been speaking to him; she was moody, unpredictable.
Graham, fifty-five and solid in his chair, had given him a long, impatient look.
"My wife, Lara, went through menopause two years ago.
We men...I don't think we really understand unless we try to see things from their point of view.
It built up gradually over the years. Looking back, she had been having issues since her forties.
Low mood, and sometimes she wouldn't even get out of bed.
And I was busy, so I ignored it and let her struggle.
I even told her once that she needed to take care of things at home so I could earn.
It was hell. We fought constantly. But I didn't leave, even when I wanted to.
One day, she told me she didn't feel like herself.
She was anaemic, and her hormones were all over the place.
We went to the doctor, got her help, and I think that saved our marriage—the work we put into it.
You should be worrying less about paternity tests and more about Sage before she forgets why she ever mattered to you. "
Ronin had nodded, uncomfortable, but deep down, he knew the truth; instead of facing things, he had hidden. Procrastinated. He had let the silence fester like an open wound because he hoped time would soften the memory and she would be more amenable. And now—
"Dad..." David's voice cracked, cutting through his woolgathering. He was waving the letter like a flag, tears streaking his face. "She is gone... Mum is gone... You did this."
"Let me read it," Ronin said, reaching for the page.
David jerked back, shaking his head, his grief edged with fury. "Why did you do this? She's gone. Gone. Are you happy now? Now you can bring your whore here, can't you? Should I leave, too?"
"David, don't use that word—"
"Why not? She knew what she was doing. But worse.
..you knew. And you still did it. I thought.
.." His voice broke. "I thought it would be best for Mum not for you.
Better than being with a liar like you. Instead, she thinks I chose your side.
I wanted her to take me with her, not leave me with you.
And now she hates me when it's all your fault. "
It took Ronin a minute to absorb the blow.
David shoved the letter against Ronin's chest, then bolted up the stairs, the door slamming like a final verdict.
Ronin stood in the wreckage of silence, the paper shaking in his hands, and forced himself to unfold it. Each word was a blow, and he realised the hits weren't stopping...
They were only beginning.
The paper rattled in his grip as Ronin forced himself to focus on the neat lines of Sage's handwriting.
My dearest David,
He skimmed the opening, felt the words like knives. He dropped into a chair, the words blurring and stealing the air from his lungs. Each sentence was an accusation, not of David, but of him.
If I have ever given you the impression that it is acceptable to let someone you love betray you, then I have failed you as a mother.
The breath left his chest in a hard rush. His hands shook, and he blinked rapidly, the words swimming.
This is not your burden to carry... What you do need to know...my love for you remains as constant as the air I breathe.
He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, teeth clenched.
But I am only human. I feel as though one more hit, one more betrayal, would break me beyond the point of wanting to continue. That is why I need space now, to remember who I am beyond your mother and your father's partner.
Pain like no other closed around Ronin's throat like a vice.
He'd told himself she would never leave; that their fights, her silences, were temporary storms. She had always loved him more than he did her, didn’t she?
He had been aware of her infatuation even when he was with Mia.
He had taken her work, her devotion as his due while withholding a little bit of himself.
He had hoped they could talk, at least for David's sake, and rebuild what he had broken, but he hadn't believed she'd walk.
But she had, decisively. And she hadn't left a word for him. Not a line, nor a single goodbye.
The letter slipped from his fingers onto the table. For a long moment he just sat there, staring at it as if the words might change if he willed them to. Then panic seized him.
He snatched up his phone, thumb jabbing at her number. It rang and rang before it went to voicemail.
"Sage, it's me. Please...please call me. Just tell me where you are. I'll come to you. We'll talk. We can fix this."
He hung up and dialled again.
Voicemail.
"Sage, I'm begging you. Don't shut me out. You don't have to do this alone."
Again. And again. His voice grew hoarse, words tumbling into one another, alternating between anger and desperation.
"Why won't you answer? You can't just vanish! We're not done. We've got David, we've got years... You can't throw it all away. I'll do anything, just...answer the phone!"
By the time the shadows of dawn stretched long across the kitchen floor, his calls were rolling straight out of her voicemail. When he tried again, the automated voice came cold, final, "This mailbox is full and cannot accept new messages."
Ronin lowered the phone slowly, numbness spreading like ice. He'd left her dozens of pleas, apologies, promises, even threats...words that may never reach her now. The silence on the other end was absolute.
He sat in the kitchen, the neat instructions still on the counter, the letter to David crumpled by his hand. For the first time since he had piled mistake upon mistake, he admitted the truth to himself.
He might have already lost her.