Ready to Flee with My Son and the Essentials from This Village
Id already packed a bag in my mindjust the essentialsto escape with my son from my husband and his parents, from this tiny village lost in the countryside. No, I wont dedicate my life to their goats, cows, and endless vegetable patches. They think that because I married Oliver, I automatically signed up to be the unpaid labourer on their farm. But I disagree. This isnt the life I wanted, and I wont let my son grow up in this backwater, where the only entertainment is arguing over how many litres of milk Daisy the cow gave.
When I first arrived after the wedding, it didnt seem so bad. Oliver was attentive, his parents, Margaret and her husband, seemed kind. The village even had its charm: green fields, fresh air, quiet. I thought I might adjust. But reality soon showed its true colours. A week after moving in, Margaret handed me a bucket and told me to milk the goats. Youre one of us now, Emilytime to pull your weight! she said with a smile that still makes me shudder. Me, a city girl whod never lifted anything heavier than a laptop, had to learn to milk before sundown. That was my first warning.
Oliver, it turned out, had no intention of standing up for me. Mums righteveryone works here, he said when I tried to protest. And so began my new routine: up at five, feeding animals, weeding gardens, cleaning the house, cooking for everyone. I felt more like a servant than a wife. If I dared ask for a day off, Margaret would roll her eyes and start her lecture: In my day, women worked from dawn till dusk without complaint! Oliver stayed silent, as if it were none of his concern.
My son, just three years old, was my only light. Looking at him, I knew I couldnt let him grow up here, where his future meant either toiling on the farm or moving to London, where hed always be an outsider. I want him to go to a proper nursery, to study, to travel, to see the world. Here? There isnt even decent internet to let him watch cartoons. When I mentioned enrolling him in an art class in the nearest town, Margaret scoffed: What for? Hed be better off learning to milk the cowthats useful!
I tried talking to Oliver. I told him I felt suffocated, that this wasnt the life Id dreamed of. But he just shrugged. This is how everyone lives, Emily. What do you expect? Then I found out Margaret plans to expand the barn and buy another cow. Of course, the extra work would fall on me. That was the final straw.
I started saving money in secret. Not much, but enough for two bus tickets to the city. A friend in Bristol promised to help with a place to stay and a job. I picture my son and me boarding that bus, leaving this village, the goats, the cows, and Margarets lectures behind. I dream of a little flat where its just us, where I can work and my son can grow up with opportunities. I want to feel human again, not a workhorse.
Of course, Im afraid. I dont know what life in the city will be like. Will I find work? Will the money last? But one things certain: I cant stay here. Every time I see my son playing in the yard, I think he deserves more. So do I. I wont let him watch his mother bend under this weight, losing herself to please others.
Margaret said the other day that Im too city and will never be one of them. You know what? Shes right. I dont want to be one of them. I want to be myselfEmily, who dreamed of a career, of travels, of a happy family. And Ill do whatever it takes to reclaim that life. Even if it means grabbing a bag and fleeing with my son to where no one can force me to milk cows.
The lesson? Sometimes bravery isnt about stayingits about knowing when to walk away.
