She fled to the countryside and finally found peace.
Emily hurriedly packed her belongings. Her hands trembled, tears welling in her eyes. After twenty years of marriage, her husband announced he was leaving her for a younger, cheerful womannothing like Emily, who was exhausted by work, perpetually busy with house chores and raising children.
The children were grown. Her son studied in another city and visited only occasionally. Her daughter had married and moved in with her husband. Emily was left alone in a large flat that suddenly seemed empty and alien.
She tossed her things into a suitcase without deciding what to take. It didnt matter; she only wanted one thingto run, to hide from the pain and humiliation.
The phone rang as she was zipping the suitcase. The screen showed her friends name, and Emily sighed. She didnt feel like talking to anyone.
Hello? she answered reluctantly.
Emily, love! I just heard How are you? Sophies voice sounded worried.
Fine, Emily replied curtly. Im packing.
Where are you heading?
I dont know, Emily admitted honestly. I just cant stay here any longer.
You still have that cottage up in the village, Grandmas place. You used to talk about it. Why not go there?
Emily froze. Indeed, she owned a small cottage in the village of Ashford, a legacy from her maternal grandmother. They used to visit when the kids were small, then stopped. Her husband Stephen had always complained that the countryside was boring and that he preferred holidays by the sea.
Sophie, youre a genius! Thats where Ill go! Emily exclaimed.
Is it habitable? Does it have heating?
Theres a woodburning stove and electricity. Thats all I need.
An hour later Emily was on a commuter train heading toward Ashford, about fifty miles from Londona world apart from the city shed known.
The village welcomed her with silence and the scent of lilacs. Her grandmothers cottage sat on the edge of the lane, surrounded by ancient apple trees. Emily struggled to open the creaking gate and stepped into the yard.
Everything looked abandoned. Grass brushed her knees, the porch sagged, one window was broken. She sighed heavily. What would she do here? How could she live? She was a city dweller, accustomed to comfort.
Whos there? a hoarse voice rasped, and a small, stooped old woman appeared from behind the house, a cane in her hand.
Hello, Emily stammered, Im the granddaughter of Mary Thompson. This is her house.
The Marys house? the old woman squinted, eyeing the stranger. And youre Emily, I suppose?
Yes, Emily answered, surprised. And who are you?
Im Mabel, a neighbour. We were friends with your grandmother. Why have you come?
Im staying, Emily said firmly, surprising herself.
Staying? You cant live here. The house is dilapidated, needs a lot of work. And what will you do? Youre a city girl, arent you?
Ill manage, Emily replied stubbornly and walked toward the cottage.
A key fell from her bag, unlocking the front door. Inside, dampness and dust filled the air. Old furniture lay under a layer of grime, a stove in the corner, a table, two beds, and faded photographs on the walls, one showing a young, radiant grandmother.
Emily sank onto a bed and wept. For the first time in a long while she let the tears flow, sobbing out the hurt and betrayal.
Gradually the tears dried, leaving a strange calm. In that crumbling house she felt shielded from the worldno one would see her weep, no one would judge.
The next morning birds sang, sunlight streamed through the window. She rinsed her face with cold water from a bucket and stepped into the yard.
Morning, Mabel, a familiar rasp called. The neighbour stood by the fence holding a bundle.
Morning, Emily replied.
I brought you milk, bread and some potatoes. The shops a mile away.
Thank you, Emily said, touched.
Neighbours look after each other. So, are you really planning to stay?
Indeed. I just dont know where to start.
Start with cleaning, Mabel suggested, pulling out a brush and a dustpan. Ill help.
They spent the whole day scrubbing, dusting, airing the rooms. By evening Emily collapsed, exhausted but satisfied for the first time in ages.
Tomorrow well check the stove, Mabel said as she left. May can be fickle.
Emily nodded, realizing that country life meant constant work, yet the thought steadied her rather than frightened her.
In the days that followed they repaired the stove, glazed the broken window, steadied the porch. Emily learned to cook on the woodburner, draw water from the well, and heat the small garden bath. Her hands grew calloused, her back ached, but her body adjusted to the labour.
One evening a woman named Harriet arrived with another lady.
This is Tessa, she works at the village library. She heard we had a new resident and thought shed say hello.
Its nice to meet you, Emily said, smiling.
Tessa, pleased, the newcomer replied, shaking Emilys hand. We rarely get newcomers who stay.
Emily blushed. Im not sure how long Ill be here.
What did you do in the city? Tessa asked.
I was an accountant, Emily answered.
And your education?
Economics, Emily replied.
Were short of teachers at the primary school, especially for maths. Would you consider giving it a try, even temporarily?
The idea surprised Emily, but it intrigued her.
Ill think about it, she said.
A week later she found herself in front of a class of fifteen village children, their eyes curious.
Good morning, everyone, she began, her voice trembling slightly. My name is Emily Turner, and Ill be teaching you maths.
The lesson unfolded faster than she expected. The children asked keen questions, and Emily felt an unexpected lift.
Teaching, gardening, helping neighbours, and occasional phone calls from her adult son and daughtershort messages asking how she wasbecame her new rhythm. She replied simply, All good here, and meant it.
The city felt distant, its apartment, her former job, and Stephen now merely memories that no longer caused pain.
