She straightened, crossing her arms. "Mrs. Floyd is still on maternity leave, but she's already exceeded her time. She's not responding to emails, either."
He rubbed a hand over his face. "Let HR manage it according to protocol."
Paris's voice softened only a fraction. "You need help, Ronin. What are you doing?"
He drew in a long, shaky breath. "I'll give Sage what should have been hers all along. And then...she can decide what she wants to do."
Paris studied him for a long beat, then gave a curt nod. "At least you're doing something right."
He was home with another long battle ahead. He squared his shoulders and looked for Sage. She wasn't in the kitchen or in the study. He had searched the house first, room by room, his chest seizing with the now familiar worry when he didn't find her, before the familiar grip of panic loosened as he caught sight of the open patio doors.
Sage was outside on her knees in the garden, tugging at stubborn weeds. She'd forgotten her hat, her dark hair tied back in an untidy ponytail, strands catching the light. She wore an old pair of soft pants and a faded T-shirt that read 'World's Best Mum' on the back.
He stopped in the doorway, watching. She paused, tilting her face towards the sun, eyes closed, as if soaking in what little warmth the season offered. Something about the sight was like a punch in the gut. He had taken all this for granted, and soon it would be gone from his life.
His gaze traced the curve of her, the way her body seemed leaner, pared down, as if the last few weeks had stripped her not only of weight, but of layers of ease and happiness, too.
Then, silent as a shadow, he made his way upstairs. Silently, he reached for the box on the top shelf of their closet. It hadsat unopened for a long time. Inside were photographs, letters, edges worn soft with years and repeated handling. And then another box within it, the one with letters he had once written to Mia. She had returned them, tied up in with blue satin ribbon when she left him. His fingers caressed the softness of the ribbon, faded to a light blue now.
He sat on the edge of the bed and closed the box again with a sigh, shame rising hot. It must have hurt Sage when she found this. The hurt must have been constant, and she had endured it just as she had endured so much. He owed her answers.
Chapter 29
He watched her sit back in the sunlight, her face serene, and the shame inside him felt heavier than the box of shame in his hands.
Ronin walked across the lawn, the autumn sun casting long shadows over the grass. He was dressed casually, in joggers and an old sweater, a hesitation in his step that was new.
Sage saw him coming and deliberately turned her attention back to the stubborn weed between her fingers. Its roots clung fast, refusing to be pulled free.Just like me, she thought bitterly.A weed in his perfect garden.
Self-doubt was an enemy well versed in guerilla warfare. She would feel a little better only to be ambushed seconds later.
She felt him settle down cross-legged beside her, the lawn flattening beneath his weight. His silence was heavy, his gaze heavier still, but she stubbornly finished what she was doing before she allowed herself to meet his eyes.
When she did, she found his green eyes searching hers, softened by regret and something else she couldn't yet name.
"I think I owe you an explanation," he said quietly, "about this box."
She gave a small nod as her eyes traced the familiar box, then sat back on her heels.
Ronin looked down at the box in his hands. Once striped and sturdy, it was faded now, edges softened by time, the lid worn. He opened it and drew out a stack of photographs, their corners curling.
Sage saw herself in some of them—in the background, smiling in the periphery with that awful big hair and boot cut jeans. But most showed Ronin and Mia, side by side, their youth captured in glossy colour. School uniforms, university halls, blurry nights out. Always smiling with their arms around each other.
He sifted through them, his voice low, almost confessional. "I met Mia in the last two years of school. She wasn't my first girlfriend—there was someone before her—but the day I first saw Mia, I thought she was like a blinding star. All the boys wanted her. But she...she had her eye on me." He gave a broken laugh. "She pursued me until I was addicted."
"She was like a bee, flitting from flower to flower. She had a boyfriend at another school, but she left him for me. I felt special. So many guys wanted her, but she had chosen me. I wanted to go to Imperial for university, but she was set on Manchester...so I followed her there.
"She was a flame, always rebelling—against her parents, against what was expected. Also, always insecure. Funny, the things you forget. I don't remember the fights, the jealousy as much...just the way she could charm me out of my moods. She even cheated once, and I forgave her. I forgave her for her tantrums, for her pettiness, and for her selfishness. Over and over. It was like walking a tightrope with her, and you could never predict her moods. She was the snake charmer, and I was under her spell.
"And when she left, it felt like someone had cut my strings. I was like an addict without a fix. I would have lost everything if you hadn't stepped in. You picked me up. Slowly, I got used to you—your softness, your quiet beauty, the way you were always there. And I took you for granted. I didn't see what I had been doing.”
"Then you fell pregnant, and it felt like everything came at once. David, the wedding, the company struggling in those early days. Every time things got tough, I went back to the pictures, to the box. My escape. My...fix."
He swallowed hard.
"I did that all the time that first year, and then I stopped. But when your mum died, and our wedding was postponed, and I started again. I told myself it was fate. I'd always thought I'd marry Mia, and I wasn't ready to let go of that dream, despite what she put me through. God, what a fool I was."
He shook his head, voice trembling. "Then David came, and things got better. But at every dip, I'd go back to the box. I never told you...but Mia came to me when David was one. She wanted to get back together. And it felt good turning her down—it fed my ego. But then we tried for another child and the results left me feeling like less of a man. And I did what any weakling would do; I went back to my 'what ifs,' to the box...my escape hatch."
