Chapter 25
Lauren
Lauren dragged herself into the office, running on less than three hours of sleep.
Her reflection in the elevator doors looked as wrecked as she felt. She hadn’t bothered with lipstick. Let the world meet her as she was: raw, tired, still half-haunted by the memory of Tom’s call.
The elevator chimed, and she braced herself for another ordinary workday.
But when the doors opened onto the Muse Magazine floor, she was greeted with excitement.
“Lauren!” Sage’s voice rang out before she’d even taken a step. “You’re a hit.”
Lauren blinked. “I’m what?”
Zoe’s head popped up from behind her monitor. “The online edition went live at midnight—and people are obsessed.”
Lauren stepped into the office, heart tripping. Her wreath—the wreath—filled the homepage banner on the giant screen near the entrance. Bold white ribbon, red letters: I DESERVE BETTER.
Her stomach swooped.
Sage was grinning like a proud stage mom. “It’s being shared on social media! The comments section—” She paused, smiling wider. “You might want to sit down before you look.”
Lauren sank into her chair, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She clicked the link Sage had sent.
Her screen flooded with color—images from the photoshoot, the pieces she’d made glowing against neutral backdrops.
CRINGE scrawled across the glittering tree topper. The red felt stocking, bejeweled and magnificent, defiantly TOO MUCH.
And below, comment after comment.
Finally, someone gets it.
I want one. No, I NEED one.
This woman is my hero.
Rina appeared behind her, coffee in hand, her smile fierce. “You’ve struck a nerve.”
“I…” Lauren’s voice cracked. “I just made crafts.”
“No,” Vivian said from the doorway of her office, elegant as always but clearly delighted. “You made a statement.”
Lauren turned. Vivian crossed her arms, assessing her with something close to pride.
“You’re the face of emotional honesty at Christmas.”
Lauren looked back at the screen.
There was her work—the hot glue, the rhinestones, the glitter that Tom would’ve sneered at—celebrated. Validated.
People loved it.
She scrolled through the comments again, the energy of it all sinking in.
She made what I’ve been feeling all month.
Finally, something that doesn’t tell me to smile.
Her eyes blurred. She pressed her palms against her cheeks, trying to laugh the emotion away.
She didn’t feel small or silly.
She felt powerful.