«I brought you into this world for me!»
«Where do you think you’re going?» Veronica’s voice dripped with disapproval.
Emily let out a heavy sigh as she zipped up her bag. Her stomach tightened at her mother’s familiar toneanother interrogation was coming.
«To work, Mum,» she answered, forcing calm into her voice.
«What work?» Veronicas pitch sharpened. «Youre not scheduled today! I remember! Where are you really going? Out with some boy, is that it?»
Emily turned. Her mother stood in the doorway, arms folded like a judge.
«They asked me to cover a shift at the shop. Extra money never hurts,» she explained evenly.
«Liar!» Veronica spat, stepping closer. «I know what youre up to! Ungrateful girl! I raised you, gave you everything, and this is how you repay me?»
Her face flushed crimson, rage burning in her eyes.
Emily met her gaze. The exhaustion in her stare, the years of swallowed pain, made Veronica falterjust for a second.
«You can come with me if you dont believe me,» Emily said quietly, then walked out without waiting for an answer.
Behind her, Veronicas shouts blurred into noise.
On the walk to work, Emilys thoughts churned like trapped birds. Twenty-four years old. Twenty-four, yet treated like a child. Other women her age had flats, careers, relationships. She? Not even university.
The memory stung. Shed dreamed of teaching, aced her A-levels, got the grades. Then the explosion: screaming, sobbing»Wholl look after me if you vanish into that world?»
Emily caved. As always.
Veronica got her the job at the corner shop. Five minutes from home. «So I know where you are.»
And she checked. Often. Dropping in for milk or bread, really just to ensure Emily hadnt slipped the leash.
It started earlier, though. Teenage years mapped in strict routesschool, home, timed to the minute. A two-minute delay meant interrogation: Where? Who? Why? Friends asking her out? A meltdown. A birthday party? Hours of pleading, tears, then refusal.
«God knows what goes on at those things,» Veronica would snap.
Emily pushed open the shop door. The bell jingled; the scent of fresh pastries wafted from the bakery section. She changed in the back, then stepped onto the floor.
Somehow, shed accepted it. Day after year. As she stocked shelves, she eavesdropped on coworkersLily and Sophie, giggling about weekend plans.
«Saturday, that new café by the square! Then the late film!»
«Perfect! Sunday, if its nice, well stroll Hyde Park!»
Emily turned away. Her weekends? The same as always: chores, telly, under Veronicas watch.
Two days later. Breakfast. Emily chewed porridge mechanically, rebellion solidifying in her chest.
Veronica slammed her fist on the table. The spoon jumped in Emilys hand.
«Whats that face for? Out with it!»
Emily looked up. Her pulse hammered. Dry-mouthed, the words tore free:
«I want to move out.»
Silence. Veronicas face darkenedpink, then red, then purple.
«Move out? You?» She barely whispered at first. «Its a cruel world out there! Men? Liars, the lot! Here, youre safe!»
«Mum, others manage»
«Say it again,» Veronica hissed, «and Ill lock you in this flat. Permanently. Understood?»
Emilys tears fell freely.
«Why?» she choked. «Why do this to me?»
Veronica leaned back, something vicious in her smirk.
«No reason. I had you for me. Not for you to wander off.»
The words hit like ice water. For her. Like a pet. A possession.
Veronica snorted, left without another word.
Emily played obedient the next two days. No arguments. Veronica thawed, smug.
But Emily had decided. Before her next shift, she tucked her passport and hidden savings£300, hoarded under the mattressinto her bag.
After work, she didnt go home. She knocked on the managers office.
«Mr. Harris,» she stammered, hands shaking, «I need to quit. Today. No notice.»
He frowned. «Whats wrong?»
She spilled itthe control, the suffocation.
«Look,» he said, «weve a branch across London. Same pay. Your mum wont find you easy.»
She took it. Signed the new contract. Found a bedsit£500 a month, basic but hers.
At the bus stop, she snapped her SIM card in half. Tomorrow, a new number. Only Veronica knew the old one.
A week later, her tiny room with peeling wallpaper felt like a palace. She woke when she wanted, ate what she liked, breathed freely.
Sometimes her fingers itched to call. The habit ran deep. But she resisted. One call, and Veronica would drag her back.
Loneliness crept in sometimes, whispering doubts. Then she remembered: For me.
No. Staying meant fading away.
This was her chance. To livenot as her mothers shadow, but as herself. Hard? Yes. But necessary.
She had no other choice.
