Emily grew up in an orphanage, surrounded by other children like herself and the carers who looked after them. Life had never been sweet to her, but she learned to stand up for herself and protect the younger ones. She had a strong sense of justice and couldnt bear to see the weak bullied. Sometimes she faced trouble for it, but she never criedshe knew she suffered for what was right.
Though her full name was Emmeline, everyone at the orphanage called her Emily. When she turned eighteen, she was sent out into the world on her own. Luckily, she already had a tradeshed trained as a cook and had been working as a kitchen assistant in a café for a few months. She was given a room in a run-down hostel, barely fit to live in.
Around that time, she started seeing James, a driver for the same café, three years older than her. Before long, they moved into his tiny flat, left to him by his grandmother.
“Emmeline, come live with me,” he said. “This hostel rooms falling apart. The lock doesnt even work.” She agreed without hesitation.
James seemed mature and serious, which she liked. But one day, when they talked about children, he said flatly, “I cant stand kids. Just noise and trouble.”
“James!” she said, shocked. “But if its your own childyour own flesh and bloodhow can you say that?”
“Lets drop it,” he snapped. “I dont want them, and thats final.”
His words stung, but she pushed the hurt aside. *Maybe hell change his mind once were married,* she thought.
Emily worked hard at the café, even covering for the head cook, Margaret, when she called in sick with a “headache”though everyone knew the real reason. The manager, Mr. Wilson, often warned her: “One more slip-up, and youre out.” But she was an excellent cook, and regulars always praised her dishes, so he kept her onfor now.
Margaret noticed Emilys skill too. “Youve got a knack for this,” she admitted. Even Mr. Wilson had started watching her more closely.
One day, Emily overheard him talking to the floor manager. “If Margaret skips work again, shes done. Emmelines young, but shes got talent. Shes responsiblenot spoiled.”
Emily felt a pang of guilt. She liked Margaret, despite her struggles. She kept the conversation to herself, even from James.
Time passed. When Margaret didnt show up for a week, Emily took over. No complaints came in; no one noticed the change. When Margaret finally returned, she was a wreckshaking, dark circles under her eyes.
Mr. Wilson called her into his office and fired her on the spot. Then he turned to Emily. “From today, youre the head cook. Youve got potential. Keep at it.”
“Thank you,” she said, nervous but proud.
That evening, James brought champagne. “Cheers to your promotion,” he smirked. “Youve made it.”
Theyd lived together for years, but hed never mentioned marriage. She wondered if things would change if she got pregnant. She remembered his harsh words about children but pushed the thought away. *Not yet. I need to stand on my own first.*
Then she found out she was expecting. The doctor confirmed it, and though the pregnancy was early, she was overjoyed. *I have no familybut this little one will be mine.*
When James came home, she beamed at him. “I went to the doctor today. Were having a baby.”
His face darkened. “I dont want this. Get rid of it, or get out. I told youI dont do kids.” His tone was icy. “Where will you even go? Youve got no one.”
The next day, after her shift, she packed her things and returned to the hostel. The door to Room 27 hung crooked, the paint peeling. Inside, the air smelled of damp and dust. The ceiling was stained, dead flies littered the windowsill, and the bed had a stained mattress. A rickety table and a broken wardrobe completed the bleak scene.
She set down her baga few clothes, some books, plates, and cupsthen placed a hand on her still-flat stomach. *Well manage,* she whispered.
From next door, a drunken shout made her jump. “Welcome home, Emily,” she muttered.
The shared kitchen was grim: a greasy stove, a wheezing fridge, roaches by the bins. But when she locked her room behind her, something lifted in her chest. She was free.
James had sneered, *Where will you go?* Well, shed gone. Here. To this shabby room shed make her own. She opened the grimy window. *Ill clean everything. Well be alright.*
She got to workscrubbing, washing, airing out the room. By evening, it was fresh and tidy. She made a list: *New lock, bedding, towels, dishes*
Gradually, life settled. The handyman, old Pete, fitted a sturdy lock. At work, a new waiter, Daniel, began walking her home. One evening, she invited him in for tea.
“Id marry you tomorrow,” he admitted suddenly. “Youre alone; Im alone. My grans back in the village, but thats all Ive got. I love youand your little one too.”
She touched her belly uncertainly.
“Dont say no,” he said softly. “That babyll be mine as much as yours. I want a house full of kids.”
She thought of Jamescold, dismissiveand then of Daniel, warm and steady. She said yes.
When the baby came, Daniel raced ahead to fix up the roomnew wallpaper, a crib, a pram. He met her at the hospital with flowers.
She barely recognised the place when she returned. It was spotless, bright with balloons.
Life had been hard, but shed made her own way. And in the end, shed found what mattered mostlove, not out of necessity, but choice. *We always have a choice,* she thought, holding her son close. *And sometimes, it leads us home.*
