Chapter 36
The front door clicked shut just as Sage heard the pounding of footsteps on the stairs. David brushed past her in a blur, his face pale, and slammed his bedroom door so hard the frame rattled.
She froze, her heart thudding. "David?" She had been coming down the stairs and changed direction and went back up. She hesitated before knocking. "Sweetheart, is everything alright?"
No answer.
"David, open the door right this instant."
The bell rang. Ronin was supposed to come, and they were planning to go to David's football match together. She hurried to let him in, still distracted, and he had barely stepped inside when David's door opened again.
David stood there, red-faced, his hands jammed deep in his hoodie pocket. "Mum," he blurted, his voice a little shaken, and he wouldn't meet their eyes. "Amanda has been showing up at school."
Sage's blood went cold.
David swallowed hard. "She's been showing up after school.
At first, she was just sad. She wanted to know where Dad had moved to, and I just shrugged her off.
I didn't want to—" He broke off, eyes darting between them, guilty.
"I should have said something sooner. I just didn't want to worry you guys. "
Ronin's face drained of colour. "David..."
David looked down at the carpet. "She came today.
She was so awful. The baby was crying, and she.
..she was calling you names, Mum. The B-word, the W-word.
Using fuck a lot. She called you a homewrecker.
All my mates were there, and some of the mums and dads, too.
She was a bit..." His shoulders hunched. "Crazy. I didn't know what to do."
Sage's fury rose, hot and unfiltered. "That psycho twat."
David flinched, but she was already moving, her pulse roaring in her ears. "Right, that's it. I'm going to her house right now. I'm giving that little bitch a piece of my mind—"
Ronin caught up in two strides, grabbing her wrist as she reached for the car keys. "Sage, stop."
"Don't you dare," she hissed, yanking against him. Her voice dropped, sharp and venomous, as she opened the door and launched herself towards her car. "You don't get to say anything. You brought this crazy into our lives."
Ronin's grip tightened on the car door as she tried to wrench it open. "I will fix it, I swear. But this is not the way."
She was swearing up and down while David watched, wide-eyed, as Ronin pulled out his phone and dialled a number.
James must have answered immediately, because Ronin launched into it, low and urgent.
"James, it's Ronin. We need to talk. Amanda's been harassing David after school. Today, she crossed a line."
Sage stood stiff beside him, every muscle wired as he caught James up. When he hung up, she said coldly, "That's not nearly enough. We're going to the police."
Ronin hesitated, but Sage wasn't asking. She turned to David, her tone softening. "Come on, sweetheart. We'll do this together."
An hour later, the three of them sat in the sterile glow of the police station, Sage's hand firm around her son's as he gave his statement.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a flat glare across the interview room. Sage sat close to David, while Ronin leaned forwards on the table, shoulders tight with tension as if bracing himself for the inevitable explanations.
He explained everything: the affair, the paternity test, the weeks of Amanda trailing David, the confrontation outside school, the shouting, the names.
He half-expected the officers to exchange knowing looks, or worse, to dismiss it as "domestic drama," but they didn't. They listened carefully, pens scratching across forms, their questions measured and professional.
"Can you provide the names of the other students who were present please?" the lady officer asked.
David shifted uncomfortably, but he nodded, listing Patrick, Mauve, and two others who had witnessed Amanda's outburst. The officer made careful notes.
Midway through, the door creaked open. Another female officer stepped inside, her expression brisk as she bent to whisper something to one of the detectives. He gave a short nod before clearing his throat.
"There's a gentleman outside, a James Floyd. He'd like to have a word."
Sage's gaze met Ronin's. For a beat, neither spoke, but the unspoken understanding passed between them. Both gave a small, almost wary nod.
The officer opened the door wider, and James stepped in.
He looked different, leaner, as though the last couple of weeks had carved away more than just weight.
The harsh overhead light did him no favours, throwing shadows that deepened the lines around his eyes and mouth.
His face was grim, his manner clipped as he offered them a curt nod before turning squarely to the officers.
"I have concerns for my daughter's safety as well," he said, his voice carrying an undercurrent of steel. "Amanda's behaviour isn't just erratic; it's dangerous. Jenny was present during the incident."
The officer looked between them, then said firmly, "You've both done the right thing by coming here. My advice is to follow this through legally—apply for a restraining order to protect your son, and for," he nodded at James "your daughter."
Ronin's voice was low. "I've already contacted my lawyer. She has already started the paperwork."
