Sage stared at it, then deleted the message as if by reflex. And in just a second, her hard-won peace shattered like the illusion it was. She was an ostrich with her head in the sand, and the storm was looming, waiting to bury her.
David came home an hour later. When he saw her, he faltered, his guarded eyes hesitant and guilty. She knew her son's expressions as well as her own—he wished he'd thought before he'd spoken. But it had been two months. Two long months he'd held that betrayal close to his chest while giving nothing away. He was fourteen not four and old enough to know what that would do to her. Now, she could only turn away when he tried to speak, before she said something she couldn't take back.
At least there was food. Dozens of boxed meals lined the counter, proof she still had purpose in this house and in David’s life. She silently shoved everything into the freezer and retreated to her room.
From the drawer, she pulled out the new leatherbound journal she had bought on a whim. The letter she had written when her shock was at its peak stayed between the pages like a bookmark. She opened to the first page and picked up the attached pen.
Then, she wrote the words,I hate him,over and over again. Pressing harder and harder each time until the nib snapped.
The next two days followed the same pattern. It felt like a countdown in her head as a plan took shape, but she would need a few more days to put everything in place.
She drifted through life in a daze, her body going through the motions while her mind remained elsewhere. Breakfast on the table with cash for the cafeteria beside it. Permission slips signed in her neat hand, dinner waiting at night.
But no mother asked David how his day had gone in that annoying way she used to instead of letting him message his mates in peace. No questions about the maths challenge. No teasing remarks about girlfriends or maybe boyfriends. The house felt hollow, like a stage set abandoned mid-scene.
David tried to speak to her, but she couldn't meet his eyes.
Her phone filled with Ronin's messages, longer each time:
Ronin:Please. I know I don't deserve it, but I need you to hear me.Ronin:For David's sake, at least. Please don't shut me out.Ronin:I'll do therapy. I'll do couples counselling. I'll do anything.Ronin:Don't leave me. Please.Ronin:I love you.
Amanda's messages came too, insistent and careful, each longer than the last.
Can we meet?
I just need a moment. Please.
I just need to settle things.
On the fourth day, with Ronin due back that night, Sage finally gave in. She agreed to meet with the other woman in her husband's life.
Chapter 10
Sage arrived first. She chose the seat by the window deliberately, the late sun at her back casting a hazy glow that would give her a few seconds' advantage—time to spot Amanda before Amanda saw her. The warmth of the glass pressed against her shoulder. She'd thrown on jeans and a plain T-shirt, nothing more, her mind too nervous for anything else. Her hands stayed clasped in her lap, tightening with each passing minute. While she was waiting, the GP called. The nurse practitioner reassured her that all the tests had come back normal, so at least that was something.
When the door opened, Amanda stepped in with a baby basket balanced in her arms. She paused just inside, scanning the room with a hesitant look, uncertain whether Sage would come. Then her gaze landed on Sage and an indecipherable expression crossed her face, gone in an instant. She made her way over, setting the basket carefully by the chair before lowering herself opposite.
She looked different today—still beautiful, but somehow diminished. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, her skin pale and pulled too thin.
"I'm sorry we have to meet like this," Amanda said softly. "I never meant for this to happen. I just need you to know that made the first move, not Ronin. He tried to avoid me, but I... Don't blame him. He was only being kind."
Sage didn't answer as she wondered how much kindness it too to have sex repeatedly with a woman who wasn’t your partner. Her silence stretched between them, taut as wire.
Amanda smoothed a hand over the blanket in the baby basket where the baby gurgled, her gaze fixed there as if the words would only come if she didn't make eye contact.
"We were...good once," she said quietly, her voice trembling. "James and I. We met 3 years ago through work, you see. James was charming and attentive, the kind of man who bought me flowers and never forgot my birthday." She gave a soft, humourless laugh. "I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world."
Sage didn't speak. She kept her hands pressed tight together in her lap, her blunt nails digging crescents into her palm.
Amanda's shoulders lifted, then sank. "It started small. If I stopped to ask a stranger for directions, he'd sulk all evening. He'd say I was too friendly...that I flirted."
Her voice faltered, and she briefly glanced at Sage before fixing her eyes on the window.
"Then it got worse," she whispered. "If I laughed too long at someone's joke...if I wore the wrong dress—the neck was too low, the skirt was too short. It was always something." Her fingers twisted into the edge of the blanket. "And then...then he put me in the hospital. I told them I fell down the stairs."
Sage knew what was coming, the spring winding tighter. It was like watching a trainwreck.
Amanda finally lifted her eyes. "I don't know what he'll do when he finds out the baby isn't his."
