Margaret stood by the kitchen window, watching her husband William tinker with some car part in the garage. In her hand was a crumpled note she’d found in Emily’s jeans pocket. The words blurred through her tears, but she read them again: “Meet me at ten by the entrance. Gran’s dead to the world, won’t hear a thing. Love you. Jack.”
“Lord, what did I do to deserve this?” Margaret whispered, crushing the paper tighter.
Emily had come into their lives six months ago. The daughter of William’s sister Claire, who’d spent her life bouncing between bad relationships, drowning in drink, and finally dying in a car crash. The sixteen-year-old had been left with no one. Of course, she and William couldn’t turn her away.
“Meg, she’s family,” William had pleaded back then. “Where else would she go? Some council home?”
Margaret had agreed. She and William had never had children of their own—doctors had said it wouldn’t happen. Maybe this was fate’s way of giving them a second chance.
How wrong she’d been.
At first, it was fine. Emily seemed grateful, well-behaved. Helped around the house, got good grades, called them Auntie Meg and Uncle Will. Margaret doted on her—bought her nice clothes, signed her up for netball, even hired a tutor for her maths.
“Look at our clever girl,” she’d say to the neighbours. “Straight A’s, she is.”
But slowly, things changed. Emily grew sharp, snapping back. Came home later and later. Then, a week ago, Margaret noticed money missing from the biscuit tin.
“Em, did you take anything from the drawer?” she’d asked carefully.
“What money?” Emily hadn’t even looked up from her phone.
“The £200 I’d put aside for your new trainers.”
“Wasn’t me. Maybe you spent it and forgot.”
Margaret had stayed quiet, but the lie stung. She remembered exactly how much was there. They lived on a tight pension—there was nowhere else it могло have gone.
Then came the sneaking out. Emily thought she was quiet, but Margaret slept lightly these days. Heard every creak in the hall, every careful turn of the key.
She’d tried talking to her. But each time, Emily brushed her off or stormed out.
And now this note. Margaret couldn’t fathom who this Jack was or what they got up to at night.
“Meg, where’s Emily?” William came in, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
“Upstairs. On that phone again.”
“We need to have words. She’s out of control.”
“I’ve tried. She won’t listen.”
William sat at the table, pouring himself tea from the pot.
“What’s that in your hand?”
Margaret passed him the note. His face darkened.
“Where’d you find this?”
“In her jeans, when I was doing the wash.”
“Right. This is serious. We’re having it out with her.”
Just then, Emily walked in—tall, thin, dark-haired. Pretty, but with a glare that could cut glass.
“Oh, talking about me, are you?” She yanked open the fridge.
“Emily, sit down,” Margaret said quietly. “We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“This.” William held up the note.
For a second, Emily faltered. Then she scoffed, slumping into a chair.
“So? Private stuff.”
“Nothing’s private under this roof,” William snapped. “We’re responsible for you.”
“Yeah? Thought you just took me in out of pity,” Emily shot back. “Nice aunt and uncle charity case.”
“Emily!” Margaret gasped. “We love you like our own!”
“Love me? Then why police everything I do? Why can’t I see my boyfriend?”
“Because you’re a child,” William cut in. “And we don’t know this boy.”
“Jack’s brilliant. He gets me, unlike you.”
“How old is he?” Margaret pressed.
Emily hesitated.
“Twenty-one.”
“What?!” Margaret nearly dropped her cup. “You’re sixteen, he’s a grown man! That’s illegal!”
“It is NOT!” Emily screamed. “We’re in love!”
“Love?” William shook his head. “At your age, it’s not love. It’s daft.”
“You don’t get it!” Emily jumped up. “You’re old, you never had kids—what would you know?”
The words hit Margaret like a slap. She went pale, gripping the table.
“Em, that’s enough—” William started, but Emily wasn’t done.
“Truth hurts, doesn’t it? I never asked you to take me in! Should’ve left me in care!”
“Then pack your things and go!” William roared. “If we’re so awful!”
“Will, don’t—” Margaret begged.
“Let her! Off to Jack, then!”
Emily stared them down.
“Fine. I’ll get my stuff. And I’ll pay you back. Jack will help.”
She slammed the door behind her. Margaret dissolved into tears.
“Will… what have we done?”
“Nothing. She chose this. We’re not her villains.”
“But she’s a child. What’ll happen to her?”
William pulled her close.
“Don’t know, love. Don’t know.”
Thuds came from Emily’s room—stuff being thrown into bags. Margaret nearly went up, but fear held her back.
An hour later, Emily appeared with a holdall and backpack.
“Right. I’m off.” She wouldn’t meet their eyes.
“Em, wait—” Margaret stood. “Let’s talk properly.”
“What’s to say? You told me to leave.”
“Will spoke in anger. We don’t want you to go.”
“I do. It’s suffocating here. Jack’s got a flat—I’m moving in.”
“School?” William asked.
“I’ll manage. I’m nearly seventeen.”
“Em, listen.” Margaret reached for her. “I know you’re in love. But you barely know this boy. What if he’s using you?”
“He’s NOT!” Emily’s eyes blazed. “He’s the only one who cares! You just want to cage me!”
“We want you safe.”
“From what? Happiness?”
Emily headed for the door. Margaret followed.
“At least leave your number. I’ll worry.”
“Fine. But don’t ring nonstop.”
The door clicked shut. Margaret watched from the window as Emily climbed into a waiting car. A bloke in a leather jacket sat at the wheel.
“Well, that’s that,” William muttered. “Six months down the drain. Not even a thanks.”
“Will… were we wrong? Should we have handled it differently?”
“How? Let a sixteen-year-old shack up with some bloke? Meg, wake up.”
Margaret nodded, but her heart ached. She’d grown so attached. Hoped they’d be a proper family.
A week passed with no word. Margaret itched to call, but William held her back.
“Give her time. She’ll see sense.”
No call came. Then one morning, their neighbour Mrs. Higgins dropped by.
“You know your Emily’s dripping in gold now? Bracelets, chains, rings. Where’s she getting that?”
Margaret frowned.
“Maybe Jack’s buying it.”
“If he is—heard he’s dodgy. Flash car, no job. Runs with a rough crowd.”
After she left, Margaret couldn’t shake it. Was Emily mixed up in something bad?
She rang her.
“‘Allo?” A man’s voice.
“May I speak to Emily?”
“Who’s this?”
“Her aunt.”
“Hold on.”
A pause, then Emily’s voice.
“Yeah?”
“Em, it’s Auntie Meg. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Still at school?”
“Yeah.”
“Em… this Jack. What’s his job?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“He’s in business.”
“What business?”
“Auntie Meg, busy. I’ll ring you.”
Click. Margaret turned to William.
“Something’s not right.”
“Her choice, love.”
But Margaret couldn’t let it go. She started spotting Emily around town—decked in gold, designer clothes. But she looked… hollow.
One day, she bumped into Emily outside Boots, buying pills.
“Em!”
Emily spun. Margaret gasped—her face was gaunt, dark circles under her eyes.
“Auntie Meg…”
“Love, are you ill?”
“No. Just tired.”
“From what? You don’t work.”
Emily looked away.
“I do.”
“Where?”
“Cafe. Waitressing.”
“And school?”
“Switched to evenings.”
Margaret eyed her expensive outfit.
“Em… these clothes. Jack buys them?”
“Yeah.”
“And the pills?”
“Headaches.”
Emily edged awayMargaret pulled her into a tight hug, whispering, “Come home, love—we’ll sort this out together,” but the words hung heavy in the air, unanswered and uncertain.
