Run, before it’s too late…
Every girl dreams of a grand, pure love—one that makes her head spin and her heart stop at a tender embrace. She imagines a man proposing in the most unexpected moment, breathtakingly perfect, so everyone watches in envy. A wedding straight out of a fairy tale—groom in a sharp suit, bride delicate in a flowing white dress, glowing with happiness. Every little girl grows up picturing that day. Emily was no exception.
Midway through the school year, a new boy arrived in Year 9—Daniel Carter. At break, the others swarmed him, peppering him with questions—where he’d come from, why he’d moved mid-term.
“My dad’s in the army,” Daniel explained. “Got reassigned. So here we are.”
“—Can you shoot?”
“—Done it before.”
“—With what?”
“—Standard issue.” The questions flew.
Daniel noticed Emily right away. She stood apart, pretending not to care. After school, he walked her home. Turned out, they lived in the same direction. She told him about school; he shared stories of bases where his father had been stationed.
On her birthday, Daniel brought a single rose into class and handed it to her in front of everyone. The other lads would’ve mocked anyone else for such a gesture, but they respected him. The girls seethed with envy.
Emily took the rose like she was handed flowers daily. Her smirk said it all: *Look—new boy’s chasing me. Jealous? Just you wait.* She acted careless, but she fancied him.
Before A-levels, Emily met an older man—an athlete. She’d stopped to watch rowing competitions on the Thames.
“Hey, come stand here—better view,” a bloke called out.
“You competing?” Emily asked, weaving through the crowd.
“No, I do boxing. That’s my mate, second boat.” He grinned, eyes never leaving her.
Victor—his name—walked her home.
“Know what ‘Victor’ means?”
She did. But her mind blanked.
“Winner. I always win.”
She liked him. A nervous thrill coiled in her stomach—excitement, fear, something new. Daniel? Forgotten. What was he compared to Victor Dawson?
All night, she wondered—would he kiss her? What would she do if he did? But at her door, he just said goodnight. Disappointment gnawed at her.
The next day, as she left school, a sleek car pulled up. Victor stepped out, opened the passenger door. Emily hesitated—*Are the girls watching?* Their stunned faces burned into her memory. Daniel stood nearby, glowering. Triumphant, she climbed in.
But once they drove off, fear prickled her skin. *Where is he taking me?*
Victor just drove through London, boasting about trips abroad—tournaments, training camps. His attention flattered her. He restrained himself—no moves. Yet.
From then on, he brought her back trinkets—perfume, flashy jewellery. The rose seemed childish now. Her friends gaped at the gifts. And Daniel? Emily barely noticed him.
After school, she started uni. Victor picked her up most days in his car.
“Where’s your Romeo?” friends teased when she walked home once.
“Away for training,” Emily laughed.
His proposal came out of nowhere—right in Trafalgar Square, knee on the pavement, velvet ring box open. A tiny diamond, but dazzling. Like a film.
A patrol car pulled up—almost arrested them for public disruption.
Her only regret? None of her friends saw it. No replay button.
At the registry office, she stood in lace, radiant. Beside her—Victor. Strong. Handsome. A *winner*. What more could she want?
From the wedding, he took her straight to his flat.
A month later, she was pregnant. *Bad timing. What about uni?*
“Think about our son. You’ll finish later—*if* you want.” Victor’s voice left no room for argument. “Stay home. Money’s no issue.”
“What if it’s a girl?”
“It’s a boy. I win, remember?”
She had a son. The baby shower gifts gathered dust. Victor trained, travelled, competed. She stayed home. Friends vanished. Mum hinted she’d call, not visit—son-in-law didn’t want interference.
Not that Emily minded—but happiness dulled without witnesses. No one saw. No one cared. She felt caged, invisible. The dream soured.
When their son started school, life lightened—barely. Playdates, football clubs. Other mums chatted. Yet, she felt Victor’s eyes even when he wasn’t there. On the street, she flinched at shadows.
She mentioned it once.
