Emily Whitmore carefully arranged the plates on the dining table, adjusted the napkins, and glanced at the clock for the umpteenth time. Her husband would be home from work in half an hour—just enough time to start frying the sausages. The roast potatoes were already done, the salad neatly chopped, the bread sliced into perfect squares. Everything was in order, just how he liked it.
“Mum, can I go to Sophie’s tonight? She just got some new films from London,” called eighteen-year-old Rebecca from her room.
“No, love. Dad’ll be home soon, and we’re having dinner as a family,” Emily replied without turning around. “You can go later.”
“Oh, come on, this is ridiculous! I’m eighteen!” Rebecca huffed, but she didn’t push further. She knew her mother wouldn’t budge.
Emily smiled to herself. Eighteen? Still a child. Why, she’d been married at that age, and here was Rebecca, still acting like a schoolgirl. Then again, perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. Let her be young a little longer.
The front door slammed, and in walked David Whitmore—a burly man with greying temples, tired but content. His construction job was hard graft, but it paid well, and that’s what mattered.
“Hello, love,” he said, planting a kiss on Emily’s cheek. “Something smells good.”
“Your favourite—bangers and mash, just how you like them,” Emily smiled. “Sit down, I’ll bring everything out.”
“Where’s Becky?”
“In her room—I’ll call her. Rebecca! Dad’s home!”
Rebecca dashed out of her room and hugged her father.
“Dad, can I go to Sophie’s after dinner? She’s got these brilliant new films…”
David frowned.
“What sort of films? You shouldn’t be filling your head with nonsense. You’ve got college soon—need to focus.”
“They’re not nonsense, just normal films!”
“I said no, and that’s final!” David’s voice rose. “Emily, why aren’t you keeping her in line? She’s getting far too cheeky!”
Emily quickly intervened.
“David, she’s just young and curious. Rebecca, sit down and eat—we’ll talk later.”
Dinner passed in relative silence. David grumbled about work—how the boss had tightened deadlines again while cutting bonuses. Emily nodded along, refilling his plate and pouring his tea. Rebecca pushed peas around her plate, saying nothing.
“Em, what’s the gossip about the Harrisons next door?” David asked suddenly, wiping gravy from his plate.
“Gossip? They keep to themselves, don’t they?”
“No, not that. Heard Mrs. Harrison got some fancy office job. Now Mr. Harrison’s the one at home with the kids.”
Emily set her teacup down carefully.
“Well, if it works for them…”
“How’s that supposed to work?” David scoffed. “A man’s job is to provide. A woman’s place is in the home. That’s just how it is.”
“But if she earns more—”
“No buts!” David thumped the table. “There’s an order to these things. Man’s the head of the house, woman’s the heart. End of.”
Emily nodded silently and began clearing the table. Arguing with David had never been her strong suit—nor had she ever wanted to. Why stir trouble when silence kept the peace? Maybe he was right. She’d stayed home all her life, and they’d managed just fine.
Rebecca glanced between her parents, then asked quietly,
“Can I still go to Sophie’s later? Just for a bit.”
“No!” David barked. “I’ve told you—homework or books. No gallivanting about!”
Rebecca sighed and trudged to her room. Emily watched her go, a pang in her chest. Poor girl—never allowed out, always cooped up. But what could she do? If David said no, that was that.
A few days later, Emily ran into their neighbour, Margaret, at the market. The woman was beaming.
“Emily, have you heard? Our Lucy got into university—London School of Economics! Can you believe it?”
“How wonderful!” Emily said genuinely. “What’s she studying?”
“Economics. Wants to be a financial advisor, maybe even run her own firm one day. I was nervous at first—London’s so far, and her all alone there. But then I thought, why hold her back? Let her spread her wings.”
“And your husband? Was he alright with it?”
Margaret hesitated. “Well, we had a proper row about it. He kept saying, ‘What’s a girl need higher education for? She’ll just marry and have kids.’ But I told him—times have changed. A woman needs her own footing in life. We argued for weeks, nearly came to blows. But I stood my ground. No regrets.”
Emily nodded silently. That evening, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Rebecca would be applying soon too—but where? David had already made his views clear: no need for university. A teaching certificate would do—steady work, easy hours, then marriage.
But Rebecca dreamed of journalism. She’d whispered about it when David wasn’t around—interviews, articles, maybe even travelling. Her eyes lit up when she talked about it. But the moment David overheard, he shut it down.
“Journalism’s no life for a woman. Chasing stories, dealing with strangers—not proper.”
And Emily stayed quiet. She never backed Rebecca up. Never argued. Just stayed silent, as always.
Summer flew by. Rebecca applied to the local teaching college, just as David wanted. She got in easily—she’d always been bright. On enrolment day, she came home looking pale.
“Well, love, congratulations!” David grinned. “We’ll have a proper teacher in the family now. Sensible choice.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Rebecca mumbled before vanishing into her room.
Emily watched her go, that pang in her chest again. But what could she do? Pick a fight? Upset the peace? No—better to let it lie.
College was easy for Rebecca, but joyless. She attended like it was a prison sentence, never talking about her classes. Emily tried asking, but got only shrugs.
“It’s fine, Mum. Just coursework.”
“Do you like the teachers?”
“They’re alright.”
“Made any friends?”
“A few.”
That was all.
One evening, with David working late, Rebecca suddenly burst into tears at the dinner table.
“Rebecca? What’s wrong?” Emily panicked.
“Mum, remember Sophie? My school friend?”
“Of course. What about her?”
“She got into university—studying journalism. Saw her yesterday. She was telling me about her lectures, the people she’s met, all these amazing opportunities. And what am I doing? Singing nursery rhymes and cutting out paper shapes.”
Emily didn’t know what to say. She stroked Rebecca’s hair like she was a little girl again.
“Love, working with children is noble. You’re shaping young minds.”
“But it’s not what I wanted,” Rebecca whispered. “I wanted to write. To learn. To see things. Now what? Stuck in a primary school forever?”
“Don’t say that. You’ll marry, have children—you’ll be happy.”
“What if I don’t want to marry yet? What if I want to find myself first?”
Emily floundered. These weren’t questions she knew how to answer. In her day, it was simple—school, then marriage or work, then babies. Now Rebecca spoke a language she didn’t understand.
“You’re still young. You’ll figure it out,” she said finally.
Rebecca wiped her eyes and left.
A year passed. Rebecca slogged through her second year, growing quieter by the day. She barely spoke at home—just hello, goodbye. Emily worried, but didn’t know how to help.
Then, out of nowhere, Rebecca announced she was getting married.
“Married?” David spluttered. “You’ve only known him five minutes!”
“Long enough, Dad. His name’s Mark. Works as a mechanic. Good bloke.”
“What about college? You quitting?”
“Yeah. Why bother? I’ll be a wife, then a mum.”
David, oddly, hesitated. “But you’re nearly qualified…”
“Don’t need it,” Rebecca said flatly. “Mark says wives shouldn’t work. He’ll provide.”
Emily listened, a knot in her stomach. The words were right, but Rebecca’s voice was hollow. No joy. No spark. Just resignation.
“Rebecca… do you love him?” Emily ventured.
“’Course I do,” came the too-quick reply. “Isn’t it obvious?”
It wasn’t. Not at all. But Emily said nothing.
The wedding was small—just registry office and a pub lunch. Rebecca looked beautiful, but distant. She smiled when expected, said the right things, but Emily knew it was an act.
The newlyweds moved into Mark’
