Chapter 16 Lauren
Lauren
Lauren arrived at Muse Magazine carrying the oversized wreath, the pinecones biting into her palms.
It was ridiculous, really—heavy with greenery and ribbon and glitter, and in the middle, in bright red letters: I DESERVE BETTER.
Definitely not standard office decor. But her feelings weren't office standard either.
She propped the wreath against her monitor. The message stared back at her, brazen and a little unhinged.
Good.
By the time her coworkers started trickling in, she’d started the coffee machine and the overhead lights had brightened the open-plan office into harsh reality.
“Lauren!” Sage’s voice carried across the room. “Oh my god—what is that?”
Lauren straightened, half-defensive. “A wreath.”
Sage pointed to the banner. “‘I Deserve Better’? That’s genius.”
Before Lauren could respond, Wren joined them.
“It’s perfect,” she said, setting her latte down. “You kept all the traditional Christmas elements but then that message? I love it.”
“You could sell these,” Sage said. “People would eat this up.”
Lauren blinked. She hadn’t thought of it as something anyone else might understand. It had just been… necessary.
These stylish, confident women weren’t pitying her. They weren’t telling her to cheer up or that she was being dramatic. They were admiring her honesty. Celebrating it.
Lauren felt heat creep up her neck.
"Holy shit, Lauren."
She turned to find Rina from features standing behind her, jacket slung over one arm, staring at the wreath.
“This is incredible," Rina said, leaning down to get a closer look.
"It's perfect," agreed Zoe, unwinding her scarf. "Like, Christmas is supposed to be about joy and family and all that bullshit, but sometimes it sucks.”
Lauren looked at the wreath again. The message sat bold against the deep green. Holly berries gleamed like punctuation.
Sage pulled out her phone to take a picture. "Seriously. This is the perfect statement piece for all those people who are divorced or dealing with family drama or just fucking exhausted by all the forced cheer."
Lauren was drowning in family drama, bone-deep exhausted, and not yet divorced but close enough to taste it.
But nobody here was telling her to look on the bright side or suggesting she was being dramatic.
They were here for it.
Lauren was trying and failing to concentrate on work when the courier appeared, half-hidden behind a bouquet of red roses. It was huge.
“Delivery for Lauren Barrett,” he said, his voice muffled by petals.
Every head in the open-plan office turned toward her.
Lauren could already feel heat creeping up her neck. “Just… put it there, thanks.”
He set it on the counter with a grunt and left.
A small white card peeked through the petals.
Merry Christmas. Love, Tom.
The scent of roses hit her a moment later—heavy and sweet. Her stomach turned. Merry Christmas.
From the photography corner came a sharp intake of breath. “Holy hell,” Sage said, camera strap looped around her neck.
Wren from graphics appeared, dark lipstick emphasizing her pursed lips. “Wow.”
Zoe wheeled her chair over. “Who’s it from?”
"They're from Tom," Lauren said quietly.
"Aw, that's so romantic," Sage sighed, leaning down to inhale the floral scent.
Lauren stared at the flowers. They were beautiful. Expensive. Tom was being the perfect, thoughtful husband. If only any of it was real.
"Actually," Lauren heard herself say, “we’re… separated, I guess.”
Rina looked up from her screen, eyes wide.
“These flowers are his attempt to fix things," Lauren finished. She looked around at their shocked faces.
Lauren thought about the safe version she could tell—some vague story about growing apart, about needing space. But sitting there surrounded by her “I DESERVE BETTER” wreath and these expensive roses, she found she was tired of protecting Tom's image.
"He didn't like my quilt,” she said simply. "He thought it was too over the top.”
“Oh, Lauren,” Wren breathed.
"He didn't get me anything." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact. “He just wrote me a check.”
She watched her colleagues process this information.
“A check? What—like, for services rendered?”
The corner of Lauren’s mouth twisted. “Pretty much. Five hundred dollars. Memo: ‘Buy yourself something nice.’”
There was a beat of stunned silence—and then all hell broke loose.
“No!” Sage clapped both hands to her head.
“Unacceptable,” Wren declared.
“Men like that should come with warning labels,” Zoe said furiously.
“Tell me you threw him out,” Rina demanded.
“I did,” Lauren said before she could stop herself. “On Christmas night.”
The room erupted again, this time with cheers.
“My girl!” Sage whooped.
Lauren laughed—an unsteady, unfamiliar sound.
“That’s it,” Zoe said, grabbing her bag. “We’re taking you out. Early lunch.”
“It’s only eleven,” Rina pointed out, though she was already standing.
“That’s practically one in magazine time,” Sage said.
Before Lauren could argue, the glass door to the editor’s office swung open and Vivian appeared, wearing perfectly pressed cream trousers and an expression that could cut glass.
“Why,” she said sharply, surveying the gathered crowd, “is my staff discussing early lunch when our January edition is currently missing its feature?”
Zoe swiveled toward her. “Lauren’s left Tom!”
Vivian blinked. “Excuse me?”
“He gave her a check for Christmas,” Wren added helpfully.
Vivian’s eyebrows shot up.
“Then he sent that,” Sage said. She gestured to the roses, which seemed to loom even larger under scrutiny.
Vivian approached, assessing the bouquet. "Right then," she announced, reaching for the expensive flower arrangement. In one swift motion, she lifted the bouquet and marched toward the office kitchen.
The sound of flowers hitting the bottom of the large trash bin was unmistakable. Vivian returned to Lauren's desk, wiping her hands with satisfaction.
"That's sorted," she said briskly. “I believe Zoe said we were taking you to lunch.”
“We can't all just leave," Lauren protested weakly, but she was already being pulled to her feet. "What about—"
Vivian, Muse Magazine's formidable editor-in-chief, put her hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “We can fix the January issue later. Let’s go.”