Run, before it’s too late…
Every girl dreams of a grand, pure love—the kind that makes your head spin and your heart skip a beat from tender embraces. She imagines a man making a beautiful, unexpected proposal at just the right moment, witnessed by envious eyes. A wedding like something from a fairytale: the groom in a sharp suit, and beside him, a delicate bride in an airy white dress, glowing with happiness. Every little girl grows up picturing this. Lauren was no exception.
Midway through the school year, a new boy joined Year 9—Daniel Carter. At break, everyone crowded around him, peppering him with questions—where he’d come from, why he’d transferred mid-term.
“My father’s military,” Daniel explained. “Got reassigned, so we moved here.”
“Can you shoot?” someone asked.
“Had to, now and then.”
“What kind of gun?”
“Service issue,” he replied, deflecting the barrage.
Daniel noticed Lauren standing apart, as if uninterested. After school, he walked her home—turned out they lived in the same direction. She told him about the school, the classes; he spoke of army bases and cities where his father had been stationed.
On Lauren’s birthday, he brought a single rose to class and handed it to her in front of everyone. Had it been anyone else, the lads would’ve mocked him—but Daniel’s boldness earned their respect, and the girls’ envy.
Lauren accepted the rose as if it were an everyday gesture. Her look said, *See how the new boy chases me? Jealous? Just you wait.* She treated him carelessly, though secretly, she liked him.
Before exams, Lauren met an older man—a rugby player—at a regatta by the Thames. She and a friend had stopped to watch.
“Come here, love. Better view,” a handsome bloke called.
“You racing?” Lauren asked, squeezing through the crowd.
“Nah, I’m into boxing. That’s my mate, second boat.” He pointed, but his eyes never left her, singling her out.
Victor—his name was Victor—walked her home.
“You know what ‘Victor’ means?”
Lauren did, but her mind went blank.
“Winner. That’s me—always on top.”
She liked him. New sensations tugged at her—excitement, nervousness, even fear. Her thoughts tangled. Daniel? Forgotten. What was he next to Victor Hart? All the way home, she wondered—would he kiss her? How should she react? At her doorstep, he bid her goodnight and left. Disappointment stung.
The next day, as she left school, Victor stepped out of a sleek car parked by the kerb and opened the passenger door. Lauren hesitated, scanning for her friends. Their stunned faces gaped from the steps, while Daniel stood nearby, scowling. With a triumphant look, she slid inside. But as they drove off, fear gripped her—where was he taking her?
Victor just drove her around London, talking about cities and countries he’d visited for matches. His attention flattered her. He was restrained, never overstepping. From his trips, he brought back perfumes, fine costume jewellery. The modest rose was history. Her friends gawked at the gifts, breathless with envy. Daniel? Lauren barely noticed him now.
After school, she enrolled at university. Victor met her there most days in his car.
“Where’s your Romeo?” her friends teased when she walked home alone.
“Away for training,” Lauren smiled.
His proposal came out of nowhere—in the middle of Trafalgar Square, down on one knee, velvet ring box open, a modest diamond glittering. Straight out of a film.
A patrol car pulled up, nearly hauling them off for causing a scene.
Lauren’s only regret? None of her friends saw it. No rewind button for life’s greatest moments.
At the registry office, she stood in a cloud of lace, dazzling, deliriously happy. Beside her, Victor—the athlete, the winner—muscles straining his suit jacket. What more could she want?
From the wedding, her new husband drove her to his flat.
A month later, Lauren realised she was pregnant. Terrible timing—what about her degree?
“Think about our son. Finish uni later if you want. Stay home. Money’s no issue,” Victor said.
“What if it’s a girl?”
“It’ll be a son. I always win, remember?”
A son it was. Congratulations and gifts faded. Victor trained, travelled for matches; she stayed home. Friends vanished. Her mother hinted she’d call but not visit—son-in-law didn’t want interference.
Lauren wasn’t crushed, but happiness feels hollow without witnesses. No one saw. No one cared. Isolation wrapped around her like a shroud. Slowly, she woke from the dream.
