Chapter 1: The Night Everything Changed

The night before the young colonel shipped out, whiskey on his breath and thunder shaking the old house, he took what I’d saved for someone who’d stay.

The memory comes back in jagged flashes—whiskey sharp on his tongue, his fingers tangled in mine as a summer storm rattled the old windows. There was a wild, reckless ache to him, like he was trying to outrun the war waiting for him. Afterward, all I could hear was the frantic ticking of my heart and the way he swore he’d give me the world in that shadowed bedroom. But beneath his promise, fear gnawed at me: what if hope was just another lie? I wanted to believe him, wanted to think I could finally belong. But I’d crossed a line I could never uncross, and the old house felt changed forever.

For three wild days and nights, he left bruises blooming on my neck and pressed a vow into my skin:

"Give me a reason to come back, darlin’. A child. A promise. I’ll make you my wife—swear it on my life."

His words were thick with whiskey and longing, more desperate plea than threat, his jaw set hard as if he could bend fate to his will. Even through my trembling, I wanted to believe him—wanted to think there was a place for me at last. Each night, Georgia heat clung to my skin and magnolia blossoms drifted in through the cracked window, sweet and heavy.

But when he returned a hero, he was holding my older legitimate sister—the one who’d once run off to dodge their engagement.

She swept in with her hair pinned high, pearls at her throat and the kind of tailored dress you only see at old-money weddings in Savannah. Lillian always knew how to fill a room, her presence like a storm front rolling in. I felt her arrival before I saw her, the whole house tightening up, bracing for her return.

My sister leaned into his arms, her eyes rimmed red:

"That night—Colin was only with my little sister because things got out of hand. The engagement’s always been mine, y’all know that."

Her voice trembled just enough to seem innocent, but I caught the glint in her eye—a performance for the ages, sweet as tea and twice as biting, the kind of show you’d see on a Savannah lawn with everyone watching.

The young colonel looked torn, frowning as he tried to comfort her:

"Just give her the title of mistress and be done with it. Only you deserve to be my wife."

He said it with the flat finality of someone settling Sunday supper squabbles, but his eyes looked shattered. My heart twisted, desperate for him to see me—to see the truth—but he never looked away from Lillian.

It felt like lightning struck me, and suddenly everything was so clear it hurt.

The world snapped into focus—the sting of humiliation burning my cheeks, my heart hammering wild against my ribs. I felt naked, like the time I’d tripped at cotillion with the whole town watching, but this was worse. I knew, deep down, I’d brought this on myself.

Even in the ache, Momma’s old words echoed in my head: "Don’t go chasin’ after what’s meant for someone else, sugar. The world’s hard enough on girls like us." I bit my lip, refusing to let the tears fall.

Lowering my head, I traced slow, protective circles over my barely swelling belly and turned my back on Savannah.

My fingers lingered, gentle and trembling. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder. The city’s oak-lined avenues had never seemed so cold.