Page 16 of What Broke First
He held onto her gaze like his life depended on it.
“Because I’m safe,” James said. “And because somewhere inside, you still believe you deserve to be seen. Even in the mess. Especially in the mess.”
She froze. It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he said them, like he wasn’t offering pity, just space. It was as if he were holding the door open, letting her decide whether to walk through.
After dinner, he walked her to her car. He didn’t try to kiss her again. He didn’t push. He stood close enough to feel safe, but not stifled.
“Let me know if you ever want to talk. Or if you just want someone to sit beside you while you say nothing at all. I can do that too,” he said, hands in his pockets.
Sarah nodded. “Thank you. For tonight. Really.”
She drove home in silence, the city lights blurring around her. When she pulled into her driveway, her porch light was on. A small detail, but it comforted her. Inside, the house was quiet. The kind of quiet that seemed not to ask for anything but in truth demanded everything.
She dropped her purse, sank into the couch, and opened her laptop. The cursor blinked at her.
Then she wrote one sentence: Sometimes healing looks like trying not to compare a good kiss to a broken vow. She saved the file and closed her laptop. In the quiet, she almost smiled thinking about James, but then laughed, remembering the moment she cried in front of him like she was starring in her own sad indie film.
“At least I’m crying less,” she muttered to herself. “Just... in the dumbest possible moments.”
But the laugh felt good. It felt earned. She wasn’t spiraling. She was noticing.
Chapter 9: Cake Crumbs and Court Dates
Matt entered the courthouse holding a bakery box and a legal pad, carrying offerings to a war he started. The box was from the kids’ favorite place, the one with overpriced scones and cookies shaped like dinosaurs. A bribe, basically, with colored sugar crystals.
Two months had passed since Sarah told Matt to leave. Today felt like another nail in their marriage.
Inside, Sarah sat at the end of a long bench, arms crossed over a folder full of custody documents and whatever dignity she had left. She looked polished but not soft, like a CEO attending a funeral.
He approached slowly.
“You brought cookies to family court?” she said, not even looking up.
“They’re for the kids,” Matt replied. “And maybe for you, if the next hour goes well.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do they make cookies in the shape of self-delusion?”
He sat beside her, leaving a respectful two feet between them. “I just wanted to make today a little less terrible.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you slept with a woman who wears crop tops to office meetings.”
Ouch. Direct hit. He nodded.
“I know I messed everything up, Sarah.”
She finally turned to him. Her eyes were tired. Not angry. Just worn thin, like she’d been folding the same emotional laundry for months.“I need you to understand something, Matt,” she said quietly. “This isn’t just about you being a better dad. It’s about you not being a worse person.”
He blinked. “That’s fair.”
“Good. Because I’m not going to let you drag our kids through another emotional avalanche, if you want more custody, you earn it. You show up. You prove stability. And stop pretending Lily’s some misunderstood muse when she’s just a midlife crisis in lipstick.”
He stared at the floor. “I ended it with her.”
That stopped her.
“You what?”
“I moved out. Got my own place. It’s small. There’s a weird smell I can’t identify. But it’s mine. And it’s neutral ground.”
