**»I Had You for Myself»**
*»And just where do you think you’re going?»* Veronicas voice was sharp, dripping with disapproval.
Emily took a deep breath, fastening her bag. Her chest tightened at the familiar toneher mothers prelude to yet another interrogation.
*»To work, Mum,»* she replied, forcing calm into her voice.
*»What work?»* Veronicas pitch rose, near-hysterical. *»Youre not on the rota today! I remember! Where are you really going? Tell me!»*
Emily turned to face her. Veronica stood rigid in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes blazing.
*»They asked me to cover a shift at the shop. Extra money never hurts,»* Emily explained, keeping her tone steady.
*»Liar!»* Her mother lunged forward. *»You think I dont know? Off with some boy, arent you? Ungrateful! I raised you, sacrificed everythingand this is how you repay me?»*
Veronicas face flushed crimson, spittle flying.
Emily met her gaze. The exhaustion, the years of swallowed pain, flickered in her eyesjust for a second, it silenced Veronica.
*»You can come with me if you dont believe me,»* Emily murmured. Without waiting, she stepped past her and out the door.
Behind her, Veronicas shouts blurred into noise.
The walk to work was a storm of thoughts. Twenty-four years oldyet treated like a child. It wasnt right. Other women her age had flats, careers, boyfriends. Her? She hadnt even made it to university.
The memory stung. Shed dreamed of teachingstudied hard, aced her A-levels, got the grades. But Veronicas meltdown had crushed it.
*»Why dyou need uni? Prancing about like some fresher! And what about me? Wholl look after me?»*
So Emily folded. Like always.
Her mum got her the job at the corner shop. Five minutes from home. *»So I know where you are.»*
And she checked. Regularly. Popping in for milk or breadjust to ensure her daughter hadnt dared escape.
It started earlier, though. Emily remembered being thirteen. Home to school and backtimed to the minute. Two minutes late? An inquisition: *Where were you? Who talked to you? Why?* Wanting to walk with friends after class? A scene. A birthday party invite? Begging, tearsalways a *no*.
*»God knows what goes on at those parties.»*
Emily pushed through the shops heavy door. The bell jingled; the scent of fresh bread wafted from the bakery aisle. She changed in the back, then took her place by the till.
Somehow, shed accepted it. Day after year. Now, restocking shelves, she overheard her coworkersMegan and Sophiebubbling about weekend plans.
*»Were trying that new café Saturday,»* Megan chirped. *»Then the late cinema showing!»*
*»Perfect!»* Sophie grinned. *»Sunday, if its nice, well just stroll Hyde Park.»*
Emily turned away. Her weekend? The same as always. Home. Her mum. Hoovering, cooking, telly under Veronicas hawkish stare.
Two days later. Sunday breakfast. Emily mechanically chewed toast, the rebellion inside her finally hardening into resolve.
Veronica slammed a hand on the table. Emily startledher fork clattered.
*»Whats that face for? Spit it out!»*
Emily looked up. Her pulse hammered; her throat dried. The words tore free:
*»I want to move out.»*
Silence, thick and choking. Veronicas face darkenedpink, then scarlet, then purple.
*»Move out? You?»* Her voice was a venomous whisper. *»Without me, youll drown! The worlds viciousmen are liars, users»*
*»Mum, others manage»*
*»One more word,»* Veronica hissed, *»and Ill lock you in this flat. No exits. Understood?»*
Emilys tears fell unchecked.
*»Why?»* she whispered. *»Why do this to me?»*
Veronica leaned back, something ugly twisting her facerage and sick satisfaction.
*»No reason. I had you for myself. Not for you to gallivant about.»*
The words hit like ice water. *For herself.* Not love. Not joy. A possession. A pet.
Veronica snorted, stood, and left.
The next two days, Emily played perfect. No arguments, no resistance. Veronica thawed, smuglesson learned. She even praised Emilys shepherds pie.
But Emily had already decided. Before her next shift, she stuffed her passport and hidden savingsfivers tucked under the mattressinto her bag.
After her shift, she didnt go home. She knocked on the managers office.
*»Daniel,»* she said, hands trembling, *»I need to quit. Today. No notice.»*
Daniel frowned. She was reliablenever late, never absent.
*»Whats happened?»*
She told him. The control. The suffocation.
*»Look,»* he said, *»weve a branch in Walthamstow. Same pay. Your mumd have a bloody time finding you there.»*
Grateful, she agreed. She left with a new contract, then found a bedsit£600 a month. Basic, but a start.
At the bus stop, she snapped her SIM card in half. Tomorrow, shed get a new number. Only her mum and a few coworkers had the old one.
A week later, Emilys tiny roompeeling wallpaper, creaky bedfelt like freedom. She woke when she wanted. Ate what she liked. Breathed.
Sometimes, her fingers itched to call. The habit of reporting every move ran deep. But she resisted. One call, and Veronica would find her, scream, drag her back.
It was terrifying. Loneliness gnawed. But then she remembered: *I had you for myself.*
No. Shed made the only choice.
That flat hadnt been livingjust surviving. Now, shed learn to live for herself. Hard? Yes. But there was no other way.
