Chapter 31
The master bedroom stayed closed. Sage had gone in once, only to pack Ronin's things into a cardboard box, tape it, and leave it by the front door. That room seemed to be filled with the ghost of her former life, and she had no intention of lying down beside it again.
Ronin still came by after work. He'd try awkwardly to engage her in small talk, but she gave him nothing but silence and her back.
His efforts instead went to David, who remained wary and reticent.
The boy was polite, but every word was measured and his silences careful in a way that was new to them.
The familiar low mood sank its claws into Sage again the week after Ronin had left.
She cooked as little as possible and spent long hours in bed, reading until the lines blurred and the hours slid past. When David's worry showed in his eyes, she forced herself downstairs, cracked open another book, and feigned normalcy. Distraction was her only medicine.
That's when she began researching jobs, scrolling through lists of options late into the night. If nothing else, it made her feel less helpless
It was at football practice that things started looking up, even a little. After about an hour of shivering in the early morning cold, Gene suggested coffee.
Gene was a whirlwind—forty-eight, divorced twice, and the mother of four: two grown, two still teenagers.
She was blunt, funny, and had energy spilling out of her like sparks.
Just being in her vicinity made Sage feel like a wrung-out dishrag.
Over steaming mugs in a noisy café, their talk turned from their sons' match stats to the unrelenting reality of perimenopause.
"Oh, the hot flashes!" Gene groaned, fanning herself with a napkin. "One minute I'm frozen, and the next, I'm roasting like a turkey in August."
Sage laughed, surprising herself. "And the bleeding...don't get me started. I swear, I'm running a crime scene every three weeks."
"Preach," Gene said, rolling her eyes. "Pads, tampons, ibuprofen—my purse is like a mobile chemist. My exes didn't care, of course. At least they send child support."
Sage was reserved, but eventually, she admitted, her voice steady, "Ronin and I... We've separated."
Gene's face softened, and she didn't ask any of the obvious questions. They both looked out the café window to where the boys were tearing across the pitch.
"How's David taking it?" Gene asked quietly.
"As well as possible," Sage said. "He sees Ronin more than he used to, which is a plus. The other day he caught me reading a book about serial killers and asked if his dad should be worried."
Gene chuckled. "What did you say?"
"That if Ronin was smart, yes."
They both laughed, the sound startling in its ease. Sage realized it had been a long time since she had been relaxed like this. Or had a woman friend like this.
Then she thought of Euan, who had been in her thoughts too often these days. He had been there when she needed someone, and there had always been this sizzling chemistry that refused to allow her to relax in his presence. And there was the fact that she was always trying not to check out his arse.
After a beat, Gene said, "I work at the hospice, you know. The one by Church Street, next to the bookstore, which has excellent coffee, by the way. They might have volunteer openings. Would you like to try?"
Sage hesitated. "Let me think about it?"
"Of course." Gene gave her hand a quick squeeze. "I just thought it may take your mind off things. Just...sometimes helping others helps us."
That night, her period came. The cramps ripped through her, two days of debilitating hell ahead. She had showered and layered double pads for safety. The doorbell rang as she tugged on fresh leggings.
She opened the door expecting Ronin, only to find Francis.
Ronin's mother swept past her into the hallway without waiting. Sage trailed after, biting down the spike of irritation. "Why don't you come in?" she said drolly.
Francis perched on the sofa, back ramrod straight, lips pursed as if the house itself offended her.
Obviously, she still had that stick up her arse.
Francis smoothed her skirt with manicured hands and lifted her chin, her eyes flicking over Sage the moment she stepped in.
"My dear, how are you? You've...put on a bit of weight, haven't you? But then, you always were a bit on the heavy side. You shouldn't blame yourself, dear. But you do need to put in a little effort to keep men interested, you know."
Sage's mouth curved in a cool smile. She had predicted exactly what Francis would say. In her head, it was the first battle salvo fired—sharp, petty, and utterly predictable, just like all things Francis.
Francis pressed on, her voice tightening. "I know that what Ronin did wasn't right, but you're ungrateful, Sage. After all Ronin has done for you. The affair...well, it was an accident. Men will be men. He is sorry, you know."
Sage tilted her head, her smile still fixed. And here comes the next shot.
"An accident?" she asked, amused.
Francis pressed on, voice trembling with indignation. "Yes, but can't you see he's suffering? And now you've turned his own son against him." Francis's lips pressed thin, her eyes narrowing. "You've poisoned that boy's mind. You've made him hate his father."
Sage folded her arms, her patience thin as tissue.
"Let's be clear, Francis. Ronin did that to himself.
" She ticked off her fingers. "He's the one who slipped and his cock ended up in his mistress's vagina.
Accidentally. About nine separate times, if that number's to be believed.
And Ronin has access to David whenever he wants. I've never once restricted that."
Francis's mouth opened and closed, like the table jumped up and bit her before she gasped, "You don't need to be vulgar."
"No," Sage said coolly. "But I do need to be honest."
Sage leaned forward, voice sharpening. "You were a lousy mother-in-law when I was drowning with a newborn, and you've taken every chance since to make me feel like shit. The one good thing out of this mess? I don't have to put up with your skinny arse anymore."
Colour rose up Francis's neck.
"I didn't appreciate your little digs about how I was raising David.
So, here's the deal; I'm returning Ronin to you since you are oh so proud of him.
Like a free sample. Maybe this time, you can teach him a few things.
Like loyalty, integrity. Give parenthood another whirl—maybe you will get it right this time. I am not even asking for a refund."
Francis sputtered, "Why you little—" but Sage was already on her feet, firmly gripping her arm and firmly steering her towards the door.
"As you have told me many, many times, there is nothing little about me.
And you know what, I don't care. If that's all," Sage said, her voice cool, "I'll let you be on your way.
I'm on my period, which makes me a raging bitch and a little crazy.
No one is going to blame me if I chase you out of the neighbourhood with your very own broom—I will plead temporary insanity.
So, if you have more to say, write a letter, which I'll promptly burn.
Or send an email, which I'll promptly delete. "
She opened the door wide. "Goodnight, Francis." Then she slammed the door in her face.
And for the first time in the years she had known Francis, Sage felt the small, sharp satisfaction of not swallowing her words.