Chapter 37
The hospice was quieter than usual, the hallways hushed except for the faint murmur of voices from another room. Sage pushed Callie's door open gently, balancing a jug of water and her usual nervous smile.
Callie's face brightened. "My favourite visitor."
Sage set the jug down and pulled up a chair. "How are you today?"
"Still dying," Callie said dryly, her lips twitching. "But other than that, no complaints."
Sage shook her head, but the warmth behind the words reached her.
They talked about what she did today—Callie's son had called, the nurses had adjusted her meds again. Then, as so often happened, the conversation slipped into deeper waters.
"My ex-husband came by yesterday," Callie said, her voice soft, eyes drifting to the window. "We spoke on the phone first. He wished things were different. And now he sits there, bunged down by regrets. A lousy man when I married him, a lousy man when I left him. But still...I forgave him."
Sage frowned, shifting in her seat. "How?"
Callie coughed, a harsh rattle in her chest. Sage leaned forward, steadying her with a sip of water.
"You need to remember that forgiveness does not mean you forget he was an arsehole or that you let him back into your life.
It just means you find an easier way to coexist because you share a son," Callie rasped once she caught her breath.
"You don't forgive him for his sake. I did it for me.
For my son. Because, Sage, holding on to anger takes a hell of a lot of energy.
And that's energy you could use for something else. ..something that makes you lighter."
Sage sat in silence, her hands knotted together in her lap.
Callie's eyes twinkled. "Like wiping my arse."
Sage snorted. "Callie."
"Or maybe..." Callie's lips curved into a wicked grin. "Reading that reverse harem romance you suggested. Four men and a girl? Oh my..."
Sage laughed then, helplessly, and Callie joined her, the sound filling the room like a reprieve.
For the rest of the visit, they let the heavy things rest unspoken, trading jokes and laughter until the nurse came to check in. Callie had fallen asleep mid-sentence.
But Sage carried Callie's words with her when she left, turning them over in her mind like a stone smoothed by water: forgive him for yourself, not for him... and maybe for your son.
One week later , Sage found herself turning the same words around in her head.
The phone buzzed across the counter. Sage glanced at the screen—James. She picked it up, pressing it to her ear.
"Hi, Sage. It's James." His voice was ragged.
"James," she said gently. "I was going to call you. The restraining order came through. One week, and it's official."
There was a pause, the faint sound of Jenny fussing in the background before someone—maybe his mother—soothed her.
"I've got temporary custody," James said finally. "Mum's moved in to help, and my sister's nearby. Amanda doesn’t seem to care. But—" his voice cracked, breaking into silence. "She's only six months. She didn't ask for any of this. Amanda doesn’t seem to care."
Sage sighed. "No. She didn't."
Another pause, then his voice was quieter. "How are you coping? Because...we're the same, aren't we? Spouses who betrayed us in the worst possible way."
Sage closed her eyes, Callie's words rising in her memory. "A patient at the hospice told me something the other day. She said forgiveness isn't for them; it's for us. Because anger takes so much energy, and we need that energy for better things."
James didn't speak, but she could feel him listening.
"We both have vulnerable children who need us," she said softly. "Neither David nor Jenny did anything to deserve this. They're our priority now. That's where our strength and energy has to go."
James let out a ragged breath. "You're right. God help me, you're right."
There was a beat of silence, softer now. Then James cleared his throat. "Maybe we should...check in on each other. Just now and then. Make sure we're both keeping our heads above water."
Sage hesitated, then smiled faintly. "I'd like that."
"Good," James said, and she could hear the relief in his voice. "It might help both of us."
When the call ended, Sage sat for a long time in the quiet kitchen, strangely comforted by the knowledge that she wasn't completely alone in this.
David saw the way her face changed when she pulled the envelope from the post. A softening she couldn't hide. He had been strangely accepting of her bond with a man she barely knew, yet knew well, as though he sensed something steady in it, something that made her stronger.
It was David who had shyly told her about the house two doors down from Patrick's.
He'd spotted the For Sale sign while biking back from practice, cheeks pink as he mentioned it.
They'd gone to look together that weekend—a four-bedroom detached, closer to Ronin's new apartment, with a sprawling back garden.
The kitchen needed some work, but Sage had felt a thrill go through her.
She loved the idea of rolling up her sleeves and shaping it into something hers.
Now, standing in her own kitchen, she slipped her finger beneath the flap of the envelope, tore it open, and unfolded the crisp stationery.
At the top, in his neat hand, it read:
My dearest constant,
I am glad to hear you've found a new place—a four-bedroom detached, no less, in a good neighbourhood.
The same one Patrick's family lives in, aye?
That's a fine sign. I'm glad David is happy with it, too.
It matters, that lad settling. And for you, being closer to the hospice where you give your time, and closer to the school he hopes to attend, that's good. That's solid.
As for Amanda and all that madness... I hated reading what happened, hated more that David had to bear it. But I'll tell you this, lass, I think you've handled it with more strength than you even ken. He'll remember that, your steadiness when the ground shook under him.
You should know something. I never doubted you, not for a heartbeat.
Not the way you've sometimes doubted me, though I don't blame you.
I have had relationships before, but it has never been a betrayal like you suffered when we parted.
From that moment on that train, I knew you weren't a passing chance, or a whim, or a diversion.
You were the moment my life turned. And now you are the force that makes my world go round.
You've made me start to believe in possibilities again, not dreams spun out of air, but ones rooted in something real. I want flesh-and-blood life. I want the woman who laughs with her whole face, who fights for her son, who walks into a hospice and makes strangers feel less alone.
I want you.
I understand that life can sometimes get overwhelming, and I know you may feel uncertain or doubt yourself.
But through it all, I'm here, wholeheartedly, to stand by you.
I want to be someone you can lean on, someone who loves you exactly as you are, even when things feel difficult.
I want to be a safe place where you never have to question if you're enough, because, to me, you always are.
Expect a surprise soon. Something that says I'm not just words on paper.
Always only yours,
Euan