He shoved her out of the doorway with enough force to rattle the old oak door, then slammed it shut. Emily drifted forward on her momentum, stumbled, and hit the wooden floorboards of the back garden. She brushed the dust from her palms, sank onto the damp planks and gingerly traced the redkissed mark on her cheek, then down to her lower lip. A crimson smear lingered on her fingers. It didnt surprise Emily it merely confirmed what she already knew: Stephen had once again smashed her lip. This time the cheek ached even more.
Stephen had lost his temper again. It happened all too often.
Emily shuffled back to the door, pressed her forehead against the rough timber and tried to catch her breath. From the other side came the highpitched sobs of her two daughters, Lily and Poppy, Stephens girls. Her heart clenched with a painful knot; she didnt want to hurt them either She licked the swollen, saltytasting lip, a souvenir of another angry flareup, another flash of blind, irrational jealousy.
All because of one foolish grin. Earlier that day at the village hall, the boss a jolly, rosycheeked fellow in his fifties had made some boisterous comment about the harvest. Emily, standing nearby, let out a nervous laugh out of pure politeness. Gillian, Stephens sister, caught the sound. Her eyes, sharp as needles, lingered on Emily a heartbeat longer than necessary. That was enough. Without a second thought, Gillian relayed the incident to her brother, adding a little extra spice of her own. She always did this, even though she knew exactly what Stephen was capable of when his temper flared.
Emily pushed off the jamb, shivered, and made her way to the little nook. She sat on a cold log. The September evening felt like midday summer, yet the earth already whispered of nights chill. A prickly breeze slipped under her thin scarf. She longed for the warmth of the hearth, for the children but there was nowhere to go. To Stephens family? Gillian would meet her at the threshold with a cutting remark. Her own relatives were gone. Her mother had died a year ago. The thought made her chest tighten and hot, bitter tears stream down her cheeks. She missed her mothers comforting smells the stew of dried apples, the faint smoke, the soft, soothing words that could ease any ache. Now there was no one left to soothe hers.
What on earth? she thought, watching the twilight deepen. What did I do to deserve sitting at my own locked front door like a stray dog, with no exit, no light?
Only seven years earlier seven short years. She closed her eyes and, through the salty veil of tears, saw another picture the one where she was happy. She had a beloved husband, both families were preparing for a wedding.
***
The air was thick and sweet, scented with freshly cut grass and the promise of evening. Emily walked sidebyside with Ben, the man who adored her.
Tomorrow, Emily whispered, eyes drifting toward the setting sun. I still cant believe it.
Ben squeezed her hand tighter. His large, warm palm enveloped her slender fingers.
I can, he replied. Ive believed it since the day you climbed that raspberry bush for a stray ball and were terrified to climb down. Remember?
Emily laughed.
I do. You were down there shouting, Jump, Ill catch you! and you actually did.
Their love was the talk of the village. But it hadnt always been smooth. At the start, Gillian Zane Stephens sister had also liked Ben. With her mischievous eyes and stubborn curls, she tried everything to pull them apart, muttering nasty gossip behind backs: that Emily wasnt right for Ben, that their families werent welloff. She even coaxed other girls to stay away from Emily, calling her a touchyfeely troublemaker.
But the gossip slid off Emily like water off a glass, leaving her surface clean and bright. That only fed Gillians fury more, turning her bile into a bitter poison. Ben, however, laughed off the rumors.
Not an angel, Im sure, hed wave away any whisper, but Emilys different. Dont try to fool me.
Their relationship, despite the chatter, stayed wonderfully innocent: walks home, chats by the gate, shy pecks on the cheek. Everything changed a month before the wedding. Ben seemed replaced.
Before, after escorting her to the gate, hed turn with a light heart, wave a couple of times, and head off. Now he clutched her so tightly it felt like he might swallow her whole, refusing to let go.
Ben, whats wrong? Emily fretted, feeling his muscles tighten.
I dont know, he muttered, burying his face in her hair. If I let go, I think Ill never see you again. My heart hurts.
Dont be daft, she whispered, smoothing his cropped head. Were always together. Well see each other tomorrow.
Tomorrow he sighed, a strange melancholy in his breath.
