Lauren had always lovedthe week between Christmas and New Year’s.
That soft, suspended pocket of time when the world seemed to hold its breath—when the rush was over, but the lights still glowed.
A grace period. A chance to linger in warmth before the year turned cold again.
This year, the quiet felt different.
This year, it pressed against her, thick and airless.
CHRISTMAS IS LOVE.
The words mocked her, her handmade centerpiece still spelling out in gold letters what she no longer believed.
She stood in the living room, surrounded by the remains of Christmas—the tree full of her bespoke ornaments. Lauren reached for one. She wrapped it in tissue paper and laid it gently in the box.
Piece by piece, she dismantled Christmas.
The felt stockings she’d sewed. The peppermint she’d glued. The tree skirt she’d constructed.
Her fingers brushed the tiny beaded Elvis jumpsuit she’d stitched by hand. White felt, rhinestones, the miniature cape.
She loved this ornament.
She loved how every December, the moment she hung it on the tree, she was right back in his arms—swaying on the dance floor at their wedding, his cheek against her temple, Elvis singing about falling in love, about how some things were just meant to be.
She'd believed it. That they were meant to be.
Elvis had also sung about fools.
Her chest constricted.
She set the ornament aside quickly—too quickly—before she could feel the full weight of what it meant now.
Judith’s brittle smile as she praisedhow industriousLauren was. Richard’s small, polite pauses. And Tom saying nothing at all.
She’d thought he hadn’t noticed his parents insulting her. But now she knew the truth.
He hadn’t been ignorant of their judgment. He’d shared it.
Lauren’s hands stilled on the garland.
She felt the waves of humiliation wash over her again. The way he’d folded her quilt away. The pendant resting on Mia’s throat.Opening up the envelope she’d thought—for one hopeless, stupid moment—contained a love letter.
She kept working. The tink of glass on glass filled the silence as she packed away the baubles—careful, methodical, precise.
All those years of feeling judged by her in-laws, of being glad that her husband didn’t see her through their eyes.
He had. He always had.
She’d always loved Christmas. She’d plastered the house with all of that love. She’d made sure it was full of her color, her warmth, her joy.
And Tom had seen it as something to endure.
Lauren wrapped another ornament. Her reflection stared back at her, warped in the curve of the glass. A woman too classless, too eager, too much.
Tears blurred her vision. All these years he’d been embarrassed of her.
Her gaze drifted back to the white jumpsuit ornament, lying alone on the carpet. Their first dance. Their vows.
