Obviously, she still had that stick up her arse.
Francis smoothed her skirt with manicured hands and lifted her chin, her eyes flicking over Sage the moment she stepped in.
"My dear, how are you? You've...put on a bit of weight, haven't you? But then, you always were a bit on the heavy side. Youshouldn't blame yourself, dear. But you do need to put in a little effort to keep men interested, you know."
Sage's mouth curved in a cool smile. She had predicted exactly what Francis would say. In her head, it was the first battle salvo fired—sharp, petty, and utterly predictable, just like all things Francis.
Francis pressed on, her voice tightening. "I know that what Ronin did wasn't right, but you're ungrateful, Sage. After all Ronin has done for you. The affair...well, it was an accident. Men will be men. He is sorry, you know."
Sage tilted her head, her smile still fixed.And here comes the next shot.
"An accident?" she asked, amused.
Francis pressed on, voice trembling with indignation. "Yes, but can't you see he's suffering? And now you've turned his own son against him." Francis's lips pressed thin, her eyes narrowing. "You've poisoned that boy's mind. You've made him hate his father."
Sage folded her arms, her patience thin as tissue. "Let's be clear, Francis. Ronin did that to himself." She ticked off her fingers. "He's the one who slipped and his cock ended up in his mistress's vagina.Accidentally.About nine separate times, if that number's to be believed. And Ronin has access to David whenever he wants. I've never once restricted that."
Francis's mouth opened and closed, like the table jumped up and bit her before she gasped, "You don't need to be vulgar."
"No," Sage said coolly. "But I do need to be honest."
Sage leaned forward, voice sharpening. "You were a lousy mother-in-law when I was drowning with a newborn, and you've taken every chance since to make me feel like shit. The one good thing out of this mess? I don't have to put up with your skinny arse anymore."
Colour rose up Francis's neck.
"I didn't appreciate your little digs about how I was raising David. So, here's the deal; I'm returning Ronin to you since you are oh so proud of him. Like a free sample. Maybe this time, you can teach him a few things. Like loyalty, integrity. Give parenthood another whirl—maybe you will get it right this time. I am not even asking for a refund."
Francis sputtered, "Why you little—" but Sage was already on her feet, firmly gripping her arm and firmly steering her towards the door.
"As you have told me many, many times, there is nothing little about me. And you know what, I don't care. If that's all," Sage said, her voice cool, "I'll let you be on your way. I'm on my period, which makes me a raging bitch and a little crazy. No one is going to blame me if I chase you out of the neighbourhood with your very own broom—I will plead temporary insanity. So, if you have more to say, write a letter, which I'll promptly burn. Or send an email, which I'll promptly delete."
She opened the door wide. "Goodnight, Francis." Then she slammed the door in her face.
And for the first time in the years she had known Francis, Sage felt the small, sharp satisfaction of not swallowing her words.
Chapter 32
What followed was a week straight out of theSawfranchise—blood, pain, and the kind of exhaustion that had her crawling into bed as early as six in the evening. She bled heavily, curled on her side with a heating pad, moving only to reach for another book. Her reading material didn't help her thoughts—psychological thrillers, serial killer memoirs, forensic case studies. Because she had been through all the stages of grief but had decided to keep the anger.
David caught her at it one evening and asked the cheeky question. "Planning Dad's murder, Mum?"
She shot him a tired look over the rim of her mug. "Depends on who is asking."
He laughed, but she didn't.
She also pulled back from Euan. Life was already too complicated, her body too unreliable, her head too heavy. When he messaged, she replied with single-word answers. Still, he persisted, sending little notes that slipped past her walls—gentle, steady, unignorable.
Morning, lass. Hope today's a lighter one for ye.
Just had the first decent cuppa in days. Wish ye were here tae share it.
Saw a book in the shop window about "Women Who Kill." Thought of ye. (In the nicest way).
How's ma favourite pretty doin'? Even one word will do.
Know you're busy. Just wanted to remind ye that I'm here. Always.
A week after Gene had suggested it, Sage found herself walking into the hospice for an interview. She didn't know why she was nervous—it wasn't even a job, just volunteering—but her palms were sweating and her heart raced all the same.
