**My Rules**
As is often the case, Emily never knew her father. He left her and her mother right 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 tend the fireplace, weed the garden, and run errands to the shops.
She excelled in school, earning top marks, and dreamed of becoming an actress in a big city. After graduating, she left her little town for Manchester, took the first job she found in the classifieds, and enrolled in university for a distance-learning degree.
“Dreams are dreams, but you need a profession that’ll always put food on the table,” her mother said. “Actors have feast or famine.”
After university, once she started earning more, Emily bought herself a car on finance—nothing fancy, a modest used **Vauxhall Corsa**, but dependable. Proudly, she drove it back to visit her mum.
Now she has a different car, but she’ll never forget that first one. Recently, she spotted it parked in town and couldn’t believe the old thing was still running. She’d still be driving it today if not for… well, love happened. First love, first heartache. Almost immediately, he suggested moving in together. He rented a small flat, and soon talked her into selling the car.
“It’s old, it’ll start falling apart any day now. Let’s sell it and get something newer that’ll last us years,” he coaxed. “Better to sell while it’s still running and looks decent.”
Emily agreed. What else could she do? A man surely knew better than a young woman about such things. She let him handle the sale. To afford a new car, she took out another loan. He promised to help with payments. She was over the moon about her shiny **Ford Fiesta**.
Somehow, it just worked out that *he* drove it most days. He’d drop her at work, then go about his business. He helped with the payments twice before claiming he was skint.
She might have put up with it—she loved him, made excuses—until one day, a neighbour stopped her in the courtyard. “Do you know your bloke’s bringing other women round?”
“Saw it with my own eyes. Drove up in *your* car, arm in arm, then came back out three hours later.”
“Oh, I know about that. It’s…” Rage and humiliation choked her. “Sorry, I’m in a rush,” she mumbled, hurrying inside.
“Kick him out, love, before it’s too late,” the neighbour called after her.
At home, Emily let the tears and fury loose. When he walked in, she took the car keys and threw him out.
Now she was alone, with a car and the loan for it. Evenings, she cleaned the office where she worked so colleagues wouldn’t know. She took on tutoring jobs, teaching French. Barely dragged herself home, but she paid the loan off fast. Then she decided to buy a flat on a mortgage.
On a visit home, her little town seemed shrunken and weary after Manchester.
“Why are you still single? Youth doesn’t last. Pretty girl like you, with a car,” her mother said, half-admiring, half-worried.
In a burst of self-pity, Emily confided about the failed relationship.
“You’re too trusting. Big cities are full of users and cheats. You read those romance novels, but real life’s different. No knights in shining armour left—just men who’d live off a woman if they could. Ah well, you’ll find your other half.” Her mother left, then returned with a newspaper-wrapped bundle.
“Here. Been saving this for your wedding. Not much, but enough for a deposit.”
Emily kissed her, both in tears.
Back in Manchester, she bought a small one-bed flat. She barely had time to sleep there anyway. She kept tutoring evenings and weekends to pay the mortgage—but no more office cleaning. Exhausted, she’d still smile stepping into her own little flat.
After her heartbreak, Emily was wary of men. At twenty-eight, she had a flat (half the mortgage paid), a car, and a life built on sheer grit. Not many blokes could say the same. No rich relatives, no father to help—just her.
But her love life? Nowhere. No time to meet anyone, and when she did, she held back. Still, she longed for marriage, a family—someone to cook for, iron shirts for, welcome home. Children, someday.
Then, out of the blue, an old schoolmate, Sophie, turned up. Brought preserves from Emily’s mum, who’d given her the address.
“You lucky thing! Smart to leave that dead-end town. Look at you—flat, car, doing well! I stayed for Mike’s sake. Loved him since school, remember? His mum was poorly. I nursed her like my own—sponge baths, spoon-feeding. And for what?”
Then his mum died. Soon after, a new young teacher arrived. “Next thing, Mike’s after *her*. I gave them both hell! Anyway, I’m done. Can I crash here a few days? Just till I find work and a place.”
“Course. I’m hardly home anyway. Can’t even get a cat. I’ll buy a fold-up bed—only got the sofa.”
“Don’t fuss, I won’t stay long.”
Easy for Sophie to say. Emily liked her solitude. But she couldn’t leave her on the street.
Next morning, Sophie hogged the bathroom while Emily rushed, unwashed, to work.
That evening: “Ran all over town—exhausted! *You* drive everywhere,” Sophie sighed as Emily cooked.
“Any luck job-hunting?”
“Oh, they want *qualifications*.”
“Some jobs don’t.”
“What, like scrubbing loos? No thanks.”
“Expect to walk into management? That takes—”
“Christ, lay off! I’ll find something. Or is this your way of kicking me out?” Sophie’s voice cracked.
A week passed. Sophie stayed out till dawn once, swaying in Emily’s best dress.
“Where’ve you been? And why my dress?”
“Jealous? It just hangs on you. Barely eat with all your *work*. Suits me, though.” She yanked it off, seams ripping.
“Enough. Dishes piled up, clothes everywhere. Here to work or party? Pack up and go.”
“Marry, don’t throw me out! I *will* find work.”
“No, you’ve had time. Go to whoever you were drinking with. Want a job? We need a cleaner at my office. *I* did it once.”
Sophie left before Emily got home. The dishes were done, but the kitchen was a mess. Money went missing soon after—cash Emily had saved for the mortgage, hidden in her underwear drawer. She called Sophie, livid.
“Give it back. I *earned* that.”
“Didn’t take anything!”
“Then I’ll report it.”
Sophie returned the money (short a bit), acting like *she’d* been wronged.
Later, Emily heard Sophie was back with Mike—pregnant, bruised when he drank.
“Poor Sophie,” Emily thought. “If I hadn’t thrown her out…” But would it have changed anything?
As for Emily, she decided: no more rules. No more side gigs. Money wouldn’t replace a family. Time to live—go out, fall in love. *Properly*, this time.
