The Fallout: The Carter Family Christmas Special: Dec 22nd - The Breaking Point
No more holding it together. Just the truth, raw and violent, reshaping every life in its path.
Bobby woke up at 7 AM in his own bed alone. Barbara had been sleeping in the guest room for two weeks, and this morning he could hear her moving around downstairs. Coffee brewing. Cabinets opening and closing. The sounds of a woman who'd made a decision.
He got dressed and went downstairs.
Barbara sat at the kitchen table with her laptop open, papers spread in front of her, and a look on her face that made Bobby's stomach drop.
"Where's Brandon?" Bobby asked.
"Upstairs. Getting dressed for school."
"Barbara..."
"Sit down."
Bobby sat.
Barbara pushed a folder across the table. Bank statements. Credit card bills. Receipts. Transaction histories going back six months.
"I hired someone," Barbara said. Her voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that preceded explosions. "A private investigator. Three weeks ago. Right after you started acting weird about money. Right after you couldn't explain why our savings was dropping. Right after you started lying about where you were going."
Bobby looked at the papers and said nothing.
"Seven thousand dollars," Barbara continued. "That's how much is missing from our account. Seven thousand dollars in cash withdrawals over the past four months. Small amounts. Five hundred here. Three hundred there. Never enough to trigger alerts. Just enough to slowly drain us dry."
"Barbara, I can explain."
"Oh, I know you can explain. Because I already know where it went. The PI followed you. Watched you meet someone at a coffee shop three times. Watched you hand over envelopes. Watched you get blackmailed, Bobby."
The word hung in the air between them.
Bobby's hands gripped the edge of the table.
"So here's what's going to happen," Barbara said. "You're going to tell me the truth. All of it. Right now. Or I'm walking out that door with Brandon and you'll never see either of us again."
Bobby looked at his wife. Fifteen years of marriage. Fifteen years of hiding and performing and pretending to be someone he wasn't. Fifteen years of secrets piling up until they crushed him.
He was so tired of lying.
"I had an affair," Bobby said.
Barbara's face didn't change. Like she'd already known. Like the PI had already told her.
"When?"
"Last year. It lasted three months."
"Who?"
Bobby said nothing.
"Who, Bobby?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
"Someone from work."
"Man or woman?" Barbara asked.
Bobby looked away.
"Answer the question."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"They recorded us," Bobby continued. His voice was flat. Matter of fact. Like he was reading a grocery list. "Video. Audio. Everything. And when I ended it, they threatened to send it to you. To my job. To everyone. So I paid them. Seven thousand dollars over four months to keep quiet."
"Jesus Christ."
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" Barbara's voice rose. "You had an affair, got blackmailed, drained our savings, and you're sorry?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to explain why. Why would you do this? Why would you risk everything we built? Why would you throw away fifteen years?"
Bobby looked at his wife and felt something break loose in his chest. All the resentment he'd been swallowing for years. All the frustration. All the ways he'd felt trapped.
"Because you wouldn't," he said quietly.
"Wouldn't what?"
"Wouldn't give me what I needed. Wouldn't try new things. Wouldn't be adventurous. I asked you. Multiple times. I told you what I wanted in the bedroom and you looked at me like I was disgusting."
Barbara stared at him. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"I'm just being honest."
"You're blaming ME for your affair? You're saying I drove you to cheat because I wouldn't do whatever wild shit you wanted in bed?"
"I'm saying we had problems. I'm saying our sex life was dead. I'm saying I felt trapped and they made me feel wanted."
Barbara laughed. Cold. Bitter.
"I like how you use the word 'they' and not he or she," she said. "Still can't even tell me who it was. Still hiding."
"It doesn't matter who it was."
"Doesn't it? Or are you just protecting THEM? Or maybe you're protecting yourself because if I knew, I'd know exactly how fucked up this really is."
Bobby said nothing.
"Well, it doesn't matter," Barbara continued. "Seeing how your family is..."
"How my family is what?"
"It doesn't matter at this point."
Barbara stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. "You just sat here and told me that you cheated because I wouldn't perform for you. Because I wouldn't be whatever fucked up fantasy you had in your head. Because I wasn't enough."
"Barbara..."
"No. Fuck you, Bobby. Fuck you and your honesty and your excuses. You don't get to blame me for this. You don't get to make your affair my responsibility."
