Chapter 35
Lauren
The wooden plaque lay in front of her, already base-coated in a cheerful coral pink. Tissue paper in various patterns waited to be decoupaged. Her glue gun was warming on the table beside her, and artificial flowers in purple, fuchsia, and gold spilled from their packaging.
She was making her first commission piece.
For Valentine’s Day. The piece Evelyn Kent was paying Lauren to make for her niece.
Bold letters. Celebration. Something to hang as a declaration of freedom. Something to show that she was happily divorced.
She looked down at her left hand. The plain gold band caught the morning light.
Tom's ring.
Taking it off would be the symbolic end. The final statement.
But she hadn't.
The memory of that hug kept catching her off guard.
The solid weight of his arms around her, the quiet warmth that had felt like safety.
She hadn’t realized how starved she was for that—for being held by her husband.
For a few fragile seconds on that porch, she’d let herself forget everything else.
It had been just warmth and breath and the reminder of what home used to feel like.
I'm grateful that you're still wearing my ring.
Lauren picked up a piece of tissue paper, smoothing it flat. She brushed glue onto the plaque and carefully laid down the first piece of tissue paper. Smoothed it with her fingers, working out the bubbles. The familiar motion steadied her.
Lauren added another piece of tissue paper, this one in a bold geometric pattern that clashed beautifully with the first. Her hands knew what to do even when her mind was spinning.
She was still wearing Tom's ring.
What did that mean?
That she still loved him? She did. God help her, she did.
That she hadn't given up? She hadn't filed papers. Hadn't taken the ring off. Hadn't said the words that would make it real and final and done.
That she was weak? The thought made her hands clench, crumpling the tissue paper she'd been about to place.
Lauren smoothed it out carefully and set it aside. Reached for another piece.
She'd kicked him out on Christmas. Had built art from her anger and pain. Had refused to shrink or apologize or pretend any of it was okay.
Wearing his ring didn't make her weak.
Lauren picked up the stencil and positioned it carefully on the plaque.
Lauren pressed the stencil flat and reached for her paint. Loaded the brush with white.
Today, she was going to make something beautiful and defiant for a woman who wanted her choice celebrated.
Lauren painted the first letter, her hand steady. The white stood out sharp against the coral and pattern, bold and unapologetic.
She could wear her wedding ring without forgiving her husband.
She could be confused and heartbroken and still moving forward.
All of it could be true at the same time.
Lauren finished the "D" and started on the "I", her rhythm finding itself.
She'd keep building this new life, one craft project at a time.
And maybe eventually she'd figure out whether Tom had a place in it.
But not today. Today she would make this piece for her client.
DIVORCED AF
Lauren was lying on the couch in her pajamas at two in the afternoon when the doorbell rang.
She considered not answering. She'd been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, her DIVORCED AF piece drying upstairs before she could work on the next layer.
The doorbell rang again.
Lauren dragged herself upright and shuffled to the door.
Mia stood on the porch, wrapped in a chic coat, sunglasses perched on her head, holding two coffees and a paper bag that smelled like butter and sugar.
“I come bearing caffeine and moral support,” her sister-in-law said brightly, pushing past Lauren into the entryway. “And also muffins. Because emotional clarity requires carbs.”
Lauren blinked. “Did Tom send you?”
Mia snorted. “Hell, no. I sent myself. We are both members of the Married-Into-The-Barretts club and I’m calling a chapter meeting.”
Lauren couldn’t help it; she laughed.
They sat at the kitchen table. The coffee was perfect—strong, sweet, and hot. Lauren wrapped both hands around the cup and let the warmth soak into her fingers.
“So,” Mia said. “Tell me.”
Lauren hesitated. “He’s staying at my parents’ place.”
Mia’s mouth twitched. “Good. Let him stew.”
Lauren sighed. “Unfortunately, I think I might be stewing more than him.”
Mia laughed. “Oh no. Trust me, he’s miserable. I’ve seen him. He’s melting down.”
“Mia—”
“I’m serious! He’s like a widower in a Victorian novel.” She widened her eyes dramatically. “‘Mia,’” she mimicked in Tom’s voice, “‘you wouldn’t understand. I’ve ruined everything.’ Jake says he’s been driving everyone insane with his tragic sighs at work.”
Lauren pressed her fingers to her temples. “Oh my God.”
Mia reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
“Lauren, we both know that our in-laws are snobs,” Mia said. “Jake knows that. And I think Tom is starting to see that now, too. The Christmas you gave us was amazing.”
Lauren smiled faintly, staring at the swirling surface of her coffee. “I just love Christmas,” she said quietly.
The words were automatic. She had always loved Christmas.
Do I still? she thought. The question lodged somewhere deep, painful. Or had this Christmas ruined that too? Could she ever untangle the holiday from the humiliation, from that moment when everything cracked apart?
Mia was quiet for a moment. Then: "Can I tell you something?"
Lauren nodded.
"When Jake and I were first dating, I broke up with him."
Lauren blinked. She'd never heard this story.
“Three days later he rang my doorbell at six in the morning. Stood there looking like he hadn't slept in days." Mia's smile was fond. "And he said, 'If you give me another chance, you won't regret it. Not for the rest of your life.'"
Mia looked down at her own ring and her face went soft and kind of goofy.
Lauren's throat felt tight.
"I took him back,” Mia's smile turned genuine. “Obviously.”
Lauren nodded, not trusting her voice. She looked down at the table.
Mia’s hand brushed her wrist. “Whatever you decide, it’s okay,” she said quietly.
Lauren nodded again. Her thoughts were a tangle. She thought of the DIVORCED AF plaque drying on her worktable. Of Tom standing in the cold, eyes raw with regret. Of Judith and Richard Barrett’s perfect white hydrangeas and polite disdain.
Of those devastating words that changed her life: I can’t be married to someone like this, Lauren.