Finally, she pulls a business card from her apron pocket.
“My head baker just quit. I need someone who can start in two weeks. Full-time, early morning shifts. Benefits after ninety days.” She presses the card into my hand. “Call me by Friday if you’re interested. I think you’d be perfect.”
I stare at the card, my hands shaking. More pay. Benefits. A real job doing something I love, something I’m good at. It’s everything I’ve wanted but never thought possible.
“I…” My voice cracks. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll think about it.” Maggie’s smile is warm. “You have talent, Charlie. Real talent. Don’t waste it.”
She walks away, leaving me standing in the middle of the farmers’ market clutching her card like a lifeline.
This could change everything.
Financial independence. A career.
A future that doesn’t depend on working off a debt or hiding in shadows.
But the timing is catastrophic.
How can I start a new job when my entire life is imploding?
I drive back to the church in a daze, Maggie’s card burning a hole in my pocket.
In my small apartment, I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at it. A phone number that could change my life.
I want this so badly it physically hurts. I want the independence, the purpose, the chance to build something real.
But even worse, I don’t want to leave them.
I don’t want to give up the men who’ve become my entire world, who look at me like I’m worth keeping despite all my failures.
My phone feels heavy in my hand as I dial the number.
It rings once.
Twice.
Then voicemail picks up, Maggie’s cheerful voice asking me to leave a message.
I hang up without speaking.
Not yet. I need to think.
37
CHARLIE
My hands won’t stop shaking as I sit on the hard wooden bench outside the Bishop’s temporary office.
Sister Margaret stands nearby, her sharp blue eyes tracking every nervous gesture I make, every time I bite my lip or shift my weight.
I’ve made my decision. I spent all night staring at the ceiling of my small apartment, listening to the church bells mark each hour, knowing what I have to do.
If I’m the problem, then I’ll remove myself. It’s that simple. That devastating.
The door opens, and Sister Margaret’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. “Miss Davis. The Bishop will see you now.”
My legs barely support me as I stand. The walk into that office feels like walking to my own execution, but I force my spine straight, my chin up. I won’t let them see me break. Not yet.
