He shoved her out of the doorway with a violent shove and slammed the door behind him. Emma flew forward on sheer momentum, then stumbled and crashed onto the wooden slats of the courtyard. She brushed the grit from her palms, sat on the wet boards and gingerly touched the searing cheek, then let her fingers slide down to the lower lip. A crimson streak lingered on her fingertips. It didnt shock Emma; it only confirmed what she already knewher husband had once again broken her lip. This time the cheek throbbed worse.
Steve had lost control again. It happened far too often.
Emma staggered back to the door, pressed her forehead against the rough timber, and tried to catch her breath. From the other side of the door came the sound of frantic sobs. Lucy and Nina, the daughters she shared with Steve, were crying. Her heart clenched in a painful knot. She would have given anything not to hurt them She let her tongue brush the swollen, salty taste of her own lipa fresh scar from yet another argument, another flash of blind, unrestrained jealousy.
All of it sprang from a single, foolish smile. Earlier that day at the village hall, the boss, a jovial man in his fifties with a ruddy face, made a bold joke about the harvest. Emma, standing nearby, laughed politely. That laugh was seen by Gillian, Steves sister. Her sharp, cutting glance lingered on Emma a fraction of a second too long. That was enough. Without hesitation, Gillian relayed the incident to her brother, adding a few of her own barbs. She always did that, even though she knew how quick Steve could become when enraged.
Emma pushed off the doorframe and, shivering, made her way to the small alcove. She sank onto a cold log. The September evening felt warm by day, but the ground already exhaled a winter chill. A pricking wind slipped under her thin scarf. She yearned for the hearth, for the children but there was nowhere to go. To Steves family? Gillian would have met her at the threshold with a venomous word. Her own relatives were gone. Her mother had died a year ago. The thought tightened Emmas chest further; hot, bitter tears streamed down her cheeks. She missed the scent of her mothers driedapple stew, the gentle, soothing words that could dull any pain. Now there was no one to soothe her own anguish.
What on earth? she thought, staring at the gathering dusk. What have I done to deserve sitting by a locked door in my own house, like a stray dog, with no way out?
Seven years earlier just seven years. She closed her eyes, and through the salty blur of tears a different image emergedone where she was happy. She had a beloved man, both families ready for a wedding.
***
The air was thick with the sweet smell of cut grass and the promise of evening. Emma walked sidebyside with Jack, the man who loved her fiercely.
Tomorrow, Emma whispered, gazing toward the fading sun. I still cant believe it.
Jack squeezed her hand tighter. His large, warm palm enveloped her slender fingers.
I can, he said. Ive believed it ever since the day you dared to climb that birch tree for the ball and were terrified to come down. Remember?
Emma laughed.
I remember. And you were down there shouting, Jump, Ive got you. And you caught me.
Their love was the talk of the whole village. Yet it hadnt always been smooth. At the start, Gillian Harcourt, Steves sister, also fancied Jack. She burned with envy, whispering rumors: that Emma wasnt right for Jack, that their families were poor. She coaxed other girls to stay away from Emma, calling her a meddlesome outsider.
Emma brushed the slander off like water off glass, leaving her spirit clear and bright. Gillians bitterness only grew, but Jack laughed off the gossip.
Not an angel, he would say when someone tried to spread a tale. Emmas something else. Dont try to fool me.
Their courtship, despite the whispers, remained tender: walks home, chats at the gate, shy kisses on the cheek. Everything changed a month before the wedding. Jack seemed different.
Before, after walking Emma to the gate, hed turn with a light heart and wave. Now he clutched her so tightly it felt as if he wanted to swallow her whole, refusing to let go.
Jack, whats wrong? Emma asked, feeling his muscles tense.
I dont know, he muttered, burying his face in her hair. If I let go, I fear Ill never see you again. My heart aches.
Dont be silly, she whispered, smoothing his cropped hair. Were always together. Well see each other tomorrow.
Tomorrow he sighed, a melancholy creeping into his breath.
Later, Emmas mother, sighing, said, He sensed it, dear. His young heart knew a separation was coming.
