Sage nodded, embarrassed at having lost control, and made her escape. But she was feeling a little better now.
The next stop was the bank. She opened a new account, the clerk moving quickly once she explained she'd been a long-standing customer with a joint account. They'd send her the login details by the next day. Then, she withdrew the daily limit, £750, and tucked it into her purse.
Next was the jeweller. She slid the ring from her pocket and placed it on the counter, along with the rest of her jewellery.
Thirty thousand pounds for the ring, they said, making her eyes widen. She nodded and accepted the travellers' cheques. Another link broken.
She remembered the day Ronin had put it on her finger after she'd happily shared the news that she was pregnant. The company was doing well and had just won a four-million-dollarcontract. He'd slipped the massive diamond onto her finger and said, half-joking, "Those wankers need to know you are mine."
She'd laughed with him then, but later, she tucked the old ring away in her jewellery box—the one with the tiniest diamond set in silver. It was all they could afford back when he first proposed a year into their relationship. It was still safe in her jewellery box back at home
She didn't know exactly what she'd do with the money, only that she needed it. Needed it to leave.
Ronin was no longer her safe place.
Chapter 8
Their messages had changed over the years, the way most couples' do. In the beginning, they were long and tender—late-night confessions, little jokes, sensual promises that kept them awake at night. As time wore on, they thinned into the practical: updates about David, reminders to pick up milk, an occasionallove yousent more from habit than impulse.
Which was why the one that came that afternoon caught her off guard.
Are you alright?
She stared at it, her thumb hovering before setting the phone face-down without answering.
For the first time since the earth collapsed beneath her feet, she cooked. Cooking slowed her mind and gave her something to focus on. She made a rich pasta sauce, portioned it into boxes, labelled them in her neat block letters and slid them into the freezer. By the time she stacked the last container into the chest freezer, she could almost believe her life was still the same. Like she was still in control of something.
She thought about him in fragments.
Ronin in the hospital delivery room, hair sticking up at odd angles from hours of pacing, his face lit with a mixture of wariness and fascination as the nurse placed David in his arms. The way he'd looked down at their son, lips parting as if to speak before closing them again, as though words might shatter the perfect moment. He'd glanced at her then, eyes shining, and she had felt, without question or doubt, that they were a family.
The way he had stood up to his mum when she wanted to name their son after her father-in-law, who had made it clear from the beginning that he thought she wasn't suitable for the family.
She thought about the day her mother died. They'd never been close—always sparring, always circling each other like two people thrown together by fate but speaking different languages—but blood was blood. Ronin hadn't said much. They had been planning the final placements for the wedding when the hospital had called. He'd simply taken her keys from her hand when she couldn't remember how to drive home, made tea she never drank when they got back, and sat hugging her in silence until the shock began to wear off. Later, when she cried into his shirt, he'd held her so tightly it felt like he was holding her together.
There had been ordinary days, too—laughing in the kitchen over burnt pancakes, his warm hand on the small of her back in a crowded street, the comfortable quiet of two people reading in the same room. The feeling of completeness when he held her close after coming inside her. She'd once thought those were the safest places in the world.
Now they felt like someone else's life in a parallel universe.
David usually got back from football around five. Ronin came later—seven at the earliest. So, the click of the front door opening just after five startled her out of her reverie.
Ronin stepped inside hesitantly, as if unsure of his welcome. She straightened immediately, stepping towards the hallway to leave, but he moved quickly to intercept her.
"Sage—"
She flinched when his hand came up.
"Okay, I'm backing up," he said, palms lifted. "I just thought...I need to go to Brussels tomorrow. It's hard to cancel at the last minute... Do you want me to...stay?"
She said nothing.
He sighed like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "Amanda—"
The name hit her like a slap, and she flinched again.
"I called," he said quietly. "And asked for a paternity test."
Her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall just above his shoulder. It felt like he had sucked the air out of the room by just sayinghername. Her traitorous mind conjured an image of his large arm with a sprinkling of dark hair on the back holding a pale, slender body, learning her curves, joining their bodies, and making a baby from that. Something inside her felt like glass—too fragile to shift without shattering.
