She packed in a rush, her hands trembling, tears welling up. After twenty years of marriage her husband, Mark, announced he was leaving her for a younger, cheerier womannothing like the exhausted, workladen Emily who spent her days juggling the house and the kids.
The children were already grown. Her son lived in another city and visited rarely; her daughter had married and moved away. Emily was alone in a spacious flat that suddenly felt empty and alien.
She threw her belongings into a suitcase without even checking what she was taking. What did it matter? All she wanted was to run, to hide from the pain and humiliation.
The phone rang as she zipped up the suitcase. The caller ID showed her friend Claires name; she sighed. She didnt feel like talking to anyone.
Hello? she answered reluctantly.
Emily, love! Guess what I just heard How are you? Claires voice sounded worried.
Fine, Emily replied dryly, just packing.
Where are you off to?
I dont know, Emily admitted honestly, I cant stay here any longer.
You still have that cottage up in the country, the one your nan used to have. Why not go there?
Emily froze. She did have a little house in Willowbrook, a sleepy village about fifty miles from London, inherited from her mothers side. They used to go there when the kids were small, but had stopped. Mark always complained that the countryside was boring and that he preferred the seaside.
Claire, youre a genius! Emily exclaimed. Thats exactly where Ill go!
Is it habitable? Does it have heating?
Theres a stove and electricity. Thats all I need.
An hour later she was on a commuter train heading toward Willowbrook, a world apart from the citys bustle.
The village greeted her with quiet and the scent of lilacs. Her grandmothers cottage stood on the edge of the lane, surrounded by ancient apple trees. She struggled to push open the squeaky gate and stepped onto the overgrown yard.
Everything looked neglected. The grass was waisthigh, the veranda sagged, a window was broken. Emily sighed heavily. What was she going to do here? She was a city girl, used to comforts.
A hoarse voice crackled, Whos there? A tiny, stooped old woman with a walking stick shuffled out from behind the house.
Hello, Emily stammered, Im the granddaughter of Ethel. This is her house.
Ethels house? the old lady squinted. And youre Emily, I take it?
Yes, Emily said, surprised. And you are?
Im Mabel, a neighbour. We were friends with your nan. What brings you here?
Ill be living, Emily declared, more firmly than she felt.
Living? You cant live in a place like this. Its falling apart and youre cityborn, arent you?
Ill manage, Emily replied stubbornly and headed for the front door.
A key fell from her bag. She turned the lock, stepped inside, and was hit by the smell of damp and dust. The interior was filled with old furniture under a layer of grime, a stove in the corner, a table, two beds, and faded photographs on the wallsone showing a young, beautiful grandmother smiling.
Emily collapsed onto a bed and wept. For the first time in ages, she let the tears flow, sobbing with all the hurt and anger shed bottled up.
When the tears dried, a strange calm settled over her. In this crumbling house she felt shielded from the world; no one would see her weeping, no one would judge.
The next morning birds sang, sunlight streamed through the window, and Emily washed her face with cold water from a bucket before stepping into the yard.
Morning, love, croaked Mabel, holding a large bundle. Brought you milk, bread and a few potatoes. The shops a mile away.
Thank you, Emily said, touched. Youre very kind.
Neighbours look after each other, Mabel waved a hand. So, you really plan to stay?
Yes, but I dont know where to start.
Start with cleaning, Mabel suggested, pulling out rags and a broom. Ill help.
They spent the whole day scrubbing, dusting, and airing out the place. By evening Emily collapsed in a heap, exhausted yet oddly satisfied.
Tomorrow well check the stove, Mabel said as she left. May can be a fickle month, you know.
Emily nodded. She was beginning to understand that country life meant constant work, but the thought didnt frighten herit actually soothed her.
In the days that followed they repaired the stove, glazed the broken window, and straightened the veranda. Emily learned to cook on the stove, fetch water from the well, and heat the old barn. Her hands blistered, her back ached, but her body slowly adapted to the labour.
One evening, Mabel arrived with a woman she hadnt met before.
This is Helen, she works at the village library. Heard we had a new neighbour, thought shed say hello.
Lovely to meet you, Emily smiled.
Likewise, Helen replied, shaking Emilys hand. We dont get many newcomers, especially ones who intend to stay.
What did you do in the city? Helen asked.
I was an accountant, Emily answered.
Whats your qualification?
Economics, Emily shrugged. Why?
Our school cant find a maths teacher. Think you could give it a go, even parttime?
The idea seemed absurd at first, but something about it sparked her interest.
Ill think about it, she said.
A week later Emily stood before a tiny class of fifteen village children. The school ran a mixedage programme, so she taught all the ages together.
Good morning, class, she began, voice a little shaky, Im Miss Emily, and Ill be teaching you maths.
The children stared, then, surprisingly, asked curious questions. By the end of the lesson Emily felt an unexpected lift teaching was oddly fulfilling.
Soon her days were a patchwork of school, garden work, and new friendships. Her son sent occasional texts, her daughter called now and then; Emily replied with a brief All good here, which was indeed true.
The city felt distant, its glass towers and endless traffic a dim memory. Occasionally she thought of the flat and the husband shed left, but the ache had softened; those moments were simply part of a past she no longer needed.
