Page 13 of What Broke First
Matt powered through. “I try to make sure they tell the truth. Or at least the good parts. Kind of like how you’d tell your mom about the cookie you ate, but not how you stepped on your sister’s hamster to get it.”
Half the class gasped. A boy in the back whispered, “Hamster’s name was Winston.”
“I’m just saying,” Matt added, “we all decide what story to tell.”
His eyes flicked to Sarah, just for a second.
“Sometimes, we choose the wrong story.”
Sarah crossed her arms. The nerve. The absolute theatrics.
“But the good thing about stories,” Matt finished, “is you can write a better one next time.”
The class clapped. Donut holes were distributed. Children screamed. Sarah left early, not because she was mad, but because she wasn’t. And that was worse. That night, she opened her journal. He’s trying.
She stared at the sentence. Then she added: But trying isn’t trust. And donut holes don’t erase betrayal. She paused again. Then underlined the last part twice. Hard.
Chapter 7: Lies, Lattes, and Lily’s Meltdown
Lily hated Thursdays. They always reeked of stale office coffee and low expectations. The office was always too quiet. But today was especially heinous. Matt hadn’t come home the night before. No text. No call. Just a read receipt and a silence loud enough to murder hope in its sleep. She knew he’d stayed with Sarah. A week ago, he’d played doting dad at Career Day, and ever since, he’d been drifting farther out of reach.
As she listened to Vella’s Pull The Trigger in her earbuds, she scrolled through his Instagram. Nothing.
She checked his LinkedIn, which was more pathetic, but... desperate times. Nothing. Her reflection in the mirror looked flawless, with red lips, curled hair, and an outfit designed by Vengeance and Victoria’s Secret. But her expression was cracked porcelain. She was unraveling, and Matt didn’t even care enough to tug the thread himself.
When he finally walked in, it was 10 a.m., and he was holding a latte as if it were a valid excuse for abandoning her.
“Oh look,” she said, voice honeyed poison. “The prodigal ghost returns.”
Matt sighed. “Lily, I was with my family.”
Her mouth curled. “Oh, so now you want to spend time with your family?” Don’t pretend like you were out doing something noble.”
“I was with my kids.”
“Oh yes. The kids. The perpetual get-out-of-jail-free card. Did you and Saint Sarah braid each other’s hair and talk about your shared trauma?”
He didn’t answer, but if looks could kill. That was enough of an answer.
Lily crossed her arms. “Do you want to be here, Matt? Or are you just too cowardly to admit that you don’t?”
He stared at the latte, willing it to offer him a better reality. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Liar,” she said flatly. “You know. You just don’t want to say it because it’ll make you the villain.”
“I already am the villain,” he muttered. “To everyone. Including myself.”
She stepped closer, her voice lower. “You think you’re the villain? You’re not even interesting enough to be the villain. You’re the plot twist everyone saw coming.”
Matt flinched.
Lily softened...sort of. “I didn’t sign up to be your rebound therapist, Matt. I didn’t sign up to be the consolation prize. I wanted the real thing.”
He looked at her, finally. Really looked. “And I wanted to be someone who didn’t screw up the best thing he ever had. You think I cheated because you are you. You want to know why I cheated?” Matt’s voice didn’t rise, but the weight of it filled the room.
“Because it was easy. Because you looked at me like I was something. And I hadn’t felt like something in a long time. Not in the middle of the laundry piles and daycare drop-offs and the nights Sarah went to bed too tired to touch me, or talk to me, or even look at me the same way anymore.”
He swallowed.