Later, when everything unfolded, Emilys mother, sighing, said, He felt it, love. His young heart knew a separation was coming.
That evening, on the eve of the celebration, he could not hold back.
Ben, just one night more Emily coaxed gently. But Ben was seized by a fierce passion; Emily melted under his kisses and touch. They lay halftogether beneath a massive willow, its branches shielding them from prying eyes. No one walked that lane at night; the spot felt particularly private. Bens whispers were hot and broken, his hands trembling, tugging at the hem of her dress.
Whatever, I cant wait any longer. Tomorrow youll be my wife. My wife my
She didnt resist, because she wanted the same. The starstrewn sky swam before her eyes Emily became a woman under that willows shade, the earth scent mingling with wildflowers.
After wiping the tears from her cheeks, a contented Ben headed home. Perhaps, brimming with unchecked emotions, he decided to bathe in the nearby river. What happened in that darkness was never fully known. They found Ben the next day, the day his wedding was due, his body pressed against the far bank.
***
Grief struck Emily like a hammer. She wilted, became a shadow of herself. For days she sat by the window where Ben once tossed pebbles to get her attention, fingers threading the lace of her wedding dress a white chiffon gown with delicate sleeves that she had stitched herself through long winter evenings. Her thin, waxy fingers kept counting the lace, hoping the rhythm might reveal an answer.
Why? she whispered, barely audible, like a curtains rustle. Why?
Her mother, wiping tears with the edge of an apron, watched her, fearful that her daughter might snap like a dry twig and follow her husbands fate.
In that bleak period, Gillian appeared at the door, swollen with tears, in a plain tealength dress, her usually cocky eyes softened with remorse.
Emily Em, she cried, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around Emilys thin legs. Forgive me! For Gods sake, forgive all my nasty words! Bens gone theres nothing left for us to share. Lets be friends again, like when we were children?
Emily sat like a statue. Her mother, leaning against the doorframe, watched uneasily. It seemed impossible for a person to change in an instant, as if shedding old skin. Then Emily moved. A quiet, ragged sigh escaped her chest, followed by a flood of tears not the silent kind shed been used to, but bitter, healing, loud sobs. She hugged Gillian, pressed her head against her shoulder, and wept, wept, spilling all her pain.
Well, her mother sighed softly. Fine then. Maybe Gillian will help. Otherwise, Ill be left without a husband.
Thus began a strange, baffling friendship. Gillian stuck close, staying over, chatting endlessly. She became Emilys shield, her sole anchor in a sea of sorrow.
Then Stephen, Gillians cousin, entered the picture. A respectable, calm young man with serious eyes, he began courting Emily, bringing wildflowers and treats from the town. At first she rejected him, recoiling into herself.
I cant, Gillian. It feels like betrayal.
What betrayal? Gillian pressed, smoothing Emilys hair. Life goes on, love. Ben would not want you like this. Stephens a good, reliable man. Hell love you, I know.
Whether Stephens persistence or Gillians soothing words acted as a balm, Emily finally gave in. She agreed to marry him. The wedding was modest, no music, no prying eyes.
Nine months after Bens disappearance, gossip rippled through the village, first as a trickle, then a foul river. Everyone condemned Emily, pointing fingers, whispering behind her back.
Shes just mourning forever! Shes become proud!
Who knows, maybe she was unfaithful to Ben? What happened on that river
She disgraced the family.
The barbs were sharp as sickles. The worst part came when Emily and her mother learned, from idle chatter, that the source of the venomous rumors was none other than Gillian herself, their supposed best friend. At the village well, Gillian, eyes dripping with feigned pity, sighed and told the neighbours, Poor Emily, I love her like a sister, but you cant hide the truth Bens gone, Stephens rushed the marriage, right? Maybe I was trying to protect her honour Her words festered, fueling the gossip.
The idyll Emily had painstakingly built crumbled faster than a wedding cake. Stephen turned out far from the quiet, dependable partner shed imagined. After their first night together, he muttered, Youre spoiled, his teeth grinding as he glared at her. The gentle suitor vanished, replaced by a harsh, constantly scowling man. The house filled with curses and accusations. His jealousy became blind, absurd, boundless.
