June 12th
I sank back into the deep leather armchair that sits in my study like a silent witness to the years. It isnt merely a piece of furniture; it was the most cherished gift my only daughter, Emily, handed me two years ago on my birthday. Shed been glowing with excitement, insisting that this ergonomic throneendorsed by the leading orthopedists across the country for anyone who spends endless hours hunched over a deskwas the perfect cure for my aching back. Her enthusiasm warmed my heart in a way I hadnt felt for ages. Yet today, no amount of German engineering can ease the tension that coils around me, because across the room, curled into a tight ball, sits Emilyher posture a living mirror of my own youthful vigor: bright, stubborn, unyielding.
Emilys arms are tightly crossed over her chest, as if trying to shield herself from my words. Her foot taps an erratic rhythm against the polished parquet, a nervous beat that reminds me of my own younger self, that same steel glint in the eyes, that same stubborn set of the jaw. The air in the room feels heavy, almost as if it were laden with lead.
You know, I began, my voice breaking the silence, your judgment wont sway my decision. I cant approve of your plan. Working as a doctor in a remote village isnt the path for you.
Its that you wont even hear me, she sighed, hurt sharp in her tone. Its like were speaking different languages, always on opposite banks of a river.
I ran a hand over my face, the weight of grief pulling at me.
Fine, Ill send you to a perpetual showdown! Speaking of classics, do you remember how Bazarov met his endtragic blood poisoning from a botched operation? And you dare reproach me for not wanting you to share such a fate?
Emily turned her gaze to the ceiling, a silent protest that this argument held no ground for her.
I thought, with a pang, how much we resembled each otheroutside and deep down, that unbreakable will. As a child, little Lucy would clench her lips and stare from under her brow whenever she wanted something, never backing down.
After that dreadful day when we lost Sarah, Emily was only five, my grief blinded me. I tried to compensate for that loss with an allconsuming love, spoiling her without ever turning her into a spoiled brat. She grew into a caring, intelligent, fiercely determined woman. Yet her latest decisioneschewing the family business to become an ordinary GPgnaws at my peace.
Our family firm, founded by my father, still manufactures precision medical equipment for hospitals and recently opened a chain of aesthetic clinics. Emily, however, swore the Hippocratic Oath and declared she would not be reshaping noses or tightening faces for those who can simply pay. She wants to help where it truly matters.
Youre ignoring the obvious, I tried again. Its easy to romanticise a noble calling when you have a life of privilege behind youtop universities, unlimited resources. Medicine is hard labour, rarely valued as it should be.
Her nostrils flared with anger.
First you make every choice for me, and now you chastise me for having any? Im not fleeing to a backwater without any connection or civilisation! Ill be placed in an ordinary district hospital!
And what if that hospital sits in a godforsaken corner, hundreds of miles from everything? I raised my voice, barely holding back a surge of frustration.
Emily exhaled sharply, scanning the walls lined with portraits of notable figures, pausing on a blackandwhite photograph of Steve Jobs. She turned to me.
Do you know what Steve Jobs said when he realised his time was running out?
What did he say? I asked, weary.
He said it becomes clear with age that a £30 watch tells the same time as a £300,000 chronometer. It doesnt matter which car youre inthe road is the same for everyone. And you can feel just as alone in a cramped flat as in a grand manor, she recited quickly.
So whats your point?
That people live everywherecity or remote village. I want to be where my work can truly make a difference! Do you think someone who arrives at a hospital in an old car doesnt deserve quality care?
Emily, Im only trying to protect you! my voice cracked. Let those who have no other options bear the burden! I raised you for a different life!
But this is my life, and only I can decide how to live it! she snapped, rising abruptly. Im going where Im sent. Thats final.
She turned on her heel and left the study without looking back. I watched her go, my head sinking into my hands. Her stubborn refusal to see the obvioussocial standing, pedigree, connectionswas glaring. Born into wealth, she now longed to renounce all its comforts.
My gaze fell on a silverframed photo of young Lucy in a bright yellow dress, laughing carefree.
If shed spent even a day in true isolation, shed understand how mistaken she is I whispered.
