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“I like her smile too.”

Eric is quiet for a moment. “I had a bad dream last night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I didn't tell Mommy because I didn't want her to worry. She worries a lot.”

I glance at him in the rearview mirror. “You can tell me about it if you want.”

“There was a monster trying to get in our house,” Eric says, his voice small. “But then you came and scared it away.”

Something fierce surges in my chest. “I'd always protect you and your mom, Eric. Whether I live with you or not.”

“But it's better when you're there,” Eric insists. “Mommy laughs more. And you make the best pancakes, even better than hers, but don't tell her I said that.”

I chuckle. “Your secret's safe with me.”

As we pull into the driveway, Eric says, “I hope you stay with us forever. I like you.”

“I like you too, Eric. A lot. So whether or not I’m here, I’ll always do,” I say, ruffling the boy’s hair.

Inside, I help Eric with homework. There's an easy rhythm to it, so different from when I raised Jen. Back then, I’d been no more than a kid myself, terrified of making mistakes, second-guessing every decision. With Eric, I feel more confident, more present.

When Eric runs off to watch a cartoon, I find myself studying the drawing again.

As I tuck it away, I realize Jen was right. I’m not falling for Wren.

I’ve already fallen, all the way.

17

WREN

Just when it feels like things are starting to settle, drama strikes again.

I adjust the lighting rig over the serum bottle, angling it until the amber glass catches the light just right. Around me, the flagship Lemon LLC studio hums with motion. Photographers calling out adjustments, assistants unboxing products, a model laughing as someone adjusts her hair. There’s a quiet thrill in the air, the kind that comes when something you built is about to be seen.

“Can we get a bit more light on the serum?” I ask, squinting at the monitor. “It should glow, not glare. That’s better. Perfect. Now let’s try the moisturizer next to it. Let it breathe.”

This process grounds me. It’s comforting being surrounded by color palettes, product placement, storyboarding, and sunlight through white muslin curtains. The creative part of my brain clicks on like muscle memory, and for a moment, nothing else exists.

“Wren, can we get a few of you with the products now?” someone calls out from behind a camera.

I nod, stepping in front of the backdrop. My stylist dabs at my cheek with a puff, fixes a strand of hair. The videographer adjusts the lens.

“Tell me about this one again?” he asks, holding up the lemon essence.

My smile is instant.

“This is our signature,” I say, fingers resting on the sleek glass bottle. “A cold-pressed essence from organic lemon peels harvested by hand. It’s designed to brighten without stripping. The formula took over a year to perfect. Our team worked on balancing natural acids with microdose actives so it works even on the most sensitive skin.”

“Beautiful,” a photographer murmurs, snapping shots as I speak.

I pick up the moisturizer next. “This one was inspired by post-facial skin. You know, that soft bounce. That glow. It’s packed with fermented botanicals, ceramides, and a snow mushroom blend for long-term hydration without heaviness. No silicones. No fragrance. Just clean, clinical-grade moisture.”

He keeps shooting, and I keep talking because I believe in this. I know every formula, every ingredient, every decision behind every label.

Lemon LLC was born in my apartment, at a time when no one thought I could make something out of myself after deciding to leave Hollywood at the peak of my career, with a baby and a divorce in tow.