Chapter 23
Lauren
Lauren didn’t sleep.
Her skin still held the memory of his touch—the roughness of his palms, the warmth that had spread through her like thaw. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel that moment again: Tom’s forehead resting against hers, the catch in his breath when he’d whispered I love you.
Lauren closed her eyes. The memory of Christmas Day came back sharp as glass.
His silence. His words.
She rolled onto her side and pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders, as if it could hold back the coldness that was inside her.
She knew he loved her. He’d shown her in the small, steady ways that had once felt enough: full tanks of gas, shoveled walks, roofs that didn’t leak. But what was love worth if he didn’t like her? If he couldn’t look at her joy without flinching?
The humiliation of that burned almost as hot as the memory of his mouth on hers.
Lauren pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the dull ache under her ribs.
And yet.
And yet she’d kissed him.
She sat up, pushing the blanket away, needing air. The floor was cold under her bare feet as she crossed to the window. Outside, snow still blanketed the street, undisturbed. The world looked peaceful, like a Christmas card.
And there, half-buried in white, were the cardboard boxes she’d hauled out herself. Five years of Christmas, reduced to neat rectangles waiting obediently for pickup.
She thought of the new crafts she’d made. The rhinestone stocking. The “cringe” star. The wreath that announced that she deserved better.
Lauren rested her forehead against the cool glass.
She was proud of her crafts.
She’d already known that her parents-in-law thought they were tacky. She just hadn’t guessed that her husband agreed.
She wanted to be married to someone who celebrated her. She wanted to love someone who respected her.
Her breath fogged the window, and she traced a small heart in the condensation with her fingertip. She stared at it for a long time before swiping it away.
Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve. A time of new beginnings.
Whatever came next, she would not let herself be erased again.