Footsteps on the stairs.
Brandon appeared in the kitchen doorway, backpack over his shoulder, ready for school. He looked at his mother's face. At his father's face. At the papers spread across the table.
"What's going on?" Brandon asked quietly.
"Nothing, baby," Barbara started. "Go wait in the car."
But Bobby kept talking. Like now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. Like the truth was a flood he'd been holding back for too long.
"I made a mistake, son. I had an affair and now I'm paying for it."
"Bobby, stop," Barbara hissed.
"He should know. He should know who his father really is. I'm tired of hiding."
Brandon stood frozen in the doorway.
"Your mother and I have problems," Bobby continued. His voice was still calm. Still matter of fact. Still relieved to finally be saying it out loud. "We've had problems for years. And I handled it badly. I cheated on her. I got blackmailed. I paid someone seven thousand dollars to keep quiet. And now it's all falling apart."
"Brandon, go to the car," Barbara said. "Now."
Brandon didn't move.
"Your mother won't forgive me," Bobby said. "And I don't blame her. But at least now everything's out in the open. At least now there are no more secrets."
"Except the blackmailer showed up at your parents' funeral yesterday wearing red," Barbara said coldly. "Did you tell Brandon that part? Did you tell him that while he was mourning his grandparents, your mistress was sitting in the back of the church reminding you that she owns you?"
Bobby's face went white.
Brandon looked at his father like he was seeing him for the first time.
"Brandon..." Bobby started.
"I'm going to the car," Brandon said. His voice was small. Broken. He turned and walked out of the kitchen, and they heard the front door close behind him.
Silence in the kitchen.
Barbara gathered her papers. Closed her laptop. Picked up her coffee cup and dumped it in the sink.
"I'm filing for divorce," she said.
"I know."
"You'll be served tomorrow. I already talked to my lawyer."
"Okay."
"And you can have the house. I'm taking Brandon and we're staying with my sister until I find a place."
"Barbara, wait."
"For what? For you to blame me some more? For you to explain how this is all my fault because I wouldn't let you degrade me in our bedroom? For you to tell our son more details about your affair?"
"I was just being honest."
"You were being cruel. There's a difference."
She walked past him toward the stairs.
"I'm packing Brandon's things. We'll be gone in an hour. Don't follow us. Don't call. Don't try to explain. Just let us go."
"What about Brandon? When do I see him?"
"My lawyer will work that out. Until then, leave him alone. He doesn't need to hear any more of your honesty."
Barbara went upstairs.
Bobby sat at the kitchen table surrounded by evidence of his failures and felt nothing. No grief. No regret. Just emptiness where his family used to be.
He'd told the truth.
And it had cost him everything anyway.
Wallace's phone rang at 2 PM while he was sitting in his apartment trying to decide if he was going to eat lunch or just skip it entirely. Julian's name on the screen. Three missed calls earlier. Now a fourth.
He answered.
"Hey," Julian said.
"Hey."
Silence. Heavy. The kind that preceded breakups.
"I don't think this is working," Julian said finally.
Wallace laughed. Actually laughed. "Yeah, I figured."
"What?"
"This is what you do, Julian. You get close, something gets hard, you bail. I've known you for two weeks but I already know your pattern."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Wallace stood up, walked to his kitchen window. "You couldn't even lay a flower on my parents' graves yesterday. You stood there holding it like a fucking prop while my aunties blocked you, and you just walked away. You didn't fight. You didn't say anything. You just accepted that you don't belong."
"Because I don't," Julian said quietly. "Your family made that very clear. Your church made that very clear. I was the gay boyfriend who lasted two weeks showing up at a Black Baptist funeral like I had any right to grieve with you. And maybe they were right."
"So that's it?"
"That's it."
Wallace should have felt something. Anger. Sadness. Loss. But all he felt was tired.
"You know what the fucked up part is?" Wallace said. "I knew this was coming. From the second you said 'we need to talk,' I knew. Because this is exactly what you do. You get scared, you run, you make it about everyone else instead of admitting you just don't want to do the hard parts."
"Wallace..."
"No, I'm done. You want out? You're out. Enjoy your next two-week relationship."
He hung up.
Sat in his apartment alone.
And wondered why he kept dating people who left.
