Page 6 of What Broke First
This house. This street. The cracks in the driveway he had promised to fix. The porch swing they had bought on clearance. It was all still there, unchanged, unforgiving, and quite possibly not his anymore.
Ivy climbed the porch columns. The wind chimes were still there, still gently clinking like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t detonated the family from the inside.
The door creaked open. Sarah stood there in a robe, her expression unreadable.
“You’re late.”
“Yeah,” Matt said.“Traffic.”
“You are staying four blocks away.”
He blinked but didn’t ask how she knew. Of course she knew.
He handed her the coffee like an olive branch. She stared at it for a second, then took it. Progress. He’d take it.
The sound of thundering footsteps broke the tension. Tommy launched down the stairs, his socks sliding wildly on the hardwood.
“Dad!”
Matt crouched, arms wide.“Hey, buddy!”
Tommy slammed into him like a linebacker. Matt closed his eyes for half a second and breathed in the smell of peanut butter and shampoo and childhood he had thrown away.
“Missed you, kiddo.”
Emily followed more slowly, her tiny arms wrapped around a stuffed bunny whose name Matt had forgotten and would never admit he had. She blinked up at him, wide-eyed.
“Hey, munchkin,” he said gently.“Can I get a hug?”
She hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded and walked into his arms. Behind them, Sarah crossed her arms and watched.
They spent the day at the park. Swings. Slides. Duck pond. Matt did the whole dad thing like it was his job, because it had been. And maybe, just maybe, it still was.
Tommy wanted to race. Matt let him win. Emily made daisy crowns. Matt wore one. He didn’t care that people stared. He would have worn a tutu if it made her laugh.
The drive back to Sarah’s was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like even the stillness was tired. The kids were sticky and sleepy, and the car smelled like apple juice and grass stains. For a moment, it felt like summer before the fallout.
Back at Sarah’s house, the kids crashed on the couch in a tangle of limbs and empty juice boxes. Matt stood there for a second, watching them snuggle into their blanket fort like nothing had changed. Like they hadn’t missed a beat. Like this was still home.
He tucked the blanket over them, his hand lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
This had been his world. Now he was just a visitor.
Sarah was in the kitchen, arms folded, leaning against the counter like a gatekeeper.
“You were good with them,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“I’ve missed them. More than I thought possible.”
She exhaled through her nose.“It doesn’t make it better, Matt. What you did.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t undo what’s been done.”
“I know,” he repeated, quieter now.“I just want a chance to be their dad again. Even if I’m not... your anything.”
Sarah didn’t blink. Her voice was even, deliberate.
