«Where d’you think you’re going?» Veronica’s voice dripped with disapproval as she stood arms crossed in the hallway.
Emily sighed heavily while zipping up her bag. That tonethe one that always meant an interrogation was comingmade her stomach clench.
«To work, Mum,» she answered, keeping her voice steady.
«What work?!» Veronica’s pitch shot up an octave. «Your rota’s clear todayI remember! Where are you really sneaking off to, then?»
Emily turned to face her. There was her mum, blocking the doorway like a prison guard.
«Just covering a shift at the shop. Could use the extra cash,» Emily explained calmly.
«Liar!» Her mum took a step forward. «Think I don’t know? Off gallivanting with some lad, more like! Ungrateful! After all Ive done for yougiven up my whole lifeand you lie to my face?»
Veronica was properly wound up now, her cheeks flushing red.
Emily met her gaze. The exhaustion, the years of swallowed-up hurt in that look made Veronica pausejust for a second.
«You can come with me if you dont believe me,» Emily said quietly. Then she walked out, the door slamming behind her.
Her mums shouts followed, but the words blurred into noise.
On the walk to work, Emilys thoughts raced like caged birds. Twenty-four years oldyet treated like she was twelve. It wasnt right. Other girls her age had flats, careers, boyfriends. Her? She hadnt even made it to uni.
The memory stung. Shed dreamed of teachingstudied hard, aced her A-Levels, even got the grades. But then Mum had thrown such a fitscreaming, «Wholl look after *me*? Youll just disappear like all those students!»that Emily caved.
Mum got her the job at the corner shop. Five minutes from home. «So I know where you are,» shed said.
And she checked. Regularly. Popping in for milk or bread, really just making sure Emily hadnt dared escape.
It started earlier, though. Emily remembered being fourteenschool, home, timed to the minute. Two minutes late meant an inquisition: *Who were you with? What were you doing?* Wanting to hang out after class? A row. A friends birthday party? Begging, cryingalways a «no.»
«Who knows what goes on at those parties,» Mum would snap.
Emily pushed open the shop doording of the bell, smell of fresh pastries. She changed in the back, then started stacking shelves.
Somehow, shed accepted it. Day after year. Nearby, coworkers Katie and Sophie chattered about weekend plansnew café, cinema, maybe a park stroll. Emily turned away. Her «plans»? Same as always: Mum, telly, chores.
Two days later, over porridge, the rebellion brewing inside her finally took shape.
Mum slammed her hand on the table. Emily jumped, spoon clattering.
«Whats that face for? Spit it out!»
Emilys mouth went dry. Her heart hammered. Then
«I want to move out.»
Silence. Mums face turned redder by the secondpink, then scarlet, then purple.
«*Move out*? Are you *mad*?» she finally hissed. «Out there, youll *drown*! Menll use you, the worlds cruel»
«But others manage»
«Say it again,» Mum whispered, deadly quiet, «and Ill *lock you in this flat*. Understand?»
Tears rolled down Emilys face. «Why? *Why* do this to me?»
Mum leaned back, something almost smug in her glare. «No reason. Had you for *me*, didnt I? Not so you could wander off.»
The words hit like ice water. *For her*. Not out of loveas a *thing*. A pet.
Mum snorted and left.
…For two days, Emily played perfect. No arguments. Mum thawed, even praised her cooking.
But secretly, Emily packed her passport and the cash shed hidden under her mattress.
After her shift, she didnt go home. She went to the managers office.
«Mr. ThompsonI need to quit. Today. No notice.»
He frowned. «Whats happened?»
She told himbrieflyabout the control, the suffocation.
«Theres a branch across town,» he offered. «Same pay. Harder for her to track you.»
Grateful, 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. Tomorrow, shed get a new number.
…A week in the tiny room with peeling wallpaper felt like freedom. Waking when she wanted, eating what she liked*breathing*.
Sometimes, her fingers hovered over her phone. Old habits. But calling Mum would undo everything.
It was terrifying. Loneliness crept in, whispering doubts. Then shed remember: *Had you for me*.
Noshed made the only choice she could.
That house wasnt living. It was fading.
Now? Now shed learn to live for *herself*. However hard it got.
