Page 18 of What Broke First
Matt stared at the wall for a beat, then nodded.
“Okay. I’ll ask.”
“Don’t ask her to fix what you broke,” Dr. Colleen said, closing her notebook. “Ask her to tell you how it felt when the walls came down. Ask her to show you the cracks you never bothered to see. And then shut up and listen. That’s not punishment, Matt. That’s the beginning of repair.”
Chapter 10: Thursdays and Truth Bombs
Matt waited in the school parking lot, engine off, fingers drumming the steering wheel. When Sarah appeared, her stride was brisk, purposeful. She didn’t expect to see him.
“I have ten minutes before gymnastics,” she said flatly, not slowing. “I’ll make it quick,” he said, stepping out. “Would you come to therapy with me?” She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“My therapist suggested it. I go on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Five-thirty. Sometimes it runs late. This Thursday, she wants us both there.”
“I don’t think so,” she said without hesitation. “Therapy isn’t going to unscramble the eggs, Matt.”
He followed her a few steps. “It’s not about fixing what’s passed. It’s about understanding it. So I stop repeating it. So you don’t have to keep sweeping up after the emotional wreckage I caused.”
She opened her car door. “That sounds noble. But this isn’t my mess to mop up.”
“Then come tell me that to my face in front of someone who gets paid to keep us civil,” he said. “You deserve the floor, Sarah. Take it.”
She hesitated. “Okay, fine.”
Thursday came. At 5:31, the door opened. Sarah stepped in. The therapist’s office was too warm. Or maybe that was just Sarah’s skin tightening around her bones. She paused in the doorway, eyes sweeping the neutral walls and soft lighting like she was casing the place before deciding if she’d stay.
Dr. Colleen stood to greet her with a calm, welcoming tone. “You must be Sarah. Thank you for coming. Showing up is a sign you haven’t given up entirely.”
Sarah unbuttoned her coat but didn’t sit right away. “I wouldn’t read too much into it. Showing up is also a sign that I keep my word.”
Matt rose from his chair, uncertain if he should say something, then sat back down.
Dr. Colleen nodded once and gestured to the seat next to Matt, though not too close. “Still, you’re here. That matters. Let’s begin. Sarah, why don’t we start with you? What’s one question you’ve been carrying that you need Matt to answer?”
Sarah didn’t hesitate. She turned to him, eyes sharper than they’d been in weeks. “Why did you cheat?”
Matt inhaled, slow and deliberate, like the breath might help him survive the words that needed to come next. His fingers knotted in his lap. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but clear.
“I felt like a ghost in my own life,” Matt said. “Like I was walking around in someone else’s story. I had everything, but I wasn’t in it. I was... going through the motions. Job. Bills. Dinners. Parent-teacher nights. And somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling like I mattered in any of it.”
He looked at the floor, then at her.
“Lily made me feel seen. Wanted. Like I was someone with heat and breath and skin again. And I didn’t realize how long I’d felt invisible until someone looked at me like I wasn’t.”
Sarah’s expression didn’t shift, but something flickered behind her eyes. Something gutted.
“You had everything,” she said, voice strained. “A good job. Healthy kids. A family. Me. I lived my life for you. Rearranged my dreams around yours. Handed you loyalty on a silver tray.”
Matt leaned forward, voice tight. “You act like coming home every night to silence and cold shoulders was some kind of gift.”
Sarah’s jaw flexed. “What did you just say?”
“I’m saying you made our house feel like a hotel lobby. We barely talked. We barely touched. You think I didn’t notice how little you even looked at me?”
“Were you looking at me, Matt?” Her voice cracked open, sharp and shaking. “I was the gift, Matt. I gave you my trust. My love. A vow of forever. And you traded it for a barely employed chaos goblin in a halter top.”
Dr. Colleen didn’t flinch at Sarah’s words. She waited a beat, letting the silence stretch just long enough to let the temperature drop from white-hot anger to something more reflective.
Then she leaned forward, her voice firm but steady. “You two didn’t get here overnight. Affairs don’t begin with a kiss. They begin with erosion. With unspoken needs, unmet expectations, quiet dismissals. But here’s the thing...”
