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.