The night before the ceremony, Emma tried to hold him back. Just one night, Jack she pleaded. But a fierce passion seized Jack, and Emma melted under his kisses. They lay halfnaked beneath a towering willow whose branches shielded them from prying eyes. No one walked that lane after dark; the secluded spot felt almost holy. Jacks whispers were hot and broken; his hands trembled, tugging at the hem of her dress.
It doesnt matter, he murmured. I cant wait any longer. Tomorrow youll be my wife. My wife my
She didnt resist; she wanted the same. The starstrewn sky swirled above them. Emma felt herself become a woman under the willows shade, the earths scent filling her lungs.
Later, wiping the tears from her cheeks, a contented Jack headed home. Somewhere along the way, overwhelmed by emotions, he decided to bathe in the river. What happened in the dark water was never discovered. His body was found the next day, the day of their planned wedding, washed up on the opposite bank.
***
Grief struck Emma like a hammer. She withered, becoming a shadow of herself. Days passed as she sat by the window where Jack once tossed small stones to get her attention, fingers tracing the lace of her wedding dressa white chiffon gown with delicate sleeves she had painstakingly embroidered through long winter evenings. Her thin, translucent fingers ran over the lace, as if the rhythm might reveal an answer.
Why? she whispered, voice barely audible, like a curtain rustling. Why?
Her mother, wiping tears from the edge of an apron, watched her. She feared Emma would snap like a dry twig and follow her husbands fate.
In that bleak period, Gillian appeared at the door, swollen with tears, wearing a simple cotton dress. Her usually sharp eyes were softened with remorse.
Emma Em, she fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around Emmas thin legs. Forgive me! Im sorry for every vile word! Jack is gone we have nothing left to share. Lets be friends, like we were as children?
Emma sat motionless, like a doll. Her mother, leaning against the doorframe, stared anxiously. It seemed impossible for someone to change in an instant. Then Emma inhaled a shaky breath, and tearsbitter, healing, loudstreamed down. She embraced Gillian, clinging to her shoulder, sobbing until the pain emptied.
Fine, her mother sighed softly. If it helps. Maybe Gillian can keep you safe, lest you disappear like Jack did.
Thus began an unlikely friendship. Gillian never left Emmas side. She stayed over, and the two women whispered for hours, becoming each others shield against the world.
Soon Steve, Gillians cousin, entered the picture. Tall, composed, with serious eyes, he began bringing wildflowers and city treats. At first Emma recoiled, calling it betrayal.
I cant, Gillian. Thats treason, she protested.
What betrayal? Gillian pressed, stroking Emmas hair. Life goes on, Emma. Jack wouldnt want you like this. Steves a good, reliable man. Hell love you, I know it.
Whether Steves persistence or Gillians soothing words, Emma finally yielded. She agreed to marry him. Their wedding was modest, without music or many guests.
Nine months after Jacks death, gossip spread through the village like a slow creek turning into a raging river. Everyone whispered, pointed, and muttered:
Shes become frivolous!
Who knows, maybe she was unfaithful to Jack? What happened in that river
She disgraced the family.
The barbs cut deep, but the worst came when Emma and her mother learned that the source of the poisonous rumors was none other than Gillian herself, their oncedear friend. At the village well, Gillian sighed and confided to the other women:
Poor Emma, I love her like a sister, but you cant hide the truth Jack left early, and Steve rushed to marriage, didnt you think? Maybe Steve wanted to protect her honor
She let the words hang, fertilising the gossip with venom. Gillians calculated revenge finally struck.
Emmas dream of an idyllic life crumbled faster than a wedding cake. Steve turned out not to be the steady harbour shed hoped for. After their first night together, he whispered, teeth clenched, Youre corrupted, his voice dripping with contempt. The word struck Emma like ice; the tender suitor evaporated, replaced by a harsh, angry man forever scowling. The house filled with accusations, but the most unbearable was his blind jealousy. He suspected her of flirting with anyone: the shopkeeper, the postman, even old Mr. Nicholas, an eightyyearold retiree who liked to sit in the sun. Any polite greeting from Emma sparked Steves fury.
Going to give that old man the eye again? he snapped, slamming the door. I see everything!
Emma soon found herself pregnant. Steve dreamed of a son; Emma hoped a boy would soften his temper. When a daughter was born, he snarled, A girl again? Bring her back! I need a son! He soon escalated, shouting that the children werent his, that the family line should produce only boys, and he began beating Emma in private while maintaining a respectable façade in public.
