Chapter 2: New Roots

Early spring, March: the Savannah State Scholarship Exam drew students from all over Georgia, every kid hoping for a shot at the university everyone dreams about. In our rented room, I was folding towels when Derek burst in, soaked from the drizzle, cheeks flushed and eyes wild with excitement.

He smelled like wet pavement and cheap cafeteria coffee, hair a mess from the Georgia drizzle. “Natalie! I did it, I did it!”

He nearly wiped out on the rug, waving his test results like a flag. “You’re not gonna believe this—I made the top ten! Number ten, Nat!”

I barely had time to set the laundry down before he swept me into a bear hug, all awkward limbs and pure joy. Usually he played it cool—like he was always ready for a Senate hearing—but now he was just a kid, laughing and refusing to let go.

His grip was so tight I thought my ribs would crack, and for that moment, I forgot every worry. I laughed, the sound bright and real, and patted his back.

It took him a second to realize what he was doing. He let go, stepped back, and stammered out apology after apology, fiddling with his glasses.

“Sorry, I got carried away. That’s embarrassing.”

I covered my mouth, teasing, “Geez, Derek, if you keep hugging me like that, people are gonna think we’re not just roommates.” He muttered something about “unbecoming conduct for a future public servant,” ears blazing red, which only made me laugh harder.

Three years ago, after faking my death and escaping the estate, I’d nearly been trafficked by scammers. Derek was the one who found me, brought me home. He lived with his mom, who couldn’t walk, and they barely scraped by. That first night, he sat behind my door on an old milk crate, silent, keeping watch until sunrise.

I’ll never forget curling up on that borrowed mattress, knees to my chest, the city’s neon glow bleeding through cracked blinds. Outside, Derek’s silhouette waited, keeping the world at bay until I finally slept.

Feeling guilty, I left him the only silver bracelet I had and slipped away quietly. But life outside was even harsher than I’d feared. When I was falsely accused of shoplifting, Derek showed up at the police station—shoulders squared, arguing until they let me go. The cop behind the desk didn’t even look up from his donut as they cuffed me.

I remember the humiliation, the cold bench, the officer’s lazy stare. Then Derek rushed in, breathless and wild-eyed, insisting they had it wrong. He defended me with a kind of stubborn, righteous fire I’d never seen before—signing forms with shaking hands, jaw clenched like he’d take on the whole world for me.

When the Queen Mother and the Crown Prince watched me punished, coldly insisting rules came first, I had to swallow it. But Derek? He didn’t care about rules or birthright, only what was right. For the first time, I felt what home was supposed to be. I could breathe, just for a moment.

So this time, I didn’t run. I followed Derek home. I tried to help—cooking, cleaning, whatever I could. A year ago, when his mom got sick, we signed the papers at her bedside, hands shaking. But we kept to our own sides of the bed—just two scared kids trying to hold a family together.

That day was just the three of us, sunlight slipping through faded curtains. Ms. Carter smiled, squeezing our hands. I whispered vows I didn’t think I deserved. Derek promised me a real wedding someday, or that if things didn’t work out, he’d help me find happiness elsewhere. He meant it—he always does.

Sometimes I wonder if he knows how rare he is. He’s the kind of guy who’d return a lost wallet with every penny still inside, even if he needed the cash. His goodness is old-fashioned, almost out of place in this world. That hug, that joy—it was a gift I didn’t know I needed.