Chapter 3: Cornbread, Eavesdropping, and Broken Illusions

I went to see Lily Ramirez first. I was dying to know what Carter Ellison saw in her.

My heart thumped hard as I walked up to her stand. I tried to walk tall, chin up, just like Mom taught me. Still, I was nervous—like I was about to meet a character from a story I’d only half believed.

When I met her, I understood—she was nothing like me. She wore faded, patched jeans, sweat shining on her brow under the sun, collecting cash with one hand and handing out cornbread with a bright smile. Such a beautiful, lively face.

Her laughter rang out, clear and bright, drawing people like moths to a porch light. There was grit in her, a hope that wouldn’t be stamped out by hard times. I felt a mix of admiration and envy, wondering if I could ever be that brave.

Aunt Ruth let out a sigh. “With looks like that, no wonder trouble found her, bless her heart.”

Aunt Ruth’s voice was soft, but there was a warning in it. Down here, beauty’s a blessing and a curse. I watched Lily hand a piece of cornbread to a little boy, her smile never slipping, even as she counted change with trembling fingers.

Mom’s sources said Lily’s mama was gravely ill. They’d sold everything—house, car—and now Lily worked from dawn to dusk selling cornbread. Worse, some local thug had his eye on her, wanted her as a mistress. When she refused, he made trouble, forcing her to move her stand, never knowing where her next meal would come from.

It sounded like something out of a dime novel, but the fear in Lily’s eyes was real. I tried to imagine losing everything, having to fight for every dollar, every scrap of dignity. My own worries felt small beside hers.

I’d never really seen poverty up close. It made my heart ache in a way I didn’t expect.

There was a tightness in my chest, a helpless kind of anger. I wanted to fix it all, wave a magic wand and make her troubles vanish. But life isn’t a fairy tale, and all I had was the money in my purse and a name that opened doors.

I asked Aunt Ruth, “Local bullies might be bad, but even they’re scared of the law. Mom says we can handle anything—so why doesn’t Carter Ellison help her?”

I couldn’t hide the frustration in my voice. It seemed simple—if Carter really cared, why wasn’t he here, standing up for her? Aunt Ruth just shook her head, lips pressed tight.

Aunt Ruth smiled. “A boy like him? Who knows what goes through his head. Don’t worry, honey. Either way, you’ll bring her home with you.”

She patted my shoulder, like that was that. But I felt a storm brewing inside, a need to know the truth—about Carter, about Lily, about the kind of woman I wanted to be.

Aunt Ruth couldn’t guess his thoughts—but as luck would have it, we overheard Carter’s plans ourselves.

It was one of those moments that felt straight out of a movie, almost too perfect to be real. But there we were, tucked into a booth at a diner, the smell of fried chicken and banana pudding in the air, when Carter’s voice drifted over from the next table.

Mrs. Jennings ran a diner, and her banana pudding was famous—better than anything in Atlanta. I begged Aunt Ruth to take me there. We got a booth in the back; Carter happened to be in the next one.

I remember tracing circles on the table, nerves jangling as I listened. The laughter from Carter’s table sounded forced, like it belonged to someone else.

They must have been drinking, because their voices were carrying.

I could hear the clink of glasses, their words blending together. It was strange, hearing Carter’s voice so loose, so different from the careful way he spoke at family dinners.

Someone asked Carter, “That girl Lily’s about out of options. If you like her so much, why not swoop in and play the hero? Careful someone else doesn’t beat you to it.”

There was a teasing edge to the words, but underneath, I heard the truth—Lily was in trouble, and everyone knew it. My heart pounded as I waited for Carter’s answer.

He sighed, “There’s nothing I can do. Lily’s got pride—she won’t agree to be a mistress. But what else can a girl like her do? She’ll have to hit rock bottom before she sees my offer as a way out. In a few days, when her mama can’t afford medicine anymore, compared to that Mason jerk, being my mistress will look like a golden ticket.”

His words were cold, calculated, like he was talking business, not about a person. I felt a chill, the banana pudding in front of me suddenly turning my stomach.

I ate my pudding—it should’ve been delicious, but I just felt sick.

I pushed the bowl away, the sweet smell suddenly too much. Aunt Ruth watched me, her face full of worry. I wanted to scream, to storm over and throw Carter’s words right back at him, but all I could do was sit there, stunned.

So this was the man I’d once let myself care about—calculating Lily’s suffering like it was a line item in his ledger.

The realization hit me hard. I thought about all those gifts, the polite smiles, the promises made in passing. It was all a show, a script he’d memorized to keep up appearances. I felt foolish for ever believing it could be more.

Maybe I wasn’t so good either—I’d come to scheme against Lily, too. But I was a stranger; we’d had no ties before today. Carter was different—he claimed to love her.

That difference stung. I was just a bystander, but Carter—he was supposed to be her savior, not her tormentor. Maybe I’d been blind, too comfortable to see the truth.

I remembered the question Mom had asked before we left. Now I had my answer. Thank goodness I’d never married him. If I’d found out the truth after we were wed, nothing could’ve drowned out the pain.

Aunt Ruth patted my back. “Don’t hold it in, sugar. Let it out. At least Carter knows his place—he knows she can only ever be a mistress.”

I wanted to shout that knowing your place isn’t the same as doing right. But I bit my tongue, the anger bubbling under the surface. Aunt Ruth meant well, but her words only made it hurt more.