Chloe's apartment at 10 PM felt like a pressure cooker. Wanda had been staying there for three weeks, ever since she left William, living out of a suitcase in Chloe's bedroom like a guest who'd overstayed her welcome. And tonight, Chloe was making sure she felt it.
"Your family is really something," Chloe said from the couch, scrolling her phone. "All that church drama. All that judgment. I'm surprised you even go back there."
"It's my family," Wanda said from the kitchen. She was washing dishes that didn't need washing, anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to avoid the fight she knew was coming.
"Yeah, but they're messy as hell. Your brother Bobby cursing out church ladies at a funeral. Bella married to a criminal. Wallace dating someone for five minutes and acting like it's true love. And you..."
"And me what?"
"You're the one who filed for divorce but you still talk about William like he's your husband. Like you can't decide if you're done or not."
Wanda dried her hands slowly. Felt something cold settle in her chest.
"I'm done with William. We're getting divorced."
"Are you though?" Chloe stood, walked into the kitchen. "Because you talk about him a lot for someone who's done. William this. William that. Poor William having to deal with you leaving. Poor William losing his wife."
"I don't talk about him that much."
"You do. And honestly? It's exhausting. I didn't sign up to let you live here rent-free while you figure out if you still love your husband."
The words hit like a slap. Rent-free. Like Wanda was a burden. Like she was taking up space she hadn't earned.
"I offered to pay rent," Wanda said quietly.
"With what money? You left your husband with nothing. You've been crashing here for three weeks eating my food, using my shit, sleeping in my bed. The least you could do is act like you actually want to be here instead of constantly defending the man you supposedly left."
"I don't defend him."
"You do. Earlier today. When your cousin Trey made that joke about William being soft. You got all defensive. Told him to shut up. Like you were protecting William even though William isn't even yours to protect anymore."
"That's different."
"Is it?"
They stared at each other across the kitchen, and Wanda realized Chloe had been waiting all day to have this fight. Storing up ammunition. Building a case for why Wanda needed to leave.
"You've been talking shit about my family all night," Wanda said quietly. "About my brothers. About my sister. About my church. About everything. What's your problem?"
"My problem is that I sat at your parents' funeral yesterday and watched your family treat me like I didn't exist. Your aunties wouldn't even let me lay a flower on the graves. They looked at me like I was trash. And you didn't say anything. You just stood there and let them disrespect me."
"You've known me for three weeks, Chloe. You didn't know my parents. That grave wasn't yours to put flowers on."
"See? That's exactly what I'm talking about. You pick them over me every time."
"There's no picking. They're my family."
"And what am I?"
Wanda didn't answer fast enough.
Chloe's face hardened. "Right. That's what I thought."
"What do you want me to say? That you're my girlfriend? That I love you? We've been together for three weeks, Chloe. Three weeks. I just buried my parents yesterday. I'm getting divorced. I'm living out of a suitcase in your apartment because I have nowhere else to go. What exactly do you want from me?"
"I want you to want to be here. I want you to stop acting like I'm some temporary stop on your way back to William."
"I'm not going back to William."
"Then why do you defend him?"
"Because people are assholes to him! Because my family thinks every man who isn't hypermasculine is weak! Because I'm tired of people shitting on William just because he's soft! That's why I defended him. Not because I love him. Not because I want him back. Because he deserves better than being the punchline to my family's jokes."
"And I deserve better than being your rebound."
"You're not my rebound, you're just a fucking mistake."
The silence after those words was absolute.
Chloe's face went cold. Hard. The kind of cold that preceded violence.
"Say that again," Chloe said quietly.
Wanda should have stopped. Should have backed down. Should have recognized the danger.
But she was tired. Tired of defending herself. Tired of relationships that didn't work. Tired of being homeless and dependent and desperate.
"You're a mistake," Wanda repeated. "A three-week mistake I made because I was lonely and confused and you were convenient. That's all you are. That's all you've ever been."
Chloe crossed the kitchen in three steps and shoved Wanda hard against the counter.
"Don't fucking talk to me like that."
Wanda shoved back. "Get your hands off me."
The slap came fast. Open palm across Wanda's face. Hard enough to snap her head to the side. Hard enough to leave a mark.
Wanda stood there, hand on her cheek, tasting blood from where her teeth had cut the inside of her mouth.
