Chapter Twenty-One.

Sage's hands trembled as she held Harlow's phone, staring at the number she once knew by heart. It was pathetic—her own mother had blocked her. She had to borrow her girlfriend's phone just to reach the woman who gave birth to her.

With a deep breath, she pressed call. The ringing felt like a countdown to something awful, and when the call connected, the familiar venomous voice on the other end sent a chill down her spine.

"Hello?" Her mother's voice was sharp, annoyed, like she had already known who it was before even checking the caller ID.

"It's Sage," she said, gripping Harlow's free hand tightly. "Not that you'd know since you blocked me."

A beat of silence. Then a scoff. "What, you need something? Figures. And what, you couldn't even call me yourself? Had to use your little girlfriend's phone? Pathetic."

Sage's grip on Harlow's hand tightened, nails pressing into her skin. "Yeah, well, maybe if you weren't such a miserable bitch, I wouldn't have to."

Harlow's eyes widened slightly, but she didn't say a word, just squeezed back in support.

Her mother let out a bitter laugh. "You always were ungrateful. Running around, playing house with some—" she hesitated, then spat, "—white trash girl who's probably just as messed up as you."

Sage's blood boiled. "Don't you dare talk about Harlow like that. She's done more for me in the past few weeks than you have my entire life."

"Oh, please." Her mother's voice dripped with mockery. "I give it a few months before she sees you for the disappointment you are and leaves, just like everyone else."

Sage's throat tightened, but she refused to let the words sink in. "You know what? I didn't call to argue with you. I just want my stuff."

"Then come get it," her mother snapped. "It'll be in the yard tonight. Take it or don't, I don't care."

Before Sage could say another word, the line went dead.

She stared at the phone, her reflection warped in the dark screen. Her grip on Harlow's hand slackened, and before she could stop it, the weight of it all came crashing down. She let out a shaky breath and dropped her head, her shoulders trembling.

"What's so wrong with me?" she whispered, voice barely holding together. "Why doesn't she want me?"

Harlow was there instantly, pulling her into a tight embrace. "Sage, there's nothing wrong with you," she murmured into her hair. "She's the one who's messed up, not you."

Sage let out a choked laugh, half from sadness, half from exhaustion. "She really called you white trash."

"I mean, technically, I am white," Harlow teased, trying to lighten the moment.

Sage sniffled, shaking her head. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and she's too blind to see that."

Harlow smiled softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Well, lucky for you, I'm not going anywhere."

After a moment, they went to tell Theresa what happened. Sage had expected an awkward conversation, but instead, Theresa's face darkened in anger. "That woman is a monster," she muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You don't deserve that, Sage. At all."

Sage nodded, not trusting herself to say much more.

They hung out for a little while, but the weight of the night loomed over them. When dinnertime rolled around, they cooked together—Harlow seasoning the chicken while Sage mashed the potatoes. Normally, cooking was fun for them, but their nerves killed their appetites. They took a few bites before giving up and storing the rest in the fridge.

Finally, it was time to go.

The drive to Sage's childhood home felt suffocating. The second she pulled up, her stomach twisted into knots. There, in the front yard, was a heap of her belongings—her suitcase, a few garbage bags stuffed with clothes, a box of random junk. Like her mother had just tossed her out like yesterday's trash.

They got to work quickly, shoving as much as they could into the car. Somehow, they managed to make it fit, stuffing the backseat and trunk until there wasn't an inch of space left.

Sage was about to get in when she saw movement in the window. Her mother, watching from behind the curtain, smug and distant.

A surge of rage shot through her. Before she could think, she turned toward the house and shouted, "You don't own me anymore! You never did!"

Her voice echoed into the night, and for the first time in her life, she felt free.

She got in the car and slammed the door shut. Harlow reached over, lacing their fingers together. "That was badass."

Sage exhaled sharply, a weight lifting from her chest. "Yeah," she said, almost smiling. "It kinda was."

By the time they got back, they were exhausted, but unpacking didn't feel as overwhelming with their favorite music blasting. As Sage pulled random things from a box, Harlow suddenly gasped.

"What?" Sage asked, turning to see her holding an old, worn-out journal.

Harlow grinned. "Oh my God, is this a diary?"

Sage's eyes widened in horror. "No. Nope. Absolutely not."

Harlow hugged it to her chest dramatically. "I'm reading it."

"I will fight you."

Harlow laughed, flipping through the pages. "Oh, this is adorable. Look at little baby Sage, writing all her deepest thoughts."

Sage groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I'm gonna die."

Harlow leaned in, pecking her cheek. "Too bad, you're stuck with me."

Sage let out a dramatic sigh, but deep down, she felt something she hadn't in a long time.

Home.

And this time, it was real.