James gave a short, grim nod. "Same here."
The officer gathered the notes together, sliding them into a file. "We'll log the complaint and contact the school. A safeguarding officer will be made aware. If Amanda approaches your son again, you call us immediately. Understood?"
Sage squeezed David's hand once more. "Understood."
David's shoulders eased just a fraction.
The drive home was silent, pulsing with unsaid words. David sat in the back, slouched against the window with his earphones in.
As soon as they stepped into the house, Sage walked to the kitchen with Ronin following her. She gave David a reassuring smile before she closed the kitchen door behind them and turned on Ronin.
She couldn't hold it in anymore. The rage came in blistering, unstoppable waves.
For so long, she'd thought she could manage, thought she could endure, thought if she just kept everything running—every chore, every meal, every tiny domestic detail—then maybe her world wouldn't implode.
But it was like boiling milk in a pan; everything was under control as long as you never looked away.
And the moment you did, one second of distraction, it bubbled over, scalding, spilling everywhere, burning your hands as you tried to save it, leaving behind that sickening smell.
That was what her anger felt like. And tonight, the pan had finally tipped.
"I don't think I can forgive you for this."
Ronin was silent, staring at her intently like he had expected this.
"I was so stupid," she cried out, voice trembling with fury and grief.
"So stupid to ignore that box—that damn box of letters, those photographs of her.
Do you know what it did to me, Ronin? Every time it moved, even just a few inches, it felt like it was pinching off pieces of my soul.
Like it was taking me apart, bit by bit.
And I told myself I could live with it. That I could pretend it didn't matter.
But it mattered, Ronin. It just made me care less and less. "
Her hands shook as she pressed them to her chest. "I thought maybe you'd see me, that you'd notice how much pain I've been in.
That you'd care. But all that mattered to you was that this house ran like clockwork, that nothing disturbed your perfect little routine.
And I...I swallowed it, again and again. "
Ronin shifted as if to speak, but she cut him off with a furious laugh that dissolved into tears.
"I told myself at least you'd be faithful—that I have that at least. But no, even that was too much.
Forget faithful; how about honest? How about, 'Sage, maybe we've grown apart, maybe we should let go'?
That would have been better than this. This slow bleeding of me until there's nothing left. "
Her voice cracked, and she took a ragged breath. "And the worst, Ronin...the worst isn't the lies, isn't even Mia. It's that you dragged David into this. You poisoned my relationship with my son. And that..." she broke off, shaking her head as tears poured freely, "that was the very last straw."
"This situation is your fault," she spat, her voice shaking with fury. "You brought her into our lives; you opened the door to that kind of madness. And now our son is paying the price."
Ronin flinched, his face pale, eyes bloodshot from too many sleepless nights. "Sage—"
"No. Don't 'Sage' me. I had to watch my child walk into a police station tonight because of your choices. How does that feel?"
His mouth worked, but nothing came out. Then, as though the fight had drained straight out of him, he sank onto the edge of the chair. His hands covered his face, shoulders shaking.
"I know," he whispered, voice muffled. "I know it's my fault. I've ruined everything. I can't take it back, Sage. God, I wish I could. I wish I could give you back the years. I'm sorry."
The rawness of it cut through her anger.
She stared at him—this man who looked thinner, older, nothing like the proud partner she'd once clung to, even though, in her heart of hearts, she knew she should have let go a long time ago.
His regret wasn't slick or defensive tonight; it was naked. It was crushing him.
"Dad..."
David's voice cut through. Neither had noticed him come in.
He stood awkwardly in the doorway, shoulders hunched, eyes darting between them.
He took a step forward, then another. "I'm just glad it's...it's done.
That you both did something about it. I didn't know what to do, but now.
.." He exhaled, the tension in his frame easing. "Now I feel better."
Sage's heart felt like it would explode. So many things could have gone wrong. She pulled him into her arms, holding on until he gave a small laugh and wriggled free.
Her anger still burned, but the edges had dulled. For the first time, she saw the path clearly—if she wanted to move forward, truly forward, she would have to forgive Ronin. Not for him, but for herself. To stop being chained to his mistakes.
Later, after David had gone to bed, she sat down opposite him, her voice quieter. "I don't know what to do with all this rage I have inside me. I have been trying to keep it in, but I need to forgive you, Ronin. I need to forgive you because I need to move on."
He looked up, eyes rimmed with red, and gave the smallest of nods.
And for that night, at least, the storm in their house finally eased.