Ready to Run Away with My Son and the Bare Essentials from This Village
Id already packed my mental suitcase with the bare essentials needed to escape my husband and his parents, fleeing this tiny village lost in the middle of nowhere. No, I wont dedicate my life to their goats, cows, and endless vegetable patches. Just because I married Oliver, they seem to think I signed an invisible contract to be their farms unpaid labourer. Well, I disagree. This isnt the life I wanted, and I refuse to let my son grow up in this backwater, where the height of entertainment is arguing over how many litres of milk Daisy the cow produced.
When I first arrived after the wedding, it almost didnt seem so bad. Oliver was attentive, his parents, Margaret and her husband, seemed pleasant enough. The village even had its charmrolling green fields, fresh air, peace and quiet. For a moment, I thought I might adjust. But reality wasted no time in showing its true colours. A week after moving in, Margaret handed me a bucket and ordered me to milk the goats. Youre one of us now, Emilytime to pull your weight! she said, with a smile that still makes my skin crawl. Me, a city girl whod never lifted anything heavier than a laptop, suddenly learning to milk before sunset. That was my first warning.
Oliver, as it turned out, had no intention of standing up for me. Mums right, everyone works here, he shrugged when I tried to protest. And so began my new routine: up at dawn, feeding livestock, weeding gardens, scrubbing floors, cooking for the whole household. I felt more like a skivvy than a wife. If I dared ask for a day off, Margaret would roll her eyes and launch into her favourite lecture: In my day, women worked sunup to sundown without a single moan! Oliver would stay silent, as if it had nothing to do with him.
My three-year-old son is my only light. Looking at him, I know I cant let him grow up here, where his future boils down to either slaving on the farm or moving to London, where hed always be an outsider. I want him in a proper nursery, getting an education, seeing the world. Here? There isnt even decent Wi-Fi to stream cartoons. When I mentioned enrolling him in an art class in the nearest town, Margaret scoffed: Whats the point? Better he learns to milk a cowthats useful!
I tried talking to Oliver. Told him I felt suffocated, that this wasnt the life Id dreamed of. He just shrugged again: This is how everyone lives, Emily. What more do you want? Then I found out Margarets planning to expand the barn and buy another cow. Naturally, the extra work would fall to me. That was the last straw.
Ive been secretly setting aside moneynot much, but enough for two bus tickets to the city. A friend in Manchester has promised to help with a place and a job. I picture my son and me boarding that bus, leaving behind this village, the goats, the cows, and Margarets lectures. I dream of a tiny flat where its just us, where I can work and he can grow up with real opportunities. I want to feel human again, not like some overworked farmhand.
Of course, Im scared. Will I find work? Will the money stretch? But one things certainI cant stay here. Every time I watch my son playing in the yard, I think he deserves better. So do I. I wont let him see his mother buckling under this weight, losing herself to please others.
Margaret said the other day that Im too city and will never fit in. You know what? Shes right. I dont want to be one of them. I want to be myselfEmily, the woman who dreamed of a career, of travel, of a happy family. And Ill do whatever it takes to claw that life back. Even if it means grabbing a suitcase and running away with my son to somewhere nobody forces me to milk cows.
