Shattered Truths

Chapter 9: Looking Inward

The drive to Sarah's house was one Matt had made countless times over the years, but tonight it carried a weight it never had before. The streetlights glowed against the quiet suburban road, each one blurring in his vision as he replayed the last two days in his head: Luke's revelation, Claire's calm indifference, the envelope passed to a stranger he couldn't place. It all swirled together like a storm without an eye, and he couldn't find shelter from it.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Part of him had considered turning back, shutting himself in his apartment and drowning out the noise with beer and mindless television. But Sarah had always been the one person who could cut through the fog, who could help him face the things he didn't want to. She didn't sugarcoat. She didn't deflect. And right now, he needed someone who wasn't going to dance around the truth.

When he pulled up to her small two-story home, the porch light was already on. She must have seen his car creeping into the driveway, because by the time he reached the steps, the door swung open. Sarah stood there in jeans and a soft sweater, her hair pulled back, her expression warm but tinged with worry.

"You didn't even text," she said, ushering him inside. "But I figured you'd come. I made tea."

Matt managed a weak smile. "You always know."

"It's called being your sister." She squeezed his shoulder as he passed. "You've never been good at hiding when something's eating you alive."

The scent of chamomile drifted from the kitchen as Sarah led him into the living room. Her house had always been a safe place: shelves lined with books, framed photographs of their parents and family trips, a few half-finished craft projects tucked in baskets by the couch. It contrasted so sharply with the emptiness of his apartment lately that Matt felt the ache deepen in his chest.

He sat heavily on the couch. Sarah brought two steaming mugs and settled across from him. For a moment she didn't speak, just watched him with that steady gaze of hers. She'd always had a way of waiting him out, giving him room to fill the silence when he was ready.

Matt wrapped his hands around the mug, staring at the rippling surface of the tea. "I met with Claire."

Sarah's brows lifted slightly, but she didn't look surprised. "I figured you would. You've never been one for leaving questions unanswered."

"It was..." He struggled for words, shaking his head. "It was brutal. Not because she yelled or cried or begged for forgiveness—she didn't do any of that. She was calm. Like she'd rehearsed every word. She said I was controlling. Predictable. That she felt trapped."

Sarah stayed quiet, letting him continue.

"I asked her if she regretted what she did. She said she regretted that I was hurt, but not that she went looking for 'what she needed.'" His voice cracked on the last words. "It was like watching someone justify robbing me blind and calling it self-care."

Sarah exhaled slowly, her face softening. "I'm sorry, Matt. I know how much you wanted her to at least admit what she did was wrong."

Matt let out a bitter laugh. "That's the thing—she doesn't think it was wrong. She thinks she had no choice. That I drove her to it. And I can't stop asking myself if she's right. Maybe I was suffocating. Maybe I was asking for too much."

Sarah leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Was that how you felt at the time? That you were controlling her?"

He blinked at her, caught off guard. "No. I felt like I was just... trying to hold things together. Trying to show up, to be steady when she kept slipping away. But maybe all that holding on came off as pressure."