“Paranoid much?” Victor scoffed. “Like I’d waste time following you.”
“Vic, I want to work—finish my degree. I’m sick of this.”
His glare cut deep. “*Thousands* of women beg for your life. Want to swan about while I pay?”
She dropped it.
Once, while Daniel (her son) was at nursery, she visited a friend. Over tea, Emily confessed.
“God, you’re nuts,” her friend laughed. “No boss, no commute, everything handed to you—*and* you complain?”
“Where were you?” Victor roared when she returned.
“At a friend’s—”
His slap sent stars across her vision.
“Don’t like staying home? Try a daughter. You’ll *beg* for boredom.”
He shoved her onto the bed.
After that, Emily stopped leaving. Fear curled inside her—*Who is this man?*
One afternoon, they passed a watermelon stall.
“Mum, buy one!” Daniel begged.
The vendor flirted as he weighed a giant melon.
“How’ll I carry this?” Emily fretted.
“Ah, but so sweet!” He offered to walk it home.
That night, Daniel babbled about the melon. Emily regretted not hushing him.
Victor sent the boy to his room. Then—
A fist to her face. Darkness.
She woke on the floor. Victor sat eating watermelon. Didn’t even help her up.
“Lowered yourself to *those* people? Thank me you’re breathing.”
Next day—a gruff, silent vendor. She *knew* Victor had arranged it.
Her face swelled. Sunglasses, scarf—hiding bruises.
At nursery, she bumped into an old classmate—Sarah.
“Just moved here! My daughter starts next week.” Sarah eyed Emily’s cheek. “Husband?”
“Toothache. Swelled overnight.”
“Usually they say ‘walked into a door.’” Sarah sighed. “Come for coffee.”
Emily refused.
“Scared of him? Jealous? Controlling? *Run.* It gets worse.”
“I—I provoked him. He loves me.”
Sarah pressed a number into her hand. “Call if you need. My cousin’s in the Met.”
Emily pocketed it—never intending to use it.
Victor’s rages worsened. He avoided her face—bruises too obvious. But the pain stayed. The mirror showed a ghost—hollow-eyed, pale.
“Could’ve *killed* you,” Sarah hissed when Emily finally called. “Useless reporting him. He’ll be out in hours. *Run.* Ready?”
She hesitated.
“Want him hitting Daniel next?”
“—He wouldn’t.”
“Sure. Your funeral.”
That night, Victor eyed her trembling.
“*What’s* wrong with you?”
Too fast, she insisted she’d take Daniel to nursery. Victor’s kiss turned into a gut punch—doubling her over.
No more doubts.
At dawn, she bundled Daniel up, grabbed a hidden bag. A car waited. They drove for hours—to a dying village. An old house.
Days passed. No Victor. Daniel thrived—playing, tanned. The weekly grocery van kept them fed.
One morning—nausea. *Pregnant. Again.*
Then—*him.*
At the van, Daniel gasped. “Mum, look!”
“—Emily?”
*Daniel Carter.* Her school crush.
“Just… a holiday,” she stammered.
“Visiting Gran. Ninety-four—won’t leave.” He lifted a bucket of fish. “Ever fished, mate?”
Daniel begged. She relented.
That night—her eyes snapped open. *A car door.*
Victor kicked in the door. Two thugs behind him.
“Thought you’d run?” He grabbed Daniel. “Take him.”
A thug hauled the boy out.
Victor’s fist cracked bone. She crumpled.
*—Wake.* Water splashed her face.
Kicks. Ribs. Darkness.
She woke in *their* flat. A stranger in scrubs.
“Can you recall the attack? Victor found you—robbers. You lost the baby.”
*His* story now.
Victor loomed. Terrified, broken—she wished for death.
He left.
On the third day, she wobbled up. Every inch screamed.
NoShe opened her eyes to sunlight streaming through the curtains—Daniel’s small hand in hers, the weight of fear finally gone, and the quiet certainty that, for the first time in years, she was free.
