My Rules
As often happens, Emily never knew her father. He left her and her mother shortly after she was born. They lived in a small town in a modest house. Her mother didn’t spoil her. From childhood, Emily knew how to light the fireplace, tend the garden, and walk to the shops.
She excelled in school, loved studying, dreamed of becoming an actress, and living in a big city. After graduation, she left her little town for the county seat, took the first job she found, and enrolled in university part-time.
“Dreams are dreams, but you need a profession that always puts food on the table,” her mother would say. “Actors have their ups and downs.”
After university, when she started earning more, Emily bought herself a car on finance. Not a fancy one, of course—a used but reliable Ford Focus. She proudly drove it home to visit her mother.
Now she’s got a different car, but she’ll never forget the first one. Recently, she spotted it in town, still running. She’d have kept it if not for… well, love. First love, first heartbreak. He convinced her to move in together, rented a small flat, and soon persuaded her to sell her car.
“It’s old, it’ll start falling apart any day. Let’s sell it and get something new that’ll last us years,” he insisted. “Best to sell now while it’s still running and looks decent.”
Emily agreed. What else could she do? Men know more about these things, don’t they? She trusted him to handle the sale. To buy a new car, she took out another loan. He promised to help with the payments. Oh, how she loved her new Vauxhall.
Somehow, he ended up driving it most of the time. He’d drop her at work and take the car for his own errands. He helped with the loan a couple of times, then said he was skint.
She might have overlooked it—she loved him, made excuses—until her neighbour stopped her in the courtyard and asked if she knew her bloke was bringing other girls to the flat.
“I saw it with my own eyes. They pulled up in the car, arm in arm, went inside, and came out three hours later.”
“Oh, I know. It’s…” Emily, choking on anger and humiliation, couldn’t find the words. “Sorry, I’ve got to go,” she mumbled, hurrying away.
“Kick him out, love, before it’s too late,” the neighbour called after her.
At home, she let the tears and rage out. When he came home, she took the car keys and shut the door in his face.
Now she was alone, with a car and a loan. In the evenings, she cleaned the office where she worked so her colleagues wouldn’t know. She took on private students, teaching English. She dragged herself home exhausted but paid off the loan fast. Then she decided to buy a flat with a mortgage.
On holiday back home, her little town felt tiny and worn.
“Why are you alone? Youth doesn’t last. Are you really not interested? Pretty girl like you, with a car,” her mother said respectfully.
In a moment of self-pity, Emily told her about the failed relationship.
“Too trusting,” her mother sighed. “I told you—big cities are full of distractions and swindlers. You read about love in books, but real life’s different. No knights in shining armour left. Just men who want a free ride. You’ll meet someone. Wait here.” She left and returned with a small newspaper bundle.
“Here. I was saving for your wedding. You can’t rent forever. It’s not much, but enough for a deposit.”
Emily kissed her mother. They both cried.
Back in the city, she bought a small one-bed flat. She only came home to sleep anyway. She kept teaching evenings and weekends to cover the mortgage but stopped cleaning the office. Now she came home exhausted but content.
After that mess, she was wary of men. Afraid of commitment, she let no one in. By twenty-eight, she had a flat, half-paid mortgage, and a car she used for tutoring.
She’d done it all herself—no rich relatives, no father to help. Some men couldn’t say the same.
But her love life was stuck. No time to meet blokes, no place to look. And when she did, she kept them at arm’s length, though she longed for marriage, a family—someone to cook for, iron shirts for, welcome home. And children, of course.
Then, out of the blue, her old schoolmate Sophie turned up. She’d brought homemade jams and pickles from Emily’s mum, who’d given her the address.
“You’re lucky, Em. You got out of that backwater. Look at you—flat, car, good money. I stayed for Mike. Loved him since school, remember? His mum was so ill. I nursed her like my own. Spoon-fed her, emptied her bedpan. Was it worth it? All for love.”
Then his mum died. Sad, of course. But Mike started talking marriage—until a new young teacher arrived. No idea how they met, but he was smitten. When I found out, I gave them both hell. You should’ve seen it. He defended her—after all I’d done!
“So I left. Ran into your mum, got your address. Can I stay a few days? Just till I find work and a place.”
“Stay. I’m never home anyway. Can’t even get a cat. I’ll buy a fold-out bed tomorrow—only got the sofa.”
“Oh, don’t bother. I won’t be long.”
Easy for her to say. Emily was used to solitude. But she couldn’t turn her away.
That night, Sophie slept with a hand under her cheek. Emily sighed. She wouldn’t sleep well with company. “Definitely need that fold-out,” she thought, climbing in beside her.
Morning came with a headache. She turned off the alarm to avoid waking Sophie, then dozed off. Sunlight flooded the room—she’d overslept! The shower was running. Sophie had beaten her to the bathroom.
While the kettle boiled, she called work to say she’d be late. Sophie hummed in the shower, unhurried. Emily wanted to knock but hesitated. She washed up at the kitchen sink instead.
Later, Sophie emerged in a towel-turban. “My favourite. Didn’t even ask.”
“Morning!” Sophie stretched. “This is the life! Hot water, no hauling buckets. Smells like coffee!”
Not a chance. Emily drank it herself.
“Sophie, I was late. Let’s set ground rules. Don’t hog the bathroom in the morning. After I’m gone, take your time. Buy a paper, look for work. And fold the sofa.”
“Gosh, no need to snap. I didn’t know. You’re so put together. I’m still in a rut.”
Emily eyed her skeptically. Sophie didn’t seem depressed—quite the opposite.
“Keys are here. Lock up. This isn’t the village.”
She knew anger was pointless but couldn’t help it.
That evening, she cooked while Sophie lounged. “Been job-hunting all day. No energy to cook. Not all of us have cars.”
Emily swallowed the jab. “Any luck?”
“Some, but I’m ‘unqualified.'”
“Some jobs don’t need qualifications.”
“What, like cleaning? No thanks.”
“Expecting to be manager straight off? That takes skill, responsibility—”
“Lay off! I’ll look when I’m ready. Or should I leave now?” Sophie’s voice cracked. She turned away, sniffling.
“Sorry. Truce?”
Sophie nodded.
Weeks passed. No job. One morning, Sophie stumbled in at dawn, drunk, in Emily’s dress.
“Where were you? I was worried. Why my dress?”
“Jealous? You never wear it. Flat as a board, all work and no play. Suits me though. Here, take it.” She yanked it off, ripping the seams.
“Enough. Dishes piled up, clothes everywhere. Here to work or party? Pack and go.”
“Emily! I’ll clean up. Where will I go? I’ll find something.”
“No. You’ve had long enough. Go to whoever you were drinking with. Be gone by tonight. Need help? My office needs a cleaner. I did it once.”
“Thanks, but I’ll manage,” Sophie muttered. “Dishes aren’t the end of the world.”
Emily almost relented. Where would she go? But freeloading was too much. At least wash up.
Returning that night, Sophie was gone. The dishes were done, but the kitchen was a mess. Emily shook her head. Pity vanished. Could’ve wiped the floor.
She didn’t ask where Sophie got money—new perfume, a blouse. Maybe admirers? Or squeezed something out of Mike. She’d said she’d made a scene.
Emily stretched out on the sofa. Blissful solitude.
Mortgage payment due soon. She saved cash fromEmily opened her wardrobe to find the stash of tutoring cash gone, and though her heart ached for the girl Sophie once was, she knew some people never change—but she would, starting tomorrow.
