Love Until Death
Emma stepped out of the shop, adjusting the weight of the grocery bag digging into her fingers. She hadn’t bought much, yet the load felt unbearable. Pausing outside the house, she frowned. *No lights on. Lucy’s run off again.* Emma shook her head. *Just wait till she gets back… Ever since she got mixed up with that… Jake, her grades have slipped, she skips homework. The teachers complain. And with A-levels coming up, university applications… Just you wait till you walk through that door—* She twisted the key in the lock, climbing the stairs with heavy steps.
Inside, Emma dropped the groceries on the kitchen chair. Her eyes flicked to the stove. *Of course. I asked her to peel potatoes or boil pasta. Gone again… What am I supposed to do with her? Useless—*
She wrenched off her coat, flung it over the bannister, and stormed back to the kitchen. Doors slammed, plates clattered—Emma cooked in furious silence, promising herself she’d finally lay down the law when Lucy dared to come home.
But Lucy wasn’t in any hurry. Half past ten, still no sign. Emma paced the living room, muttering under her breath like a chant:
“Just wait till she walks in… Just wait, I’ll teach her a lesson she won’t forget. Breaking my back for her, so she can have what everyone else has, and she can’t even boil pasta… Do I look like I enjoy this? Raising her alone, just like Mum had to with me. Ungrateful. Does she *want* my life? Let her try it, then. Let her see how hard it really is—”
The anger bubbled over. Emma longed to smash something, anything, just to release the fury coiled tight in her chest.
When the key scraped in the lock, relief almost washed the anger away. But then she saw Lucy’s face—guilty, yes, but lit with a reckless, dizzy joy—and the rage roared back hotter.
“Where the hell have you been? Do you know what time it is? And your homework? Exams are weeks away, and you’re off God-knows-where—” Her voice cracked the air, forgetting the neighbours.
“I did my homework—” Lucy tried.
“Shut it! Don’t talk back to me! Have you lost your mind? I raised you to study, get a good job, make something of yourself. Instead, you’re repeating *my* mistakes.”
“I’m not repeating anything. Stop shouting—” Lucy snapped.
Her eyes dimmed, cheeks flushing with defiance.
Emma bit back a scream. Her hands trembled, scanning the room for something—anything—to wield. Lucy darted past, but Emma snatched the folded umbrella from the hall stand, raising it—
“Mum!” Lucy flinched, arms shielding her head.
The umbrella clattered to the floor. Emma sagged, the anger draining out of her like air from a burst balloon.
“I’ve been out of my mind worrying,” she whispered, exhaustion hitting like a wave. “Where were— What’s that on your finger?”
Lucy slowly lowered her hands, staring at the simple gold ring with a tiny white stone.
“Jake gave it to me.” Her voice was small, testing the air.
“You’re still in school. Does he not *get* that?”
“He knows. So what? Two more months and I’ll have my exams, then—”
“Then you’ll be an adult? Please. You live under my roof. You’ll follow my rules. You think age means freedom? Means staying out all hours? Skipping school? What if you get *pregnant*—” The words spilled out, unstoppable.
“Mum, he *loves* me. And I love him.”
“If he loved you, he’d want what’s best for you, not ruin your future. Where did he even *come* from—” Emma’s voice broke. A sob, or a groan—she wasn’t sure.
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. Every worst-case scenario played behind her eyelids—her bright, beautiful girl, her pride, throwing it all away. Finally, she dialled her only friend.
“You *know* what time it is?” Sarah croaked, yawning.
“I’m sorry. I just— It’s Lucy. She’s—”
“Told you not to coddle her. What’s she done now?”
“She’s mixed up with this older boy, skipping school, teachers are *complaining*—”
Another yawn crackled down the line.
“He *gave* her a *ring*, Sarah. She’s seventeen, talking about *love*. He’ll ruin her. Are you even *listening*?” Silence. “Fine. I’ll call tomorrow.”
Sharing the weight helped, just a little. She slept fitfully. By morning, the panic had dulled. She needed to act. But *how*?
Peeking into Lucy’s room, she watched her daughter curled under the duvet, cheek pillowed on her hand. The sight squeezed her heart.
*Enough.*
On her way out, Emma snatched her keys—then, on impulse, fished Lucy’s from her coat pocket. From the junk drawer, she dug out the spare set from her ex, locking the door behind her.
*There. She’s not going anywhere.*
Lucy called at nine, screaming down the phone.
“Stay home. *Think*. We’ll talk tonight.”
The call cut short. At work, Emma’s mind buzzed with half-formed arguments.
Returning that evening, she spotted the crowd first—neighbours clustered across the street, murmuring. Her pulse spiked.
“Emma—” Mrs. Harris hobbled over, arthritic knees protesting. Her face was pity. “Don’t panic. Police are coming, rescue services—”
“*What happened?*”
Then she saw them. Two figures, haloed by the dying sun, standing on the rooftop ledge.
“Oh God—I *locked* her in, how—”
“That van with the crane earlier?” a man muttered. “Thought it was maintenance. Must’ve pulled her out the window. That your girl up there?”
Whispers spread. Emma barely heard them.
“Lucy!” The name tore from her throat—but no sound came.
Jake’s voice wobbled from above: “Stay back! We’ll jump!”
Then movement—men slipping into the building. Emma’s vision blurred. The figures swayed. *No, no—*
Darkness swallowed her.
When she woke, a face hovered above—*Jake?*—but no, a paramedic.
“Lucy—”
“She’s alive. Over there.”
Emma scrambled up. Lucy crashed into her, sobbing into her shoulder. “I’m *sorry*—”
A low voice: “Tell the police he *forced* you up there. You don’t know why.”
Two ambulances arrived. One drove away with a black bag.
Jake had let go.
After that, Lucy barely spoke. Police came, then left. Emma took leave from work, watching her daughter like a shadow.
“It’ll pass, love. It’ll pass.”
Weeks later, Lucy returned to school, aced her exams. They fled to Sarah’s cottage. Lucy whispered with Sarah, even smiled sometimes.
Autumn faded into winter. Emma shopped for Christmas—a necklace, not a ring.
Then, one evening, laughter spilled from Lucy’s room. A *boy’s* laugh.
Emma froze. *Not again.*
“Mum, this is—” Lucy stood, flustered.
The boy rose too. “Don’t recognise me?”
Emma frowned.
“Paul. I was there—when you fainted.”
A memory flickered. The paramedic.
“We ran into each other,” he said, grinning. “Shopping for our mums, of all things.” He ducked his head. “Recognised her straight away. Beautiful.”
Lucy blushed furiously.
Emma put the kettle on, heart slowing.
That New Year, they celebrated together. Two years later, Paul and Lucy married.
Love draws people like moths to a flame. But first love shouldn’t end in tragedy.
Some love burns too bright. Some can’t bear the weight of living.
Life is too long for love, sometimes. Just too long.