Emma gathered secret savings in the lining of an old coat, stitching away spare pennies and a few cherished photos. She plotted to flee the village with her two daughters, Lucy and Nina. But fate struck again: she discovered she was pregnant once more. Fear clutched her heart. She ran to her mother, sobbing.
Mother, I cant stay. Ill leave him, she pleaded.
Where will you go, girl, with a belly? her mother cried, hugging her tightly. Youll be lost, no home, no money. Wait for the baby; maybe a boy will come and change things. Men are all the same, they leave. This time a boy will stay.
Desperate, Emma obeyed. The baby arriveda tiny girl with dark grapecolored eyes she named Nia. Steve sneered, Another girl? I need a son! He soon accused the children of not being his, shouting, From whom? Our blood only produces men! He struck Emma, but in front of the village he kept the mask of a proper husband, while at home the air grew heavy with terror. The girls, hearing his steps, hid in corners, trembling.
When Emma finally mustered the courage to leave, her mother suffered a sudden stroke and could no longer rise. Emma was forced to stay, caring for both her children and her ailing mother.
When her mother passed, Emmas strength finally shattered. No one remained to share her sorrows; only she and her two frightened daughters, eyes wide with helplessness.
Steves cruelty climaxed when he began locking Emma out at night, throwing her into the hallway and slamming the door, then striking her face. Go warm yourself at old Mr. Nicholass house! he roared, knowing she couldnt leave the children behind. Emma would sit on the cold steps, hug her knees, and weep beneath a black, starless sky while the childrens muffled cries seeped from behind the door. She bit her lip, dried her tears, and pounded on the door, pleading to be let back in.
All night she endured the chill, listening to her daughters whimpers. Despair hardened into steel; by dawn, when the roosters began their mournful chorus, Emma rose. Her limbs ached, but a new fire burned in her eyes.
When the door finally opened, Steve stood there, crumpled, with a heavy stare.
Whatre you standing there for? Get up and make breakfast, he barked, turning toward the kitchen.
Emma entered silently, saying nothing, her calm unnerving. She knew Steve would be out in the fields that day, not returning until nightfall.
As soon as Steves gate clanged shut, Emma moved with purpose. She retrieved an old battered suitcase hidden under the floorboards, stuffing it with her modest savings, a change of clothes for the girls, a few toys, and treasured photographs of her mother. She dressed Lucy and Nina in the warmest garments she owned, despite the mild weather outside.
Where are we going, Mum? Lucy asked, eyes wide.
To a new life, darling, Emma answered, voice steady. Quietly.
They slipped past the dilapidated fences, slipping onto the lane that led out of the village. Emma glanced back once; the grief and broken youth of her past lingered behind. Ahead lay only the unknown.
A lorry rumbled down the road, stopping beside them. The driver, a cheerful young man named Sam, leaned out.
Need a lift, love? he shouted.
Emma, scarcely daring to hope, nodded. Sam helped load the suitcase and settled the girls on the sleeper bench.
The journey was long. Sam, chatty and kind, coaxed Emma from her silence. She finally opened up, recounting Steves jealousy, the nightly banishments, the constant fear. Sam listened, then said, Theres a place not far from here. A big firm bought a lot of land near the city to start a modern greenhouse operation. Theyre hiring workers, offering accommodation.
Emma seized the chance. She arrived among the first to settle in the makeshift camp that resembled a construction site in the fields. An elderly woman named Mrs. Shaw took her in, offering a modest room without demanding money. Emma worked from dawn till dusk in the greenhouseshard, honest labour that earned her respect.
When the operation expanded and the first worker cottages were built, Emma received the key to a small, but her own, flat. Tears fell, but they were tears of relief.
She never spoke of Steve again. Those memories were old scars that only hurt when touched. She vowed never to love again; her purpose became simple: keep her daughters fed, clothed, healthy, and happy. Nothing else mattered.
Sometimes, watching her girls play in their new bedroom, she thinks, Im old enough now, it doesnt matter. The main thing is that her children finally have a proper homea real home where no one shouts, no one is jealous of an elderly neighbour, and nobody throws you out at night. All the risk, all the fighting, was worth it.
