Chapter 7
Lauren
Lauren could hardly sit still.
The lights from the tree shimmered across the wrapping paper as she slid the gift toward Tom, almost vibrating with excitement.
“Open mine next,” she said, trying—and failing—to sound casual.
Tom's fingers worked at the string she'd tied so carefully around the package.
"I hope you like it," Lauren whispered, perched on the arm of his chair so she could watch his face.
Anticipation and nerves bubbled up inside her.
The brown paper finally fell away. Lauren held her breath as Tom lifted the quilt. Colors spilled across his lap—reds and creams and little bits of their life stitched together.
"Lauren..." his voice was strangled.
She leaned forward, fingertips brushing the edge of the quilt.
“Do you see? This one’s our first date. The coffee cups.
And here’s our first apartment—the red door.
” She pointed, laughing a little from nerves.
“That’s the church, our honeymoon…” Her voice tumbled over itself, the joy of it too big to contain.
Tom was staring at the quilt. Lauren's heart swelled. He was speechless. Actually speechless with emotion.
She laughed, giddy with the relief of finally sharing her secret. "I've been working on this in secret.” She settled closer to him on the chair arm. "And look—I left blank squares at the bottom. For memories still to come."
Still Tom didn’t say anything. He just stared at the quilt, his mouth slightly open.
"Lo,” he said, and his voice sounded strained. "This is..."
She waited, her heart in her throat, for him to find the words. Beautiful. Incredible. The most thoughtful gift he'd ever received. She could practically see him searching for something big enough to match what she'd given him.
Around them, the room had gone quiet.
“It’s very nice, honey,” he said.
For a moment Lauren just blinked at him, the words not fitting the shape of the moment she’d built.
Like she’d misheard. Misunderstood. Surely he hadn’t said that.
Tom was already refolding the quilt.
He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Something inside her dropped, hard and sick, like missing a step in the dark.
Lauren realized, too late: she’d embarrassed herself. She felt the heat crawl up her neck.
Tom was embarrassed too. Of her. For her.
She watched as he folded the quilt. Watched him set it aside.
Her hands stayed in her lap, palms pressed together so no one could see them shaking.
Around them, the room felt too bright suddenly, the Christmas tree lights too harsh. She was painfully aware of everyone watching her. His parents. Jake and Mia.
She'd made a spectacle of herself. Gushing about the meaning behind each square, pointing out every detail like a child showing off a crayon drawing.
Richard cleared his throat. "Quite the keepsake," he said loudly. "Very… personal."
"You've always been so… industrious,” Judith said.
Lauren slipped off the arm of Tom's chair and sat down. Her ears burned. Her face burned. Everything burned.
She perched on the edge of the seat, spine rigid, every muscle locked in place.
The humiliation pooled low in her stomach—hot, heavy, impossible to hide.
No one spoke. The quiet stretched and stretched.
Jake cleared his throat.
"Well, that's a tough act to follow," he said finally, reaching under the tree. "But I've got something for my beautiful wife."
Lauren watched him pull out a box—the unmistakable size and shape of jewelry. A flat, small box.
Jake presented the box to Mia with a flourish. "Our first Christmas as husband and wife."
Mia's eyes went wide as she opened it.
Inside was a delicate silver chain with a tiny heart pendant.
Lauren felt something inside her chest crack.
The necklace.
Her necklace.
It had to be a different one. A similar one. There were probably thousands of silver heart pendants in the world and this was just a coincidence and—
"Jake, it's perfect," Mia breathed, lifting it from the box with reverent fingers.
“You’re perfect,” Jake said, grinning. “And far too nosy. I have to thank my brother for hiding it from you these past few weeks."
Tom was smiling, looking pleased with himself. "Happy to help."
Jake took the necklace from Mia. "Turn around, I'll put it on for you."
Lauren watched as Jake fastened the clasp at the nape of Mia's neck. The romantic gesture she'd been imagining for herself. Foolishly. Stupidly.
There was an odd rushing sound in her ears.
"It's beautiful," Mia said, touching the pendant at her throat.
Lauren's smile felt like it was cracking her face open. "It's beautiful," she echoed, and her voice sounded strange to her own ears. Like it belonged to someone else.
Her hands remained pressed together in her lap, knuckles white.
No one seemed to notice that she was falling apart in slow motion. How could she have been so stupid?
"Your turn, Lauren!" Mia said brightly, the pendant catching the light as she turned. "What did Tom get you?"
Lauren's stomach flipped. What if she hadn’t misunderstood? What if he had gotten her the same necklace? What if this was all some crazy coincidence, and he was about to surprise her with—
But Tom wasn’t holding a box.
He reached under the tree and came up with an envelope instead.
A simple white envelope with her name written on it in his handwriting.
A letter. He'd written her a letter.
The relief was immediate and overwhelming. She felt the tension leave her body. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was just an emotional Christmas.
She’d been embarrassed by the quilt and she was overreacting to a simple misunderstanding.
The necklace would have been wonderful—but this? His words, his feelings, something from his heart that he'd sat down and crafted just for her?
This was better than jewelry. This was Tom choosing to be vulnerable, to pour his feelings onto paper, to tell her in his own words how much she meant to him. This was the kind of romantic gesture you kept forever, saved between the pages of a book, read again and again until the paper wore soft.
"Oh, Tom," she breathed, taking the envelope with trembling fingers. She could feel her eyes fill with tears—happy tears, grateful tears.
She looked up at him, her smile radiant despite the earlier hurt. "This is perfect."
She carefully opened the envelope, wanting to savor the moment. His family was watching, Mia's hand at her throat, touching her new necklace, everyone waiting to see what romantic words Tom had penned.
Lauren pulled out the paper inside.
A check.
For five hundred dollars.
The memo line read: “Xmas - buy yourself something nice."
Her smile was still on her face. She could feel it there—stretched and frozen, a grotesque mask she couldn't seem to remove.
Lauren stared at the slip of paper in her hand. At Tom's writing. Her name. Yesterday’s date. Everything correct and proper.
Her mouth felt too dry. The Christmas tree across the room was blurring into a smear of color and light.
Not words. Not feelings.
Just money.
“This way you can get exactly what you want," Tom said into the silence.
A check.
Like an employee receiving a Christmas bonus. A stranger he owed money to.
"That's very practical," Judith said, and there was approval in her voice.
"Smart thinking," Richard added.
Lauren felt suspended outside of this conversation, watching herself from a distance as her world collapsed in real time.
She'd given him her heart, had held it out for him to take care of.
He'd given her money. Five hundred dollars. Buy yourself something nice.
Lauren felt the eyes on her, felt the weight of everyone's attention. She forced her face into something resembling a smile. Her cheeks ached with the effort. Her hands felt clammy. She couldn't tell if she was sweating or freezing.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words scraping her throat raw. "That's... that's very thoughtful."
She carefully folded the check and tucked it back into the envelope.
Her pulse pounded behind her eyes. Her limbs tingled, distant and unreal, like she was floating an inch outside of her own body.
Lauren stood abruptly. "I should check on the pie."
She walked to the kitchen, the envelope still clutched in her hand. Through the window, snow was beginning to fall, covering everything in pristine white.
She set the envelope on the counter and stared at it.
A check.
Lauren pressed her palm flat against her sternum, trying to hold herself together, trying to keep the pieces from scattering across the kitchen floor.
Lauren touched her bare throat where the necklace should have been.
The necklace that was now Mia's. The romantic gesture that was now Jake's.
She'd given the man she loved her whole, embarrassing heart.
And he'd given her five hundred dollars and told her to go shopping.