In that instant a new thought struck me like a flash of lightning. I grabbed my phone and dialed without hesitation.
David, hows it going?
Going well, thanks. A lot of its thanks to your backing, he replied cheerfully.
Listen, Ive got a question. Do you still have influence over where medical graduates are placed? My daughter just graduated, burning to save the world.
No problem, David said, brightening. Where do you want her? A city hospital? Our research centre?
Rural, I said firmly. The most remote village you can find on the map.
A brief silence followed, then David chuckled. Youre joking, Ed? Be seriouswhere are we sending Emily?
Im serious as ever, he said, resolute. Send her to a village.
Thus began a chain of events that would upend several lives.
When I first decided to send Emily to a remote village, I genuinely believed the harsh reality would strip away her rosetinted glasses. I was convinced that once she learned where shed be working, shed never even think of packing her bags. Yet Emily, determined to prove me wrong, showed a tenacity I hadnt anticipated. She soon found herself heading for the tiny village of Glenford, where a modest clinic awaited her.
The drive there took nearly an entire day. I watched the countryside roll pastendless fields, dark woodsmusing that a bear might pop out any moment, a fitting nod to the villages name.
The locals prepared a small, sturdy brick cottage with a steep roof for the new doctor, tucked right beside an older, decrepit wooden house with boardedup windows that seemed ready to collapse in a strong wind.
At first Emily was delighted. The air, far from the citys smog, felt fresh, crystalclear, like mountain spring water. But the novelty faded quickly.
The villagers greeted the newcomer with thinly veiled suspicion. Whispers spread that a citytrained doctor could sell a car that would keep half the district afloat. No one understood why a polished lady from London would choose their backwater. They tested her, waiting for a misstep.
Emily, however, threw herself into the work with all the resolve she possessed. She treated everyone without distinction, pulling splinters from childrens fingers, stitching broken knees, and patiently listening to elderly womens complaints about joints and blood pressure.
After a month, the locals accepted her; she became one of their own. Then a strange, inexplicable problem arose.
Emily stopped sleeping. Each night she heard odd sounds: faint footsteps, a long creak, a distant dogs howl. She would wander the house with a lantern, finding no one. A regular patient, old Mrs. Glover, shook her head at Emilys pallor.
Love, youre caring for us, yet you look like a ghost, she muttered. Your face is pale, no colour in it!
Emily forced a smile. Thank you, Mrs. Glover. Its just the night, I cant seem to settle.
The old woman squinted, recalling a local legend. You live next to the cursed house, the one with boarded windows. It belonged to the old fieldsurgeon. Heard he went mad after his wife vanished in the woods. He killed himself, they say his spirit still roams.
Emily dismissed the tale, but the footsteps grew louder.
After a long day, exhausted, she prepared dinner and was about to retire when a sharp, prolonged creak echoed from behind the wall.
Her breath caught. It wasnt her houseit was the neighbours. She drew the curtain aside and glimpsed a fleeting shadow between the boards.
Silence fell, then a sudden thumpbam!followed by a muffled whimper.
No, I wont go out there at night she whispered, trembling.
The next morning, sunlight banished the fear. Gathering courage, she entered the abandoned cottage.
Inside, the air was stale, smelling of mould. Her flashlight illuminated overturned furniture, a broken bench, a table. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until she noticed signs of recent presence: scattered dust, gnawed bits of bone, ragged cloth stained with brown marks.
She whispered, Enough for today, and turned to leave, when again the long creak sounded, followed by a rapid, staccato pattertiny feet scurrying across the floor.
Her mind conjured the image of the former fieldsurgeons ghost, hurrying to confront an unwelcome guest. She spun, ready to flee, but a louder, grinding squeak beneath her feet made her stumble. She tripped over a toppled chair, falling hard onto the cold wooden floor. Her phone, flashlight on, slipped from her grasp, hitting a plank, the screen going dark as it slid into a dark corner. She winced as her ankle twisted, pain shooting up. Tears welled, a mix of fear and helplessness.
A faint voice drifted from the gloom. Can I help?
