My Rules
As often happens, Emily never knew her father. He left her and her mum right after she was born. They lived in a small town in a terraced house. Her mother didn’t spoil her. From childhood, Emily knew how to light the fireplace, tend the garden, and run errands.
She was an A-grade student, loved school, dreamed of becoming an actress, and living in a big city. After finishing school, she left her little town for Manchester, took the first job she found in the classifieds, and enrolled in university for evening classes.
“Dreams are dreams, but you need a proper career—something that’ll always put food on the table,” her mum would say. “Acting’s all feast or famine.”
After graduating and earning more, Emily bought herself a car on finance. Not a Mercedes, of course—just a humble Honda Jazz, second-hand but reliable. She drove it proudly back to visit her mum.
Now she has a different car, but she hasn’t forgotten her first. Recently, she spotted it in a Manchester car park and couldn’t believe her eyes—the old thing was still running! She’d have kept it forever if not for… well, love. First love, first heartbreak. Almost immediately, he suggested moving in together. He rented a small flat. Soon, he talked her into selling the car.
“It’s old, it’ll fall apart any day now. Let’s sell it and get something newer that’ll last,” he insisted. “Better to sell while it’s still running and looks decent.”
Emily agreed. What else could she do? Men know more about these things than young women. She let him handle the sale. To buy the new car, she took out another loan. He promised to help with payments. How thrilled she was with her shiny Ford Fiesta!
Somehow, he ended up driving it more than she did. He’d drop her at work, then go about his own business. He helped with a couple of repayments, then claimed he was skint.
It might’ve been fine—Emily loved him, made excuses—but one day, her neighbour stopped her in the courtyard and asked, “Do you know your bloke brings other girls back to the flat?”
“Saw it with my own eyes. They pulled up in your car, arm in arm, and left three hours later.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s—” Emily, choking on anger and hurt, couldn’t find the words. “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 rage and tears out. When he came back, she took the car keys and showed him the door.
Now she was alone, with a car and a loan. She cleaned offices at night so colleagues wouldn’t know. She tutored students in English. Crawled home exhausted, but paid off the loan fast. Then she decided to buy a flat on a mortgage.
Once, visiting her mum on holiday, her hometown seemed tiny and worn out after the city.
“Why are you alone? Youth doesn’t last. Pretty girl, with a car—surely someone’s caught your eye?” her mum said, approving.
In a wave of self-pity, Emily told her about the failed relationship.
“Too trusting. I told you, big cities are full of scoundrels. You read those romance novels, but real life’s different. No knights in shining armour anymore—just men leeching off hardworking women. Never mind, you’ll find your match.” Her mum left the room but returned with a small newspaper-wrapped bundle.
“Here. I’ve been saving for your wedding. Not enough for a house, but it’ll cover the deposit.”
Emily kissed her, and both wept.
Back in Manchester, she bought a small one-bed flat. She only came home to sleep anyway. She kept tutoring evenings and weekends to pay the mortgage but stopped cleaning offices. Tired as she was, she loved returning to her little place.
After her heartbreak, Emily was wary of men. Afraid of commitment, she let no one in. By twenty-eight, she had a flat, half the mortgage paid, and a car she used for tutoring.
She’d done it all herself—no rich relatives, no father to help.
But her love life was barren. No time to meet men, nowhere to look. And when she did, she hesitated to let them in, though she longed for marriage, family, someone to cook for, iron shirts for… and kids, of course.
Then, out of the blue, her old schoolmate Sophie turned up. She’d brought gifts from Emily’s mum—jams, pickles—and wheedled her address out of her.
“Lucky you, Em. Smart to leave our dump. You’ve got your own place, car, good job. I stayed for Jake. Loved him since school—remember? His mum was ill. I cared for her like my own. Changing her bedpan, spoon-feeding her. Tell me, was it worth it? All for love.”
Then his mum died. Poor woman. And as soon as Jake and Sophie started planning the wedding, a new young teacher arrived in town. No idea how they met, but Jake started chasing her. Sophie found out, made a scene.
“I looked after his mum, put up with the stink, the bedpans, and he defended that little mouse! Can you believe it?”
She decided to leave, start fresh. Ran into Emily’s mum, who gave her Emily’s address. “Mind if I stay a few days? I’ll find work, get my own place.”
“Stay. I’m only here to sleep. Can’t even keep a cat. I’ll buy a fold-out bed tomorrow—only got the sofa.”
“Don’t bother, won’t be long.”
Easy for her to say. Emily was used to solitude. But she couldn’t boot Sophie out. That wouldn’t be right.
Sophie slept, hand under her cheek. Emily watched her, pitying. She wouldn’t sleep well tonight—used to having the bed to herself. “Still need that fold-out,” Emily thought, lying down beside her.
She woke with a headache minutes before her alarm. Turned it off so as not to wake Sophie—then dozed off. Sunlight flooded the room. She checked the clock—late! The shower was running. Sophie was in there.
While the kettle boiled, Emily rang work to say she’d be late. Sophie hummed in the shower, taking her time. Emily nearly knocked to hurry her but held back. Washed at the kitchen sink. A few more days of this.
Sophie emerged, flushed, towel turbaned. “My favourite towel. Didn’t even hesitate,” Emily thought.
“Mornin’!” Sophie stretched. “Lovely shower. Hot water on tap—no buckets from the boiler. Your place is brilliant!” She sniffed. “Coffee smells amazing!”
Not a chance. Emily drank it herself.
“Sophie, I’m late. New rule: don’t hog the bathroom. Wash after I leave. Buy the local paper, look for jobs. Fold the sofa blanket.”
“Blimey, no need to snap. Should’ve said sooner.” Sophie stretched again. “You’ve got it all sorted. I’m stuck in a rut.”
Doubtfully, Emily laced her shoes. Sophie didn’t seem depressed—quite the opposite.
“Keys here. Lock up. This isn’t the village.”
Useless getting angry, but she couldn’t help it.
That evening, as Emily cooked, Sophie said she’d traipsed half the city—no energy to cook. Not like some, with their cars.
Emily swallowed the jab. “Any luck job-hunting?”
“Found loads—none wanted me. No qualifications, apparently.”
“Some jobs don’t need qualifications.”
“What, scrubbing floors? No thanks.”
“Think you’ll walk into a manager’s role? Takes know-how, responsibility—”
“Why’re you on my case? Give me a minute. Or want me gone? I’ll leave, don’t worry.” Sophie’s voice wobbled. She turned away, sniffling.
“Sorry. Truce?”
Sophie nodded.
Weeks passed. No job. One morning, Sophie stumbled home at dawn in Emily’s dress.
“Where were you? I barely slept! Why’d you take my dress?”
“Stingy? You never wear it. Flat as a board—work’s worn you out. Suits me. Clothes should flatter, not hang like sacks. Here, have it back.” She yanked it off—ripping the seams.
“Enough. Dishes piled up, mess everywhere. Came here to work or mooch? Pack your things and go. I’ve had it.”
“Em, don’t! I’ll clean up. Where’ll I go?”
“No. Time’s up. Go to whoever you drank with last night. Get your own place, make your own rules. Or want a job? Our office needs a cleaner. I did it once.”
“Cheers. I’ll manage,” Sophie muttered. “Big deal, a few dishes…”
A year later, Emily heard Sophie had moved to London, found a job in a café, and was finally making her own way—just as Emily had always done.
