Judith’s expression tightened beneath the smile.
Margot turned back to Lauren, oblivious to Judith’s evaporating confidence. “That reminds me! The Kents were especially impressed with your wreaths. They told me the feature inMusewas exquisite. You’ve become quite the name in our circles.”
Judith made a faint choking sound.
Lauren couldn’t help but smile at that. She turned and gestured toward Judith. “Margot, this is my mother-in-law, Judith Barrett.”
“Ah!” Margot’s face lit, but without an ounce of recognition. “How lovely to meet you.”
Judith’s expression pinched.
“You must be so proud of Lauren,” Margot added warmly. “Her work is extraordinary. Truly. The joy in it—it’s rare to see such sincerity executed so well.”
Judith’s mouth dropped open a fraction.
Margot gave her arm another affectionate squeeze. “Email me if you need anything else for the commission. And please—keep creating exactly like this. It’s refreshing.”
“I will,” Lauren promised.
Margot disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
Judith stared at her. “Lauren… Tom didn’t tell me you were… doing all this.”
Lauren shifted her tote higher. “He doesn’t know.” He didn’t know about The Stockist. The commissions. The praise. He didn’t know this version of her.
Judith blinked. “The Stockist? TheKents?” Judith’s lips parted. “I didn’t know you were…talentedat this level.”
The words would have stung once. Now, they slid off her like water. “You didn’t think I was talented at any level.”
Judith swallowed. “I—well—I didn’t think?—”
Lauren nodded toward the window. “That’smywork. It has value.”
Judith whispered, “I didn’t realize.”
“I did,” Lauren held her gaze, steady. “I’m done worrying about people who don’t enjoy color or sincerity or handmade things.”
Judith’s breath hitched—a small, stunned sound.
Lauren offered a polite, unbothered smile. “Have a good afternoon, Judith.”
And she walked away, steps light, the winter air bright on her cheeks.
Behind her, Judith Barrett remained rooted on the sidewalk—silent.
Lauren did not look back.
Lauren shiftedthe casserole dish in her hands. She’d driven here with the echo of her day consuming her thoughts—Judith speechless, Margot proud, her wreaths displayed.
But now that she’d pulled up beside her father’s truck, the nerves started to hum under her skin.
Games night. First Thursday of the month.
It had been the same ritual with her parents all her life. Home, easy, safe.
Except nowhewas living here.
The thought closed around her like a fist.
