Page 5 of What Broke First
Hayward stood at the counter, arms crossed, silent, his stillness louder than words.
“I told you,” her mom said.“That man always had too much charm and not enough character.”
Sarah nodded. Her voice was calm.“He slept with someone from work. A 27-year-old named Lily.”
Her dad exhaled slowly.“Jesus, Sarah.”
“I’m not here for sympathy,” she said.“I’m telling you because the kids will know something is wrong, and I need to control the story.”
Helen leaned in, her voice clipped. “When did you find out, Sarah?”
“Last night.” Her words came steady, though her fingers dug into the napkin. “Don’t get me wrong, he confessed. But it felt more like he wanted it off his chest than to give me the truth. He knew I was already suspicious with all those late nights at the office.” She exhaled. “He swears it was only once. But I tracked his phone. He’s with her right now. At her apartment.”
Hayward’s head lifted. His voice carried more gravel than volume. “How do you know it’s her apartment?”
Sarah met his gaze. “Because I Googled it, Dad.”
For a long beat, no one spoke. Hayward’s eyes slid to the wedding photo hanging on the wall, Matt’s arm looped around her waist, both of them smiling like permanence had been guaranteed. His expression hardened, a look that stripped the joy out of the glass frame.
“The next time I see him,” Hayward said, low and certain, “I’ll rip him to shreds.”
Sarah let out a dry laugh that caught in her throat. “Dad, I might beat you to it.”
She called her best friend next. Then her sister. Then the couple who always hosted game night. She told them all the same way, direct, measured, almost detached. Like a woman laying the foundation of a new life, starting with brutal honesty.
They all had the same reaction: anger, pity, and that mix of gossip and heartbreak reserved for when good marriages went bad.
She didn’t cry until later, when she was alone in the car listening to Take a Bow by Rihanna.
And by the time Matt finally texted her, she had already rewritten his contact name in her phone.
Matt – Cheating Asshole
The truth was, Sarah had her mirror moment, the one where you don’t recognize your own reflection because everything you thought was solid was suddenly vapor.
She had stared at herself until her reflection felt like a stranger. Her face was intact. But something in her eyes had packed up and left. Just a woman standing in the wreckage, choosing not to scream.
Then came the picture frames. One by one, she pulled them off the walls and shelves. Vacation smiles, anniversary dinners, his arm around her waist like it had meant something permanent. She placed each frame in a box with clinical precision, as if sealing away a season. It hurt more than she expected. Less than she feared.
The closet was next. She pressed his shirt to her face without meaning to, instinctively inhaling him. The scent slammed into her, cruel in its familiarity. Clean laundry and cologne. It was involuntary, the way her body remembered what her mind wanted to forget. She hated that his scent still comforted her. Hated that she stood there, surrounded by fabric and absence, and felt her knees wobble.
In the bathroom, she stared down at his razor, his cologne, the half-used bar of soap they had been sharing. She didn’t cry then either. She just slowly began to gather each item and drop it into the trash bag beside her, like she was conducting a quiet funeral. One that no one else would attend.
By the time the sun rose that morning, Sarah had already made up her mind. This wasn’t salvageable. Not then. Not yet.
She didn’t scream. She didn’t break anything. She faced reality and chose herself.
Chapter 3: The Awkward Reunion
Matt stood on Sarah’s front porch, gripping a Starbucks bag like it was a peace treaty. It had two cake pops, a chocolate milk, and a venti coffee that was either a gift or a bribe, depending on how you looked at it.
He hadn’t been back to the house since Sarah told him to leave. Three days. Four? He wasn’t sure. Time blurred in Lily’s apartment with nights of wine and sex, mornings tangled in sheets that carried her scent into his skin. They rose together, left for work together, pretending not to notice the stares when their schedules synced too perfectly. She had threaded herself into his hours, his habits, his skin, until even the silence between them belonged to her.
It wasn’t the thrill of something new. It was the difference. The way she wasn’t Sarah. And somehow that difference became an anchor, pulling him deeper even as it hollowed him out.
But here, in front of the house he had helped build, it all came back into focus.
He had been away too long. Long enough for the kids to ask why he didn’t come home. Long enough for Sarah’s silence to start feeling permanent. Now it loomed in front of him like a museum of every good decision he had ever made, and then torched.