He suspected her of flirting with the shopkeeper, the postman, even old Mr. Nicholas, who was well past eighty and liked to sit in the sun. Whenever Emily merely said hello, Stephen would snap, Caught you looking at the old man again? I see everything!
Emily soon found out she was pregnant. The baby turned out to be a girl, not the son Stephen had hoped for. Another girl? he growled, disappointment plain. I need a boy!
He later declared the children werent his, shouting, Whose are they? In our family only boys are born! Whos been cheating? He beat Emily, yet in public he pretended the perfect family man. At home, the air grew heavy with fear, the girls cowering in corners whenever his footsteps echoed.
When Emily finally gathered enough courage to leave, her mother suffered a sudden heart attack. The old woman could no longer get up, and Emily was forced to stay not only for the children but to care for her mother.
After her mother passed, Emilys strength finally broke. No one was left to share her grief; only she and her two little girls, Lily and Poppy, stared at her with frightened, helpless eyes.
Stephen then adopted a new, cruel pastime: locking Emily out of the house at night. Hed pull her into the hallway, slam the door, and throw a punch before disappearing. Go warm yourself at old Nicholass! hed shout.
He knew she couldnt simply run away with the children still inside. She would sit on the cold steps, hug her knees, and weep beneath a pitchblack sky while the childrens quiet sobs drifted from behind the door. Shed bite her lip, wipe away tears, and pound on the door, begging to be let back in.
One night, after hours on the cold steps, Emilys despair hardened into steel. The first cocks crow signalled grey, unwelcoming dawn, and she rose, legs trembling, body aching, but a fresh fire in her eyes.
The door opened. Stephen stood there, crumpled, his gaze heavy.
What are you standing there for, statue? Get on with breakfast, he barked, turning toward the kitchen.
Emily slipped inside without a word, her calm unnervingly eerie. She knew Stephen would be out in the fields all day, returning after dark.
As soon as his door shut behind him, the house buzzed with activity. Emily moved swiftly, silently, with laser focus. She retrieved a battered old suitcase hidden under the floorboards and began packing essentials: a few pounds of saved cash, spares of the girls clothing, a handful of toys, and a couple of photographs of her mother. She dressed the children in their warmest coats, even though the night was mild.
Mother, where are we going? asked Lily, eyes wide.
To a new life, dear, Emily replied, steady.
They slipped past overgrown hedges, avoiding neighbours, and onto the dusty lane leading out of the village. Emily paused, looking back at the wreckage of her past, the shattered youth, the unknown ahead.
Not long after, a massive, dusty lorry roared to a halt beside them. The driver, a cheery bloke named Sam, called out, Need a lift, love?
Emily, barely believing her luck, nodded. Sam helped load the suitcase into the cab and settled the girls onto the sleeping berth.
The journey was long. Sam, a chatty, kind-hearted fellow, tried to draw the quiet passenger out. Emily, gazing at passing fields, decided to lay everything bare. She spoke of Stephens jealousy, the nightly banishments, the constant terror. She hoped the seasoned driver might point her toward a place where she could start anew.
Sam frowned, then said, Looks like youve got a heroines spirit in a skirt. Listen here. He told her of a fledgling horticulture centre near a town called Marketford, bought by a big firm wanting to set up modern glasshouses. They were hiring workers, offering accommodation.
Emilys luck finally turned. She was among the first to arrive at the site a sprawling construction zone in the middle of fields. At first she and the girls lodged with an elderly lady, Granny Shirley, who, after hearing Emilys story, took them in without demanding rent. Emily laboured in the greenhouses from dawn till dusk. The work was hard, but honest, and she was valued.
When the estate expanded and new worker homes were built, Emily received a modest flat of her own. Holding the keys, she wept tears of relief.
She now barely thinks of Stephen. Those memories are like old scars; they only hurt when you touch them. She isnt looking for new romance. Her aim is simple: the girls fed, clothed, healthy, and happy. Thats all she needs.
Enough, she sometimes muses, watching the girls play in their room. It doesnt matter any more.
The important thing is that her children now have a real home a place where no one shouts, no ones jealous of an eightyyearold, no one throws them out at night. And that was worth every risk, every fight.
