Page 4 of What Broke First (The Cheating A$$hole #1)

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.

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.

“You are their father, Matt. But don’t mistake that for being present. You think just showing up now earns you a seat at the table? You left for someone untouched by time, or kids, or you. Just glossed lips and no stretch marks.”

She took a breath and steadied herself.

“You shattered something sacred and then acted surprised when it didn’t glue back together overnight. You didn’t trip and fall into betrayal. You walked in, made yourself comfortable, and forgot to leave a forwarding address.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I am well aware that you want a second chance, Matt,”

she continued.

“but you haven’t even taken real responsibility for the first one.”

Her voice softened, but the blade stayed sharp.

“Being their dad isn’t something you get to do when it’s convenient. It’s not a performance. It’s the backstage, the cleanup crew, the standing ovation after the lights go out.”

She gave him a final look that said everything she hadn’t. Finally, she said.

“You can come by twice a week. No overnights. No Lily.”

He nodded quickly.

“Of course. Thank you.”

“And I don’t want the kids in her apartment, ever.”

“Understood.”

A long silence. Then she glanced up, eyes locking onto his for the first time since he arrived.

“And Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re lucky they still love you. Don’t screw it up again.”

She walked out of the room, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

The coffee sat half-finished. The cake pop sticks poked out of the trash like bones. He was back in the house, but only as a visitor to the life he had once owned. And for now, that would have to be enough.