“Lauren!” Sage’s voice carried across the room. “Oh my god—whatisthat?”
Lauren straightened, half-defensive. “A wreath.”
Sage pointed to the banner. “‘I Deserve Better’? That’s genius.”
Before Lauren could respond, Wren joined them.
“It’s perfect,” she said, setting her latte down. “You kept all the traditional Christmas elements but then that message? I love it.”
“You could sell these,” Sage said. “People would eat this up.”
Lauren blinked. She hadn’t thought of it as something anyone else might understand. It had just been… necessary.
These stylish, confident women weren’t pitying her. They weren’t telling her to cheer up or that she was being dramatic. They were admiring her honesty. Celebrating it.
Lauren felt heat creep up her neck.
"Holy shit, Lauren."
She turned to find Rina from features standing behind her, jacket slung over one arm, staring at the wreath.
“This isincredible," Rina said, leaning down to get a closer look.
"It's perfect," agreed Zoe, unwinding her scarf. "Like, Christmas is supposed to be about joy and family and all that bullshit, but sometimes it sucks.”
Lauren looked at the wreath again. The message sat bold against the deep green. Holly berries gleamed like punctuation.
Sage pulled out her phone to take a picture. "Seriously. This is the perfect statement piece for all those people who are divorced or dealing with family drama or just fucking exhausted by all the forced cheer."
Lauren was drowning in family drama, bone-deep exhausted, and not yet divorced but close enough to taste it.
But nobody here was telling her to look on the bright side or suggesting she was being dramatic.
They were here for it.
Lauren was tryingand failing to concentrate on work when the courier appeared, half-hidden behind a bouquet of red roses. It was huge.
“Delivery for Lauren Barrett,” he said, his voice muffled by petals.
Every head in the open-plan office turned toward her.
Lauren could already feel heat creeping up her neck. “Just… put it there, thanks.”
He set it on the counter with a grunt and left.
A small white card peeked through the petals.
Merry Christmas. Love, Tom.
The scent of roses hit her a moment later—heavy and sweet. Her stomach turned.Merry Christmas.
From the photography corner came a sharp intake of breath. “Holy hell,” Sage said, camera strap looped around her neck.
Wren from graphics appeared, dark lipstick emphasizing her pursed lips. “Wow.”
Zoe wheeled her chair over. “Who’s it from?”
"They're from Tom," Lauren said quietly.