One afternoon a tall, broadshouldered farmer named Jack stopped by the cottage.
Emily, may I have a word? he asked, shifting from foot to foot at the doorway.
Come in, Jack. Would you like a cuppa? she offered.
Tea, please, he said, taking a seat.
Over tea with honey, Jack spoke of his farm and his plans. When he finally got to the point, he said, I could use an accountant. The paperwork keeps piling up and Im no good with numbers. Would you help?
Emily pondered. The offer was unexpected but tempting; she missed having a professional role.
Ill think about it, she replied.
A weeks not long, the harvests coming, Jack warned with a grin.
A few days later she accepted. Mornings were spent in the classroom, afternoons at Jacks farm, evenings tending her own plot.
One day Jack returned with his tractor.
Your gardens a jungle, he said, Ill give you a hand.
Together they ploughed, planted potatoes, onions and carrots, laughing and occasionally bickering in the most endearing way.
Your fence is falling apart, Jack observed, eyeing the yard.
Ive no money for a new one, Emily sighed.
Ive some timber, Jack replied, smiling, and Ill need your cooking in return. Deal?
She agreed, delighted by his straightforward generosity.
The whole village pitched in to rebuild the fenceMabel with her son, Helen with her husband, others with tools and jokes. After a long day they celebrated with homemade cider.
To new beginnings! Jack toasted, raising his glass.
To fresh lives! Helen added.
Emily watched the simple, openhearted crowd and felt she had finally found a place where she belonged.
That autumn, her exhusband Mark showed up in a sleek black sedan, stopping at the gate.
Emily, he called, can I come in?
She straightened, wiped her hands on her apron, and nodded. Mark stepped onto the garden, eyes widening at the countryside.
You live here? he asked.
Yes, she replied matteroffactly.
But you have a flat in London all the comforts
I like it here, Emily shrugged.
Mark scanned her, noticing how shed tanned, slimmed, and moved with a confidence he hadnt seen before.
You look different, he said.
I am different, she answered, offering tea. Sit?
They chatted over tea with her own blackberry jam. Mark talked about his new life, but Emily listened politely, feeling none of the old sting.
Ive realised I was a fool, he finally said. I love you, Emily. Come back to me.
Emily looked at him, amused. A few months ago those words would have made her heart race; now they barely fluttered.
Mark, she said gently, thank you for saying that, but I wont be returning. My home is here.
Youre in a village, he protested, no theatres, no restaurants, no shops!
But we have real life, Emily replied calmly, and real people.
What about our marriage? Twenty years together
It ended when you left, she said without blame. If you hadnt walked away, I might never have found myself.
Mark stared, bewildered by the confident woman before him.
Are you happy here? he asked finally.
Yes, she said simply. I am happy.
He drove away, and Emily returned to her carrots. Jack soon appeared, waving a basket of apples.
Emily, fresh apples for you! Antonovs best, he shouted.
Thanks, Jack, she laughed, could you help me pull the carrots? Its a twohand job.
Anything for you, he grinned.
They worked side by side, the setting sun painting the sky pink, the orchard scent mingling with wilted leaves.
Who was that at the gate? Jack asked later, nodding toward the car.
My exhusband, Emily said.
What did he want?
Lured me back to the city.
Jack paused, holding a carrot, then asked, And you?
I turned him down, Emily replied, smiling. Im happy here.
Jacks face brightened. Later, as he was about to leave, he turned to her.
Theres a village hall concert on Saturday, folk music and dancing. Fancy coming with me?
Emilys eyes twinkled.
Id love that, Jack.
Saturday evening she dressed in her nicest simple dress. Jack arrived, a bouquet of wildflowers in hand.
You look lovely, he said, handing them over.
The concert was heartfeltlocal singers, poetry, a few clumsy dancers. When the dance began, Jack invited Emily for a waltz. He was awkward but earnest; her arms felt safe in his strong grip.
Emily, he whispered, eyes soft, Im a plain bloke, no city polish, but Im smitten with you.
She looked at his earnest face and felt the same.
Im smitten too, Jack, she replied quietly.
They danced until the lanterns dimmed, then he walked her to the gate, hand gently clasping hers.
May I come by tomorrow? he asked.
Come by, she smiled, Ill be waiting.
Winter fell hard on Willowbrook; the cottage was buried in snow. Each morning Jack shovelled the path, and evenings they shared tea by the fire, dreaming of the future.
Helen once remarked, You two make a lovely pair. Whens the wedding?
Emily blushed, Just friends.
Ah, friends who stare at each other like lovers, Helen chuckled.
In spring Jack proposed, plain and sincere.
Emily, will you marry me? I love you.
She said yes, Ill be yours, Jack. I love you too.
The whole village turned up for the wedding. Emilys children arrived, surprised at first, then embraced their mothers joy.
The most important thing is youre happy, Mum, her daughter said, hugging her.
Emily truly was happy. She had found a home in a tiny English village, surrounded by straightforward, caring folk and a man who loved her just as she was. The happiness shed read about in novelssimple, bright, and genuinewas finally hers.
She had fled to the countryside to escape pain and disappointment, and ended up discovering love and herself. And she lived happily ever after.
