“Where do you think you’re going?” Veronicas voice was sharp with disapproval.
Emily sighed heavily as she zipped up her bag. That familiar tone from her mother made her stomach clenchanother interrogation was coming.
“To work, Mum,” she replied, forcing calm into her voice.
“What work?” Veronicas pitch rose an octave. “Your schedules clear today! I remember! Where are you really going, hmm? Out gallivanting with some lad?”
Emily turned to face her. Veronica stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.
“Someone called in sick at the shop. Extra money wont hurt,” Emily explained evenly.
“Liar!” her mother snapped, stepping closer. “Think I dont know? Youre off to meet some boy! Ungrateful girl! Ive given you everything, and this is how you repay me?”
Veronicas face flushed crimson. Emily met her eyes, seeing the years of exhaustion and pent-up pain reflected there. For a second, Veronica hesitated.
“You can come with me if you dont believe me,” Emily said quietly. Without waiting for a reply, she walked out.
Behind her, Veronicas shouts blurred into noise.
On the way to work, Emilys thoughts darted like trapped birds. Twenty-four years old, yet controlled like a child. Other women her age had flats, careers, relationships. She hadnt even made it to uni.
The memory stung. Shed dreamed of teaching, studied hard, passed her examsonly for her mother to scream, “Why would you leave me? Wholl look after me?” So Emily had given in.
Veronica got her a job at the local corner shop. Five minutes from home. “So I know where you are,” shed said.
And she checked. Often. Popping in under the pretence of buying milk, really just watching.
It had started earlier, though. Emily remembered her teens: school, straight home, timed to the minute. A two-minute delay meant an inquisition. Wanting to walk with classmates? A row. A birthday party invitation? Tears, arguments, then a flat no.
“God knows what goes on at those parties,” Veronica would say.
Emily pushed open the shop door. The bell jingled; the smell of fresh bread wafted from the bakery aisle. She changed into her uniform in the back, then joined the floor.
Somehow, shed accepted this life. Day after year. Restocking shelves, she overheard her coworkersLucy and Sophiechatting about weekend plans.
“Saturday, that new café by the square,” Lucy said. “Then the late film!”
“Perfect!” Sophie grinned. “Sunday, we could just walk by the river if its nice.”
Emily turned away. Her plans? The same as always: home, chores, telly under Veronicas watch.
Two days later, over breakfast, the rebellion inside her took shape.
Veronica banged her fist on the table. Emily jumped, nearly dropping her spoon.
“Whats that face for? Spit it out!”
Emilys pulse raced. The words tumbled out: “I want to move out.”
Silence. Veronicas face darkened from pink to scarlet.
“Move out? You?” she finally hissed. “Youd be lost without me! The worlds cruel, men are liars”
“Mum, others manage”
“One more word,” Veronica whispered dangerously, “and Ill lock you in this flat. Understood?”
Tears spilled down Emilys cheeks. “Why? What did I do?”
Veronica leaned back, a twisted smirk forming. “Nothing. I had you for me, not so you could run wild. You stay. Always.”
The words hit like ice water. For her. Not out of loveownership. Like a pet.
Veronica snorted and left.
The next two days, Emily played obedient. Veronica thawed, even praising her cooking.
But Emily had made her choice. Before her next shift, she tucked her passport and hidden savings into her bagnotes shed squirrelled under her mattress.
After her shift, she didnt go home. She knocked on the managers office.
“David,” she said, hands shaking, “I need to quit. Today. Please.”
He frowned. “Whats wrong?”
She told himbrieflyabout the control, the suffocation.
“Listen,” he said, “weve a branch across town. Same pay. Harder for her to track you.”
Grateful, she accepted. She found a bedsit£500 a month, basic but hers. At the bus stop, she snapped her SIM card in half. Tomorrow, shed get a new one.
A week later, her tiny room with peeling wallpaper felt like freedom. She woke when she wanted, ate what she liked, breathed without weight.
Sometimes, her fingers hovered over the phone. Old habits died hard. But she resisted. One call, and Veronica would drag her back.
Loneliness crept in sometimes, whispering doubts. Then shed remember: “I had you for me.” And she knew shed done right.
Staying wouldve been slow suffocation. Now, she had a chanceto live for herself, not her mothers sickness. It was hard. Unbearably hard. But there was no other way.
This was her life to live.
