She walked past him without a word and grabbed the first bottle she touched from the liquor cabinet. Then she moved around him again, careful not to brush against him, and climbed the stairs before running to the guest bedroom. She closed the door with a bang, the wooden door shuddering on impact.
Sitting on the bed, she twisted the cap off, took a long, burning swallow. The alcohol did nothing to numb the pressure building in her chest; it did not numb the knowing or make her forget. And then the raw, wrenching sobs tore out of her like an avalanche before she could stop them.
It was the kind of grief that scooped your soul out. The pain that came when you realized the solid ground you'd been standing on for years had been an illusion. Her mind reeled—flashes of their life together clashing with a new, brutal reality. A sense of betrayal so deep it felt physical, as though her body tried weakly to reject it to protect her from the pain. She couldn't tell if she was shaking from rage, humiliation, or the sudden, suffocating fear that she had never really known the man she'd built her life around.
She stayed in the room, refusing to answer when someone knocked. Her stomach burned with the unfamiliar weight of alcohol. Ronin used to tease her about being a lightweight, tipsy on a single beer. Now, half a bottle of vodka sloshed inside her, stealing her control and muddling her thoughts.
She pictured Ronin with Amanda, their perfect daughter between them. A flawless little family. Maybe they'd even have another. Maybe David would choose to stay with them. Leaving her, the blind penniless fool, behind.
The nausea came hard and sudden. Sage lurched forward and barely made it to the toilet, retching until her stomach seized and her throat burned raw. Shaking, she dragged herself beneath the shower, her clothes clinging until they grew too heavy. She peeled them off one by one, swaying under the scalding spray until the heat eased some of the ache. Then, mechanically, she brushed her teeth, trying to rinse the gorge away.
Naked as the day she was born, she padded her way to bed, only to catch sight of herself in the full-length mirror.
Once she had been tall, shapely, striking. Five-foot-nine, with curves Ronin used to claim were irresistible. He had held her tight a few weeks ago after a party and whispered that she was sexy and how much he loved her body. But Ronin couldn't be trusted; Ronin was a liar, a man who'd kept a two-year affair hidden behind a smile. She wondered how many of those colleagues of his at the party knew about the affair. Were they all laughing at her?
There was a German word for it.
Schadenfreude
Her reflection showed the harsh truth: a paunch softening her stomach, stretch marks lacing her hips and thighs, the wobble of flesh when she slapped her leg. She raised an arm and watched the underside tremble. Her breasts sagged, her face held faint lines at the forehead and the corners of her eyes, and a softness had begun to gather under her chin. Her fingers pinched the flesh of her hips with revulsion.Tyres,she thought bitterly.Not love handles.Tyres stacked, one on top of the other.
She should eat clean and workout, reclaim herself. But in this moment, she couldn't bring herself to care.
She slipped under the blanket, naked, and lay on her back. But sleep would not come. She saw Amanda in her mind's eye, taut and glowing, with the body of a university student even after giving birth three months ago. Compared to her, she was...what? A ghost of who she had been. A woman who couldn't look at herself in her own mirror. A woman who was not enough.
Chapter 9
Sage finally slept sometime in the morning after tossing and turning all night. It was past ten when she finally stirred, and there was a hint of winter sun through the curtains. Her mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton wool, her eyes heavy and swollen.Not doing this again,she thought grimly.He isn't worth sacrificing my liver.
She gingerly braced herself as every joint screamed and dragged herself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Silence. No footsteps, no voices. Only the throb in her skull—a migraine layered over a hangover—like one of those old cartoons where Bugs Bunny went at Elmer with a mallet, only this battlefield was her head. She smiled faintly at the absurd thought.
Her stomach growled. When had she last eaten? The craving came fast and clear, and only a greasy burger will do. The nausea can stuff it. She stumbled downstairs, dug out the leftover patties she'd made in advance for next week's barbecue. On the pan they went, then the buns and slapped together with ketchup and mayo. No vegetables—no, thank you. It looked disgusting,but it tasted exactly like childhood rebellion. She remembered carefully plucking the sad lettuce and squished tomato off her burger while her mother wasn't looking. Greasy. Satisfying. The nausea slowly eased.
Now what?
Restlessness gripped her. She wanted to cook, but something different this time. Maybe Mexican? Meal preps for the week, that’s it. After all, a hint of spice gave Ronin the runs. Perfect. She didn't allow herself to think about what she was prepping for. She grabbed her keys, put her long puffer jacket on, because who cared what was underneath, and drove to the supermarket. Soon, her cart was filled with peppers, limes, coriander, cheese, tortillas, meat, and a packet of the vanilla latte Oreos David loved. Why? Because he was still her son.
On the way home, she stopped at the ATM and withdrew £750. Then she transferred £10,000 into her new account.
The familiar guilt for taking money Ronin earned followed instantly, sitting on her chest like a dinosaur as she sat in her car. Then she calculated the cost of a nanny over twenty years, and the dinosaur shrank to the size of a small dog. Then she thought of perfect pregnant Amanda and the dog disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Ronin:Landed in Brussels. I love you.
Her mouth twisted in a sneer.I love you, indeed.
With the way she felt, if his plane had gone down, at least there'd have been insurance.Ifshe was still his beneficiary. In this new shaky world, nothing felt certain. Another call lit up her screen.
Unknown number.
Probably spam. She disconnected and blocked it without answering.
Back home, she turned her kitchen into a storm. She chopped onions, garlic, and tomatoes finely, frying them in hot oil until the air filled with their sweetness. Then the minced beef, breaking it up with the wooden spoon until it browned. Spices went in next: cumin, chili, paprika, coriander, all blooming into the air, stinging her eyes and clogging her nose. She ladled in water, let the mixture simmer until it thickened, then spooned it into tortillas with fresh coriander, cheese, and a squeeze of lime. Tacos. Two for herself, drowned in hot sauce. Ronin would've wrinkled his nose and muttered something about his delicate palate while reaching for the Gaviscon.Wuss,she thought and laughed before the queasiness returned.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with a message from an unknown number.
An ominous feeling invaded her chest as she clicked on it.
Hi, sorry, this is Amanda. Can we meet, please?