Emilys heart jolted, then steadied. She stared into the darkness, unable to rise, crawling backwards toward a thin shaft of light.
Who are you? she whispered, voice quivering.
A thin beam of light revealed a small child, perhaps eight or ten, gaunt and dressed in tattered clothes, hair matted and tangled. His eyes, a pale brown, flickered with wary curiosity.
Are you hurt? the boy asked timidly.
Emily, surprised by his concern, asked, What are you doing here?
I live here, he replied softly, a faint defiant spark in his tone.
Alone? she probed.
He shrugged. I used to live with my mum in the next village. Two years ago she fell seriously ill and they took me to an orphanage. Its not far
He gestured toward the forest. Come, Ill help you.
She noticed his left leg bound in a grimy cloth, a dark stain seeping through.
What happened to your leg? she asked gently.
I tried to catch fish, slipped on a sharp stone, cut it. Ive been limping for days, he muttered.
All her fear melted. She rose, limping herself, and carried the boy into her cottage. She cleaned the wound, applied a dressing, and gave him a warm drink. The boy introduced himself as Jack.
Why did you run from the orphanage? she asked as he ate.
It was awful. They said I was a problem. They took me back after a few weeks. No one wanted me. I hide during the day, hunt for food at night. People avoid that house; no one dares enter. I steal eggs, pick berries Thats all I know.
Emilys heart ached. Jacks story was a cruel, unjust tale of neglect.
How long have you been alone? she pressed.
Dont know weeks? Months? he whispered. I stay hidden so they dont see me. At night I sneak out to eat. Im scared of everything.
She felt helpless, not knowing what to do. Yet Jack lifted his eyes, pleading.
You wont send me back, will you? Please, dont let them take me again, he begged, voice cracking.
Emily realized there was no other choice. She placed a gentle hand on his head. No, Jack. I wont send you away. Youll stay here with me.
Meanwhile, I drove the cracked country lane, fields flashing past the window, wondering where my daughter had disappeared. A week passed with no word. I finally decided to go myself, hoping shed have changed her mind. My mind spun with dreadful scenarios, but reality turned out far stranger.
At the village shop, I asked for the new doctors whereabouts.
Looking for our little Emily? the shopkeeper beamed. Shes in the fifth house, blue roof, lives with her brother. If you see her, give her my regardsMolly baked a loaf with extra salt for me.
She handed me a parcel of scones and jam.
My brother? I asked.
The one with Jack! she called over her shoulder.
Confused, I hurried to the blueroofed house. Under a hawthorn bush, I saw a boy gathering berries.
Emily! I cried. When did this lad become my son?
She smiled, offering me tea, and explained everything.
I told everyone hes my younger brother, she said softly, glancing at Jack, who was sorting berries for jam. Hes a good lad, hardworking, kind.
Its illegal! I protested. You should report this to social services!
If you do, dad, Ill adopt him myself, Emily replied firmly. I found out the orphanage never even noticed he was missing!
You cant just take in every child in need!
Why not? If I can help, I will! she insisted.
Frustrated, I tried to leave, but my 4×4 sputtered and died. I was forced to stay. Those unintended days became a turning point for me. I saw a different lifesimple, honest, sincere. Jack once took me fishing, reminding me that I hadnt held a rod in thirty years, though it used to be my favourite pastime.
The locals repaired my vehicle, but I no longer wanted to drive away. I stayed another day, then another, and another
Eventually I filed the paperwork for official guardianship.
Because theres no one else to go fishing with me, I muttered, when Jack finally called me dad and embraced me as his own.
Emily watched us, wiping away a tear of joy.
Years have gone by. Jack grew, earned a brilliant education, and joined the family firm, becoming a reliable pillar. Emily rose to become the chief medical officer of a major hospital, achieving everything through hard work. Yet they still return to Glenford time and again, together. In that quiet place of fields and warm hearts, they discovered something money cant buy: true peace, deep joy, and the comfort of family.
Every evening, sitting on the porch of our modest blueroofed cottage, we watch the sun set, knowing the greatest treasure isnt wealth, but the people beside us and the chance to give love to those who need it most.
