Hunny

Chapter 8: A Spotlight Split in Two

The first night in the house that reeked of charity to her was met with fitful sleep and a fussy Lisbeth. Hunny had accepted it with a smile that tasted more like vinegar than the sweetness the Preacher thought he had earned for brokering the deal. He’d stood there on the porch earlier that day, puffed up with righteousness, handing over the keys like he was placing a crown on her head.

Hunny didn’t like charity.

She didn’t like owing anyone anything—especially not the Preacher, who always managed to make generosity feel like a sermon.

But she told herself it was temporary. A stepping stone. A place to land, not a place to stay. Still, the knowledge sat in her chest like a bruise she couldn’t stop pressing. Every creak of the floorboards whispered discounted. Every draft through the thin windows hissed handout. Even the walls felt like they were leaning in, reminding her she hadn’t earned this place on her own.

She told herself she had survived pregnancy alone, survived the Navy’s distance, survived the long wait for E.C. to come home. She was a mother now—a real one—and she believed she’d earned her spotlight. She deserved more than a sad little house practically given to them through some bargain she hadn’t agreed to. A house that made her feel small. A house that made her feel beholden.

It was late, and Lisbeth was getting fussy again.

Was this child ever satisfied?

They would sleep in the charity house tonight, and tomorrow, Hunny would figure out what to do about the mess her husband had agreed to without her knowledge. He had to know her well enough to know it was unacceptable. If it was unacceptable to Hunny, it should be unacceptable to everyone. He should know that.

When sleep finally came, she drifted off envisioning a family reunion the next day that revolved around her and her beautiful daughter. A triumphant return. A moment where she would be seen—finally, fully, unquestionably.

Little did she know the reunion would split her spotlight clean in two.

The next day, they drove to Elizabeth’s house—Hunny’s childhood home, the place she’d left behind with more relief than regret. Hunny expected her mother to fuss over her, to marvel at Lisbeth, to see her daughter as the woman she’d finally become.

Instead, the moment they stepped through the doorway, it was Lisbeth who stole the show.

Elizabeth swooped the toddler into her arms with watery eyes and trembling hands, stroking her curls like she was holding a second chance.

“You are something beautiful, child,” she whispered. “You’re a blessing.”

Hunny waited for her turn.

For the praise.

For the overdue apology for allowing her abuse all those years at the hands of her Paw.

For the spotlight she believed she’d earned.

But Elizabeth didn’t look at her.

Not once.

Hunny’s smile tightened. She smoothed her skirt. She cleared her throat. Nothing.

Then she noticed the crib in the back bedroom.

Fresh diapers. Bottles. A lullaby humming from a wind-up toy.

“What’s all this?” Hunny asked, her voice already sharpening.

“Oh—just helping out,” Elizabeth said too quickly. “A neighbor’s baby.”

Hunny narrowed her eyes. “Since when do you babysit? You never even watched me.”

Before Elizabeth could answer, a sound drifted down the hallway—a grunt, a squeal, the unmistakable wobble of a baby learning its balance.

A woman from next door stepped into view, bouncing a chubby boy on her hip.

“He looks just like you, Elizabeth,” the neighbor said cheerfully. “Same eyes. Same little chin.”

Hunny froze.

Elizabeth went pale. She should’ve known she couldn’t pull off the lie. But panic always made her clumsy around Hunny. Her eldest child had a way of terrifying her into foolishness.

The neighbor, oblivious, handed the baby to Elizabeth and slipped out.

Elizabeth held the boy as if he were made of spun glass. —an unguarded, overflowing love that made the whole room feel warmer, softer, almost holy.

And for Hunny, it was unbearable.

The jealousy rose in her like heat under the skin, sharp and sudden, as if someone had pressed a bruise she didn’t know she had. She watched her mother’s face—how it softened, how it glowed—and felt something inside her twist. That look, that tenderness, that kind of love… she had wanted it for herself and her child. Instead, she stood there on the outside, watching her mother pour all that sweetness into a child who wasn’t hers.

“Okay, yes, he is mine,” she whispered. “His name is Charles.”

Hunny felt the world tilt. Her breath caught, then sharpened into a blade.

“You had a baby,” she said slowly, “you mean, you got pregnant, while I was pregnant.”

Elizabeth nodded, tears spilling.

Hunny laughed—a short, bitter sound.

“Of course you did. Couldn’t let me have my moment. My child wasn’t even crawling yet, and you—what—needed your own encore?”

“Hunny, please—”

She stormed out, Lisbeth clutched tight, E.C. trailing silently.

The screen door slapped shut behind them, sharp enough to make Lisbeth flinch. Hunny marched across the yard as if the ground itself had offended her.

E.C. followed a few paces behind, quiet as a shadow.

He wasn’t surprised by her explosion. He’d felt it building from the moment they arrived in Arkansas—the charity house with the lowered rent, the way Elizabeth had poured all her tenderness into Lisbeth instead of Hunny. And now this. A baby brother she hadn’t been told about.

Hunny needed to be seen. Needed to be chosen. Needed to be the brightest thing in the room.

And today, she wasn’t.

He didn’t blame her for the fire. But he didn’t know how to put it out, either.

“Hunny… you okay?” he asked gently once they were in the car.

She snapped her head toward him. “Do I look okay?”

He didn’t answer. He knew she didn’t want comfort. She wanted control.

As they drove, E.C. kept one hand on the wheel and one on the space between them—close enough to reach her, far enough not to crowd her.

He loved her. God help him, he loved her fire, even when it burned him.

But he also felt something else settle in his chest that day—a quiet understanding that he would spend much of his life balancing her storms with his steadiness. That he would be the anchor while she was the flame.

And he accepted it.

Not out of duty.

Out of devotion.

When they reached the little rental—the charity house, the discounted house—Hunny stepped out before the car entirely stopped. She needed air. Space. Something that didn’t smell like betrayal.

E.C. carried Lisbeth inside, humming something soft and steady.

Hunny stayed outside a long time.

Long enough for the sky to turn purple.

Long enough for her anger to settle into something colder, sharper, more permanent.

Long enough for E.C. to know—without her saying a word—that this moment would shape their family for years.

And long enough for Hunny to make a promise to herself:

If the world wasn’t going to hand her a spotlight, she’d take one.

And she’d never—ever—let anyone steal it again.