When the boy grew older, life eased slightly. Lauren took him to prep classes, mostly sports clubs. Chatting with other mums, she still felt Victor’s presence, even absent. On the street, she glanced over her shoulder—someone was watching. She mentioned it once.
“Paranoia. I’ve got better things to do,” Victor snapped.
“Vic, I want to work—finish my degree. I’m sick of being stuck at home.”
“Oh? Thousands of women would kill for your life. Fancy flirting while I pay the bills?” His glare burned through her. She’d never expected such venom. The topic died.
Once, while their son Daniel (she’d named him after the boy Victor erased) was at nursery, Lauren visited a friend. Over tea, she confessed her frustration.
“You’re mad, Lauren. No bosses, no Mondays? Everything handed to you!”
“Where were you?” Victor roared when she returned.
“At Sarah’s—just tea—”
His slap sent sparks across her vision. First time she understood the phrase.
“Bored at home? Have a daughter—no time to mope,” he sneered, shoving her onto the bed.
Lauren stopped going out, seeing anyone—avoiding his triggers. But fear nested in her heart. Who was this man?
One afternoon, returning from the park, they passed a watermelon stall.
“Mum, buy one!” Daniel begged.
The cheerful vendor weighed a massive melon, showering her with compliments.
“How’ll I carry this?” Lauren laughed nervously.
“But verrry sweet!” He offered to deliver it.
That evening, Daniel blabbed. She’d forgotten to hush him.
“Go to your room,” Victor told the boy.
When they were alone, his fist knocked her unconscious. She woke on the floor. Victor sat eating watermelon, spitting seeds near her face.
“Scraping with immigrants now? Be glad you’re alive.”
Next day, a surly old man ran the stall. She knew Victor’s handiwork.
Her face swelled, eye purpling. Sunglasses, a scarf—disguises for shame. At nursery, she bumped into an old classmate, Claire.
“We just moved here! Fancy meeting—oh God, what happened?”
“Toothache. Swelled overnight.”
“Right. Usually it’s ‘walked into a door.’” Claire saw through her. “Come for coffee.”
Lauren refused.
“Scared of him? Run. It’ll get worse.”
“He loves me,” Lauren insisted, weakly.
Claire scribbled a number. “Call if you need. My brother’s Met Police.”
Lauren pocketed it, never intending to use it.
Victor’s rages worsened. He avoided her face now—hidden bruises hurt just as much. The mirror showed a ghost, eyes hollowed by fear.
“He’ll kill you,” Claire said when Lauren finally called. “I warned you. Police won’t help—they’ll hold him overnight, and it’ll be worse. Run. Ready? I’ll arrange everything. Don’t call again—he might’ve bugged your phone. We’ll use Daniel’s cubby at nursery. Notes only. Read, shred, flush.”
“Like spies,” Lauren joked bitterly.
“Better safe. Men like him don’t let go.”
“I’m not a victim, I’m his wife.”
“Wives are their favourite targets. Passport? No? Bad. But Britain’s big. We’ll hide you where no one will find you. Till then—don’t provoke him.”
Hollywood plots once seemed ridiculous. Now she lived one. Where was the tender Victor? He blamed her for everything. She scavenged for reasons, faults in herself.
But his violence escalated. She tiptoed around the flat, a ghost in her own life.
A note in Daniel’s cubby—Claire’s tight script: *Pack essentials. Stash them. Be ready.*
Lauren obeyed. A small bag, tucked away. Dresses left undisturbed. Victor noticed nothing. Days passed peacefully. Maybe she’d overreacted? From a payphone, she called Claire.
“Maybe I shouldn’t—”
“Stay, then. Want him hitting Daniel next?”
“He wouldn’t. He loves him.”
“Suit yourself.” Click.
ThatThat night, as she rocked her son to sleep, she finally understood—love wasn’t supposed to hurt, and freedom was worth more than any diamond ring.