One afternoon a local farmer, Jack Parker, stopped by. He was tall, broadshouldered, with a kindly face and a full beard.
Emily Turner, may I have a word? he asked, shifting from foot to foot at the doorway.
Of course, Jack, she said, offering tea.
They sat and talked over honeysweetened tea. Jack described his farm, his plans, and then said, I need an accountant to help with the paperwork. My business is growing, and Im not great with numbers. Could you assist?
Emily considered it. The offer was unexpected but appealing; she missed professional work.
Ill think about it, she replied.
Think soon, Jack advised. The seasons starting, and theres a lot to do.
A few days later Emily accepted. Her days now split between school in the morning and Jacks farm in the afternoon, with evenings spent in her garden.
Jack later offered to help with the neglected garden.
Its a mess, he said, pointing to the overgrown rows. I have a tractor, and I can lend a hand.
He arrived the next day, plowed the soil in a few hours, and together they planted potatoes, onions, and carrots.
The fence is falling apart, Jack noted, surveying the yard.
I dont have money for a new one, Emily sighed.
Well share the work, Jack smiled, Ive got timber, youve got meals. Deal?
She agreed, grateful for his practical kindness.
The whole village came together to build a new fenceMabel with her son, Harriet with her husband, and others. After a day of hard labour they celebrated with a makeshift feast in Emilys yard.
Heres to new homes! Jack raised a glass of homemade cider.
To fresh starts! Harriet added.
Emily looked at these simple, openhearted people and felt she had finally found where she belonged. In the village, among nature and genuine folk, she discovered the life the city could never give her.
In autumn Stephen, her former husband, turned up in his expensive car at the gate.
Emily, he called, may I come in?
She straightened, wiped her hands on her apron, and nodded. Stephen stepped onto the lawn, eyes wide with surprise.
Do you live here? he asked.
Yes, Emily replied simply.
But why? You have a flat in London with all the comforts
I like it here, she shrugged.
Stephen studied her; she had tanned, lost weight, moved with confidence, and a new sparkle lit her eyes.
You lookdifferent, he observed.
I am different now, Emily said, smiling. Would you like some tea?
They sat on the veranda, sipping tea with jam made from Emilys own blackcurrants. Stephen talked about his new life, but his words no longer cut her.
Ive realized I was wrong, he finally said. I love you, and I want you back.
Emily looked at him, the man she once knew, now a stranger.
Thank you for saying that, Stephen, she said gently. But I wont return. This is my home now.
This is just a village! Theres no theatre, no restaurants, no shops! he exclaimed.
But there is real life here, Emily answered calmly, and real people.
What about our marriage? Twenty years together
Our marriage ended when you left, she said without blame. If you hadnt gone, I might never have found myself.
Stephen stared, baffled by the confident woman before him.
Are you happy here? he asked at last.
Yes, she replied simply. I am happy.
When Stephen drove away, Emily returned to her garden. Jack soon appeared with a bucket of apples from his orchard.
Emily, fresh apples for you! he called.
Thanks, Jack, she said, could you help me pull the carrots? Its a heavy lift.
Anything for you, he replied, and they worked side by side as the sun set, painting the sky pink and filling the air with the scent of apples and old leaves.
Who was that at the gate? Jack asked later.
My former husband, Emily answered. He wanted me back in the city.
And what did you say?
I said no, she smiled. Im content here.
Jack grinned and went back to the work. Their silence was comfortable, a quiet understanding between two people who knew each other well without words.
That evening Jack hesitated before leaving.
There’s a village concert on Saturday, folk music and dancing. Would you like to come with me?
Emily laughed, eyes bright.
Id love that, Jack.
On Saturday Emily chose her best simple dress. Jack arrived, dressed neatly, holding a bunch of wildflowers.
You look lovely, he said, handing them to her.
The concert was heartfeltlocals sang old ballads, read poems, and later danced. Jack asked Emily for a waltz. He was clumsy but earnest, his strong arms guiding her gently.
Emily Turner, he whispered, Im a plain man, no city polish, but Im completely taken with you.
Emily looked into his honest eyes and realized she felt the same.
I like you too, Jack, she answered softly.
They danced until the evening faded, and Jack escorted her home, taking her hand at the gate.
May I visit tomorrow? he asked.
Come by whenever you like, she replied, her heart warm.
She stood at her window, watching his sturdy figure disappear down the lane, and finally understood what true happiness felt like.
Winter settled over the village, snow covering Emilys cottage. Each morning Jack cleared the paths, and they shared tea and plans by the fire.
One day Harriet teased, You and Jack make a great pair. Whens the wedding?
Emily blushed, Were just friends.
Harriet smiled, Friends who look at each other with lovers eyes.
In spring Jack asked simply, Will you marry me, Emily?
Yes, Jack. I love you.
The whole village celebrated the wedding. Emilys grown son and daughter arrived, initially shocked, but soon embraced their mothers joy.
Your happiness matters most, Mum, her daughter said, hugging her.
Emily finally knew: happiness is being where you belong, doing work you love, surrounded by people who truly value you. She had left a city of stress and empty talk, only to discover that real contentment comes from simple, honest living and the love that grows when you follow your heart.
She went to the village, escaping pain and disappointment, and found love and herself. And that, she learned, is the truest kind of happiness.
