Page 40 of What Broke First
“I don’t know. I didn’t think someone else would get to see you like this. Smiling more. Lighter. Not crushed under the weight of my idiocy.”
Sarah didn’t soften. “You gave up your claim to that version of me the second you unzipped your pants in your office.”
Fair. “I know I don’t deserve a say,” he said quietly. “But I still love you.” Silence. Then Emily ran in, bunny in one hand, her brother’s backpack in the other.
“Can we go now, Daddy?”
Matt nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s go.”
As they left, Sarah stood on the porch. Her expression was unreadable. Maybe sad. Maybe just tired.
Matt looked back once. She didn’t wave. He got the message. Loud and uncomfortably clear.
That night, Matt dropped the kids off at Sarah’s and headed to therapy. Alone. He sat on the familiar leather couch across from Dr. Colleen, arms crossed, jaw tight.
“I asked Sarah not to come,” he said. “I needed this one for myself.”
Dr. Colleen nodded. “And how are you feeling?”
Matt let out a bitter laugh. “Like I’m watching someone else live the life I lost. Jordan’s the kind of guy who says the right things and waters plants on purpose. He brought her a scarf. And she looked at him like... like she used to look at me.”
Dr. Colleen leaned forward. “Have you thought about moving on?”
Matt’s head shot up. “No. I mean, no. I’m not ready to let go of the only woman who ever made me feel like home. I know I broke it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it back.”
She gave him a long, measured look. “And what are you doing to earn that possibility?”
His silence stretched.
“I’m trying,” he said finally. “But I don’t know if it’s enough. I don’t even know who I am without her. And watching her move on? It’s killing me.”
Dr. Colleen offered a quiet, compassionate pause before answering. “Then let’s start there. Not with Sarah. With you.”
Matt closed his eyes, the weight of that sentence anchoring him. He didn’t know how to fix anything. But he was still here. Still showing up.
Matt left Dr. Colleen’s office feeling like he’d just walked out of a pressure cooker. Outside, the air felt too thin, the sky too blue for what was unraveling in his chest. He shot off a quick text to his dad.
Matt: Just finished. Heading your way.
Ten minutes later, Matt pushed open the heavy wooden door of O’Malley’s, a dim neighborhood bar that smelled like varnish, old stories, and decent whiskey. His dad was already there, seated in a corner booth with two glasses on the table and a bowl of peanuts he clearly had no intention of eating.
“Hey,” Matt said, sliding into the seat across from him.
Franklin Taylor was a man who aged into his convictions. Salt-and-pepper hair, shoulders like stone, and eyes that didn’t miss much. He offered a nod before nudging one of the glasses forward.
“You look like therapy spit you out and reversed over you twice.”
Matt gave a weak smile. “Not far off.”
They sipped in silence for a beat. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just heavy.
“You know,” Franklin said, swirling his glass. “When you texted me about therapy, I knew something big was coming. And not the ‘we’re fighting over who gets the record player’ kind of big.”
Matt stared at the amber liquid in his glass. “It wasn’t just fighting. I cheated on her.”
The words landed like a dropped anchor.
Franklin didn’t flinch. He just sat back, lips pressed into a firm line. “You and Sarah have been on the outs for six months. You want to tell me what happened?”
