Her mouth curved faintly. She stitched another line.
And the necklace. The one he’d made himself, all lumpy and uneven, each bead threaded with apology and hope. He’d worn it himself because it had come out so badly.
She pressed another patch into place and smoothed it flat.
Anger and peace coexisted under her fingertips.
She could forgive him for being human.
She could even forgive herself for still loving him.
The heart was taking shape now—messy and imperfect, edges raw but beautiful.
It wasn’t the clean defiance ofDivorced AF.It was something else. Something quieter.
At the center, she painted one word in careful white strokes:STILL
Still trying. Still married. Stillhis.
Lauren sat back and looked at what she’d made. She felt broken and whole, furious and grateful, soft and strong.
Tomorrow would be Valentine’s Day. A day surrounded by her champions at Muse—women who saw her, celebrated her, lifted her up.
It was the evening she wasn’t ready for.
She brushed her thumb over the word at the center of the heart.Still.
CHAPTER 68
Lauren
Valentine’s Dayat Muse had been… a lot.
All pink drinks and ironic heart-shaped cookies and Sage yelling “SELF-LOVE” every time someone walked past the photo wall. The Divorced AF spread was blowing up online, and clients had flooded her inbox with inquiries.
She didn’t realize how tense she was until she turned onto her street and her shoulders finally dropped an inch.
The porch light glowed golden against the falling dusk when she pulled into the driveway.
For a second, her heart stuttered.
Tom’s car was there.
He was here.
Her fingers stayed wrapped around the steering wheel even after she turned off the engine. The house looked the same as always—familiar lines, familiar windows—but everything inside it felt different these days. The idea of Tom being back in their kitchen, in their space, made her chest ache in the best and strangest way.
Her phone buzzed in the cupholder. She saw Tom’s name on the screen and her heart did that useless little lurch.
She answered. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His voice was warm and a little rough. “I, uh… I’m inside.”
She looked up at the softly lit windows. “I figured.”
He exhaled, the sound warm and intimate in her ear. “Before you come in, I need to say this. If you open the door and you hate it—what I’ve done in here—tell me. I’ll take it all down. No questions, no arguments. I promise.”
Her throat tightened.
