Page 61 of What Broke First
Just unlocking the door with the key I made months ago, back when he was still sleeping beside me and swearing it was temporary.
The house smelled like vanilla and detergent.
I kicked off my heels in the entryway. Walked barefoot through their perfect little lie.
A lonely sock on the couch. A lunchbox drying in the dish rack.
It made my teeth itch.
This house is mine. Sarah is on borrowed time.
Upstairs, I moved through the rooms like smoke.
Matt’s dresser. His closet. His winter coat.
The photos slid in like secrets.
One of just me.
One of us, cropped tight, his hand on my waist, my lips too close to his ear.
And one I took while he was asleep. Bare. Unaware. Mine.
Let Sarah find that.
Let her imagine what came before the flash.
Jealousy’s faster than guilt. And Matt? He caves when things get complicated.
It worked before.
It’ll work again.
Before I left, I made time for the kids’rooms.
Emily’s shelf was lined with unicorns and rainbows. I picked the smallest one, pink wings, glitter mane, and snapped it. Just the wing. A clean break.
In Tommy’s room, I tapped his little soccer trophy off the nightstand with one finger, then ground it under my heel until it cracked.
Nothing huge.
Just enough to leave behind.
A whisper: I was here.
Collateral damage.
I stood in their bedroom, her bedroom, hand on the dresser, one foot ready to go.
Photos on the walls. Paintings by the little monsters taped to the closet doors.
The bed was perfectly made. Boring.
Sexless.
Ugly, even.
“She’s not better than me,” I whispered.
