“Emily, please, come home…”
“Mum, you know I won’t.”
“Emily, Im begging youhes not doing well…”
“Stop asking. Im not coming.”
With a violent flick of her wrist, Emily hurled the phone across the room. She marched to the fridge, yanked the door open, and grabbed a bottle of vodka. Pouring a shot, she hesitated, then poured it down the sink. Her legs gave way as she slumped onto a stool, burying her face in her hands.
Ten years. Ten years since shed stepped foot in her parents house.
Back in sixth form, Emily had fallen in love. Her friends had dragged her to a university party near their schoolher first. That night, she met *Him*. He played in a band, had a voice like velvet, and was the son of a diplomat. Every girl dreamed of catching his eye. Emily never understood why he chose *her*. But she fellhard. Skipping classes, lying to her parents, she lived for those stolen moments with him.
Then came the pregnancy.
Suddenly, he vanished. His mother appeared insteadcold, polishedoffering to arrange a “solution.” *He could never marry someone like you,* shed said. *A disgrace.*
Emily waited until her swelling belly was undeniable before telling her mother.
“You filthy little slut!” her father roared. “All you care about is your bloody fun, not your future! Get out! Youre dead to me!”
Her mother wept silently. Shed spent years shrinking under his temper, her voice long since broken.
Emily stuffed a few shirts and jeans into a backpack and left.
Friends let her crash for a night or two, but no one wanted a pregnant girl in their flat. Borrowing money from a mate, she took a train to Manchester, where an aunther mothers estranged sisterwas supposed to live.
But the aunt was gone. Married, moved away. No one knew where.
Starving and lost, Emily wandered back to the station. An elderly woman sold pasties from a makeshift stall. Emilys stomach growled. Desperate, she reached to steal onebut fumbled. The woman raised a hand to strike, then froze, spotting the bump.
Between tearful bites, Emily spilled her story. The womanwidowed, lonelytook her in.
Until the birth, Emily sold pasties at the station, dreaming of the day shed return home, forgiven.
That day never came.
Ten years passed. She had a daughter. The old woman became the childs grandmother, watching her while Emily workedfirst as a cleaner, then a shop assistant. When the store became a supermarket, she climbed the ranks: supervisor, manager, now head of three departments.
After her daughters birth, shed called her mother, hoping to return. *Dont*, her mother whispered. *Your father wont allow it.*
When her saviour died, leaving Emily the house, she called againneeding help with her daughter, needing *family*. Again, refusal.
And nowthis. *Now*, he wanted her?
A decade of waiting for *”Come home.”* For *”Im sorry.”*
But shed built a life. A modern house. A daughter in private school. A fiancé who adored her.
*Would I even be this strong if he hadnt thrown me out?*
She picked up the phone, called work, then reached for her suitcase.
