Chapter 2: Goodbye to the Young Lord

Their voices rose in a chorus, the sound echoing down to the street. I stood frozen, bottle money clenched in my fist, stomach twisting.

“That fisher girl gave you her whole heart, ‘Young Lord.’ If you just leave, she’ll probably cry herself to death.”

Someone mimicked a sob, dabbing their eyes with a napkin, and the table howled even louder. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

“If ‘Young Lord’ ever faked his death, she’d probably follow him to the grave.”

A man with a gold watch snickered, and Garrett just shrugged, soaking up the attention. I wanted to scream, but the sound wouldn’t come.

“Usually you don’t last three months. Three years? You really strung her along.”

The woman in pearls leaned in, giving him a playful shove. “You must be magic, honey.”

Garrett just gave a lazy smile.

He tipped his head back, basking in the glow. “She’s got a wild streak, but after three years of fun, I’m done.”

Someone tried to be reasonable.

A balding man with a kind face piped up, “If she’s so interesting, why not bring her home? At least give her a decent meal.”

Garrett stopped smiling, like he was weighing something. After a while, he stood up and shook his head.

He looked out over the railing, lips pressed tight. “Nah. Bringing a dock girl home? Not happening.”

Another round of laughter.

The table erupted again, the joke rolling on. I felt like I was shrinking with every word.

“Exactly. She smells like fish—don’t ruin the family name.”

A woman waved her hand in front of her nose, grinning. I wanted to disappear.

Hearing that, I finally exhaled.

It was like a weight lifted off my chest. I didn’t have to pretend anymore, didn’t have to keep chasing after something that was never really mine.

I stuffed the wine money back into my pocket, turned, and left The Magnolia Room, not caring what Garrett said next.

My boots slapped against the sidewalk, echoing in the early dusk. I didn’t look back. Not once. For the first time in years, I felt free—like I could finally breathe.

How nice—not having to wait on that pretty boy anymore.

I let myself smile, just a little. The world suddenly seemed bigger, full of possibility, even if it was scary as hell.

I’m an orphan. There, I said it.

My story’s not exactly a secret in this town. Folks still whisper about me—how my mom died bringing me into the world, and how my dad vanished beneath the lake before I could even tie my shoes. It’s the kind of history that sticks to your skin, no matter how hard you scrub.

Sometimes I wonder if he was running away, or just tired. Either way, it left me alone before I even knew what family was supposed to mean.

So folks said I was cursed, and even when I turned twenty, nobody wanted to marry me.

Superstition runs deep in this town. Folks cross themselves when I walk by, muttering about bad luck. By the time I was old enough to care, I’d already learned to keep my head down and my heart guarded.

Still, I wanted a man.

I wasn’t looking for a fairy tale—just someone to hold me at night, to share the weight of the world for a little while. Loneliness will make you do foolish things.

Those college boys, always talking about morals and virtue, would take my money but wouldn’t even let me hold their hands.

I’d save up for new shoes or a Sunday dress, and they’d find a way to talk me out of it—always with a smile, always with a sermon. But when it came to real affection, they’d pull away, like I was something dangerous.

So I settled for a drifter, and Garrett was the best-looking one I’d seen.

He had a jawline that belonged in a magazine and eyes that sparkled with trouble. I knew he was trouble, but sometimes, you just sigh, because trouble’s the only thing that makes you feel alive.