She was already moving. Up the stairs, her breath coming fast. She yanked open his dresser drawers, grabbed fistfuls of clothes, shoved them into a duffel.
A framed photo of them on their wedding day sat in damning judgment on the dresser. She’d been so naive, so stupid, so happy.
Tears dripped down her face as she lifted the duffel. She didn’t bother wiping them away.
She stomped back down the stairs. Tom was still standing in the living room.
“Lauren, this isinsane. Let’s just calm down and talk about this like adults?—”
She hurled the bag at him. “Go besanesomewhere else.”
All that love she’d poured into Christmas, into him—it curdled into something sharp and bitter. She looked at the quilt, still sitting where he’d left it. Folded, unwanted.
Her vision swam. “I feel so stupid,” she whispered.
She grabbed it, pressed it to her chest for one aching moment—its soft weight, its familiar scent, a physical reminder of every bit of love she’d wasted.
Then she shoved it into his arms. “Get out and take this with you.”
All her careful joy, all her magic—it had turned to ashes in her hands.
“I can’t—” Her voice cracked so violently she almost choked on it. “I can’t bear to look at it.”
She put her hands on his chest and pushed. He stumbled backward, the duffel over one shoulder, the quilt clutched awkwardly in his arms.
"Sleep somewhere else tonight. Anywhere else. Just not here."
She could feel his body under her palms, steady and strong, and she hated that some part of her still registered it, still wanted to curl into that chest and pretend everything was okay.
Nothing was okay.
She needed him gone—just for tonight, just long enough that she could breathe without feeling like she was drowning.
“Out,” she said, still pushing him toward the door, tears streaking down her face, breath breaking in painful, uneven gasps. “Out, out, out.”
She shoved him over the threshold onto the porch. His mouth opened to say something?—
Lauren slammed the door in his face.
For a long moment, she just stood there, chest heaving.
Then she sank to the floor.
The tears were coming harder now, great gasping sobs that tore from her chest.
The house was full of Christmas. Snowflakes, garlands, the elaborate centerpiece still on the dining room table.
All of it felt unbearable. It was proof of how hard she’d tried.
How much she’d loved him.
How little it had mattered.
The lights from the tree blinked softly, casting color over the wreck of wrapping paper and ribbon, over the remnants of her perfect Christmas.
Lauren pulled her knees to her chest and felt herself break.
CHAPTER 9
