**The Proposal**
One of the greatest misconceptions is to believe people are simply good, evil, foolish, or wise. A person is ever-changing, carrying within them every possibility: once foolish, now wise; once cruel, now kindand the reverse. That is the greatness of humanity. And for this reason, we must not judge. You condemn someone, and already they are different. These words were once written by Leo Tolstoy in his diaries.
It is difficult to argue with the great, sometimes nearly impossible. Life confirms his wisdom time and again, if only one looks closely, sifting truth from falsehood until the core of understanding becomes clear and tangible.
But today, such weighty thoughts feel distant, for the morning has brought a stifling heattrue July heat, as if the air, striking the sun-scorched walls of houses, bounced back onto the pavement, even hotter, and hung motionless, bowed beneath the sun pouring summer from the heavens.
And yet, inside Emily, it is winter. A bitter, biting cold. This summer is happening without her.
School has just ended. University should be her next step, as expected of any graduate. But Emily is pregnant. What university now? And JakeJake turned out to be a coward. When she told him about the baby, he only bit his lip, turned to the window, and said:
*»Well, I was the first… but there couldve been others.»*
Emily didnt even cry then. She only stood there, staring at his backjust a back, calm and unbothered. His breathing was steady. She wanted to say more, to ask what she was supposed to do now, but then the doorbell rangher mother was home from work. Jake went to answer, greeted her briefly in the hall, and left.
Her mother walked straight into Emilys room and demanded to know what was wrong. Stunned, Emily blurted it out:
*»Nothings wrong. Im just pregnant.»*
Her mother stared into her eyes. Then she shriekedthough Emily didnt hear the words, because the sound was drowned out by the sharp slap across her face.
That was when winter began inside her. As if snow had fallen all at once, burying her up to her neck. Cold. Empty. Outside and within.
Her mother was still yelling, but snow muffles sound. So Emily sat on the edge of her bed and began to cryexcept the tears stayed inside, freezing in her heart, turning to tiny crystal beads. She could almost hear them rolling in the hollow space beneath her ribs.
Her mother stormed out. The front door slammed. Silence. And there Emily was, alone with her frozen tears in the middle of a sweltering July evening.
She curled into a ball under the covers and criedtruly cried, like a girl who had lost everything. She sniffled and sobbed, not for herself, nofor the baby who wasnt even born yet and already unwanted. Not by its father, not by its grandmother, not even by her, its foolish mother. No one wanted this child.
She fell asleep before sunset, though light still lingered outside. She dreamedsomething fleeting, shapelessand woke to a hand stroking her hair.
Her mother had returned. She smoothed Emilys hair and whispered:
*»Emily, love, forgive me. Im a fool, even if Im not yet old. I should be happymy girls all grown up, soon to be a mother herself. And here I…»*
Her mother was crying now, wiping tears with her palms as she spoke:
*»Ill tell you what Im thinkingjust dont let it be a boy. Please, not a boy. Because mentheyre all… Well, never mind. Not one of them has ever truly understood or pitied a woman. Not your father. Not mine either!»*
Then Emily truly wept, loud and messy, like women do when grief spills over. She sat up and clung to her motherher dearest personand together they cried, each mourning their own sorrow. But there was warmth in their embrace. And outside, summer still burned.
Thenthe doorbell rang again. Her mother sniffed hard, wiped her face, and stopped Emily from rising.
*»Stay, love. Ill get it.»*
She smoothed her hair as she walked. Tragedy or not, a lady mustnt look a mess in front of callers.
She opened the door. And there stood two men: Jake, and before himhis father. His father spoke first.
*»Good evening, Mrs. Whitmore. Forgive the late hour. But my boy here told me… everything, or so I hope.»*
He turned to his son.
*»Or was there more you left out, future granddad?»*
Jake hung his head. His father continued.
*»So weve come, both of us, to ask for your daughters handif Emily can forgive the stupid words he said when he left. Now then…»* He cuffed Jake lightly. *»Go on, you little wretch, and beg her pardon. And if she wont have youyoure no son of mine!»*
…Yes, people change. We blunder, we falter, and sometimes we dont know how to make things right. But thank goodness for mothers and fathersthey never steer us wrong.
