Emily Thompson carefully arranged the plates on the dining table, adjusted the napkins, and glanced at the clock once more. Her husband would be home from work in half an hour, so it was time to start frying the sausages. The mashed potatoes were ready, the salad neatly prepared, and the bread sliced evenly—everything just as it should be, everything the way he liked it.
“Mum, can I go to Lucy’s tonight? She’s got some new films from London,” called eighteen-year-old Sophie from her bedroom.
“No, love, Dad will be home soon. We’ll have dinner as a family,” Emily replied without turning around. “You can go later.”
“But that’s so childish! I’m eighteen!” Sophie protested, though she didn’t push further. She knew her mother wouldn’t budge.
Emily smiled to herself. Eighteen was still a child. She’d been married by that age, while Sophie still seemed so young. Perhaps it was better this way—let her stay a daughter a little longer.
The front door clicked open, and in walked Richard Thompson. A broad-shouldered man with greying temples, tired but content. His construction job was hard work, but it paid well, and that was what mattered.
“Hello, love,” he said, kissing Emily on the cheek. “Something smells good.”
“Your favourite—bangers and mash,” she smiled. “Sit down, I’ll serve it up.”
“Where’s Sophie?”
“In her room—I’ll call her. Sophie! Dad’s home!”
Sophie dashed out, hugging her father.
“Dad, can I go to Lucy’s after dinner? She’s got some brilliant films—”
Richard frowned.
“What films? None of that rubbish, I hope. You should be focusing on your studies. College isn’t far off.”
“But Dad, they’re not rubbish—”
“I said no, and that’s final!” he snapped. “Emily, why don’t you discipline her? She’s getting out of hand!”
Emily quickly intervened.
“Richard, she’s just curious, that’s all. Sophie, sit down—we’ll talk later.”
Dinner passed quietly. Richard talked about work, how the bosses had raised targets but cut bonuses. Emily nodded along, refilling his plate and pouring his tea. Sophie stayed silent, pushing food around.
“Emily, what’s the gossip about the Wilsons?” Richard suddenly asked, finishing his last bite.
“What about them? They keep to themselves.”
“No, not that. I heard Mrs. Wilson got some office job, and Mr. Wilson’s at home with the kids now.”
Emily set her cup down carefully.
“Well, if it works for them—”
“Works for them?” Richard scoffed. “A man should provide for his family, not play nursemaid! A woman’s place is in the home. That’s not how things should be.”
“But if she earns more—”
“No buts!” he thumped the table. “There’s an order to these things. The man leads, the woman supports. End of.”
Emily nodded silently and began clearing the table. She’d never been one to argue, and she didn’t see the point. Maybe he was right—she’d stayed home all her life, and they’d managed fine.
Sophie glanced between them, then asked quietly, “Can I still go to Lucy’s? Just for a bit.”
“No!” Richard barked. “I said no! Go study or read a book. No gallivanting about!”
Sophie sighed and retreated to her room. Emily watched her go, a pang in her chest. Poor girl, always cooped up. But what could she do if Richard said no?
A few days later, Emily ran into their neighbour, Margaret, at the market. She was beaming.
“Emily, have you heard? My Charlotte got into university—in London! Can you imagine?”
“That’s wonderful,” Emily said sincerely. “What’s she studying?”
“Economics. Wants to be a financial analyst. I was nervous at first—London’s so far—but then I thought, why hold her back? Let her find her own way.”
“And your husband? Was he alright with it?”
Margaret sighed.
“We had a row. He kept saying, ‘Why does a girl need a degree? She’ll just marry and have children.’ But I stood my ground. Times are changing.”
Emily nodded, thoughtful. Sophie would soon apply for college, but to where? Richard had already made it clear—teaching was the right path for a girl. Safe, steady, then marriage and motherhood.
But Sophie dreamed of journalism. She’d confided in Emily when Richard wasn’t around, eyes alight with passion. Yet the moment she mentioned it in front of him, he shut her down.
“Journalism’s no job for a woman. All that travelling, interviewing strangers—it’s not proper.”
And Emily stayed silent. As always.
Summer flew by. Sophie applied to teacher training college, just as Richard wanted. She got in easily—she’d always been bright. On enrollment day, she came home sullen.
“Well, love, congratulations!” Richard grinned. “A teacher in the family—proper job that.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Sophie mumbled before disappearing upstairs.
Emily watched her go, that familiar ache returning. But what could she do? Upset the peace? No, it wasn’t worth it.
College was easy for Sophie, but joyless. She trudged through classes, barely speaking about it at home. Emily tried to ask, but got only shrugs.
“Fine, Mum.”
“How are the tutors?”
“Fine.”
“Made any friends?”
“Some.”
One evening, when Richard was working late, Sophie burst into tears at dinner.
“What’s wrong, love?” Emily asked, alarmed.
“Remember Lucy? From school?”
“Of course. What about her?”
“She got into university—studying journalism. Saw her yesterday. She loves it—meeting people, learning new things. And what am I doing? Singing nursery rhymes.”
Emily didn’t know what to say. She stroked Sophie’s hair like she used to when she was little.
“Teaching’s noble work, love. Shaping young minds.”
“But it’s not what I wanted,” Sophie whispered. “I wanted to write, to explore. Now what? Stuck in a classroom forever?”
“You’ll marry, have children—you’ll be happy.”
“What if I don’t want that yet? What if I want to find myself first?”
Emily was at a loss. In her day, life was simpler—school, then marriage or work, then babies. Now Sophie was asking questions she couldn’t answer.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” she said finally.
Sophie wiped her tears and left.
A year passed. Sophie grew quieter, hardly speaking at home. Emily worried but didn’t know how to help.
Then, out of nowhere, Sophie announced she was getting married.
“Married?” Richard spluttered. “You barely know him!”
“I do. His name’s James, he’s a mechanic. Good bloke.”
“What about college? You’ll drop out?”
“Yes. Why do I need a degree now? I’ll be a wife, then a mother.”
Richard hesitated.
“But you’re so close to qualifying—”
“Don’t need it,” Sophie cut in. “James doesn’t want me working. Says he’ll provide.”
Emily listened, uneasy. Sophie’s words sounded right, but her voice was hollow, her eyes empty.
“Do you love him?” Emily ventured.
“Of course,” Sophie said too quickly. “Isn’t it obvious?”
It wasn’t. But Emily stayed silent.
They married quietly. Sophie looked beautiful but distant, smiling on cue. She and James moved into his flat. He was strict, bossy. Sophie obeyed without question, as if she’d given up.
Six months later, she was pregnant. Emily was thrilled—a grandchild!—but Sophie showed no joy.
“How are you feeling?” Emily asked.
“Fine.”
“Is James happy?”
“Yes.”
“Are you?”
Sophie paused.
“Does it matter? It’s what’s expected.”
The words struck Emily. “What’s expected”—that had been her mantra too. Was Sophie following her path?
A girl was born—Lily. James kept his word, supporting them, though money was tight.
“Maybe Sophie could work part-time?” Emily suggested once.
“No,” James said firmly. “A wife’s place is at home. I’ll work harder.”
And he did—long hours at the garage, extra shifts. He came home exhausted, irritable. Sophie tiptoed around him.
As Lily grew, so did expenses. School uniforms, toys, tutors. James struggled.
“Let Sophie work,” Emily tried again.
“I said no!” James snapped. “Stay out of it!”
Emily retreated. Silent, as always.
Then James started drinking. Weekends at first, then more often. Sophie said nothing, enduring it. When he came home