Chloe stepped back, breathing hard, her hand still raised like she might swing again.
"I'm sorry," Chloe said. "I didn't mean..."
"You hit me."
"Wanda, I'm sorry, I just..."
"You put your fucking hands on me."
"You called me a mistake!"
"So you hit me?" Wanda's voice rose. "You think that's okay? You think because I said something that hurt your feelings, you get to hit me?"
"I said I'm sorry."
"Get away from me."
Wanda moved toward the bedroom, but Chloe blocked her path.
"Where are you going?"
"To get my shit. I'm leaving."
"You can't leave. You have nowhere to go."
"I don't care. I'm not staying here with someone who puts their hands on me."
"Wanda, stop. Let's talk about this."
"Move."
Chloe didn't move.
They stood in the hallway staring at each other, and Wanda realized how trapped she was. All her clothes in Chloe's closet. All her toiletries in Chloe's bathroom. Her whole life reduced to a suitcase and a trash bag of belongings she'd grabbed when she left William three weeks ago.
"Move," Wanda said again. "Or I'm calling the police."
Chloe stepped aside.
Wanda grabbed her suitcase from the bedroom closet and started throwing clothes into it. She didn't fold anything. Didn't organize. Just grabbed handfuls and shoved them in. Her toothbrush from the bathroom. Her phone charger. The few books she'd brought. Everything she owned fitting into one suitcase because she'd left everything else with William.
Chloe stood in the doorway watching.
"You're really leaving?"
"Yeah."
"Where are you going to go?"
"Not your problem."
"Wanda, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you. I just got so angry and..."
"Save it."
Wanda zipped the suitcase, grabbed her purse and keys, and walked past Chloe without looking at her.
"You're going to regret this," Chloe called after her. "You're going to end up right back with William because you can't handle being alone."
Wanda stopped at the door. Turned around.
"Maybe I will go back to William. At least he never put his hands on me."
She left.
Got in her car.
Sat in the parking lot with her hand still on her face and her suitcase in the passenger seat and nowhere to go.
She pulled out her phone. Called Wallace.
"Hey," he answered. "You okay?"
"Can I come over?"
"What happened?"
"Chloe hit me."
Silence on the other end. Then: "I'm on my way."
"No, I'll drive. I just need to know if I can stay with you."
"Of course you can stay with me. What the fuck happened?"
"I'll tell you when I get there."
She hung up. Started the car. Looked at Chloe's apartment building one more time.
And wondered how many times she'd have to lose everything before she stopped giving people the power to take it.
Wallace opened his apartment door at 11:30 PM and pulled his twin sister inside without a word. He saw the mark on her face. Saw the suitcase in her hand. Saw the way she was holding herself together with sheer force of will.
"I'm pressing charges," Wanda said.
"Good."
"I mean it. She put her hands on me. I'm not letting that slide."
"You shouldn't."
They sat on Wallace's couch, twins in matching grief, and said nothing for a long time.
"Julian broke up with me," Wallace said finally.
"When?"
"This afternoon."
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not. I knew it was coming. He's been looking for an exit since the funeral."
Wanda leaned against her brother, and Wallace put his arm around her, and they sat in his apartment like they used to when they were kids and the world got too big. Back when they had each other and that was enough.
"Do you still love William?" Wallace asked quietly.
Wanda didn't answer.
"It's okay if you do," Wallace continued. "Love doesn't just disappear because you file paperwork. It doesn't just stop because you want it to."
"I defended him today," Wanda said. "Chloe called me out on it. Said I protect him even though he's not mine anymore. And she was right. I do. I don't know why."
"Maybe because you spent years loving him. Maybe because leaving him doesn't mean you stopped caring. Maybe because divorce doesn't erase history."
"Is that what you tell yourself about Wynona?"
Wallace smiled sadly. "Every day."
They sat there until Wanda fell asleep against his shoulder, and Wallace stayed awake watching his sister breathe and wondering how many more things had to break before Christmas.
Outside, Phoenix slept.
Inside, the Carter twins held each other together.
And somewhere in the city, Bobby sat alone in his empty house knowing his wife and son were never coming back.
And somewhere else, Chloe sat in her car outside her own apartment building staring at her hand like it belonged to someone else.
The breaking point had come.
Now they just had to survive the aftermath.
END OF PART 11: THE BREAKING POINT
