Run, before it’s too late…
All girls dream of grand, pure love—of dizzying passion and hearts skipping a beat at a tender embrace. They imagine a man proposing in some breathtaking, unexpected moment, watched by jealous onlookers. They picture a perfect wedding: the groom sharp in his suit, and beside him, the delicate bride in a cloud of white, glowing with happiness. Every little girl dreams of this almost from the cradle. Emily was no exception.
Midway through the school year, a new boy joined Year 11—Daniel “Danny” Archer. The class swarmed him at break, peppering him with questions—why had he moved mid-term?
“My dad’s in the military. New posting,” Danny explained.
“Can you shoot?” someone asked.
“Had to a few times.”
“What kind of pistol?”
“Standard issue.” The questions flew from all sides.
Danny noticed Emily straight away. She stood apart, acting as if she couldn’t care less. After school, he walked her home—turned out they lived the same way. She told him about school and classmates; he spoke of towns and barracks where his father had been stationed.
On Emily’s birthday, he brought a single rose into class and gave it to her in front of everyone. If it had been anyone else, the lads would’ve jeered, cracking crude jokes—but Danny’s gesture earned their grudging respect and the other girls’ envy.
Emily accepted the rose as if she got them daily. Her look said, *Watch how the new boy chases me. Jealous? Just you wait.* She treated him carelessly, though she liked him well enough.
Before final exams, Emily met an older bloke—a footballer. She and a friend had stopped to watch a match by the Thames.
“Over here, girls—better view,” called a handsome lad.
“You playing?” Emily asked, squeezing past the crowd.
“Nah, I do rugby. Mate’s in there.” He gestured toward the pitch but kept his eyes on her, clearly singling her out.
Thomas—his name—walked her home.
“Know what my name means?”
Emily did, but her mind blanked.
“Winner. And I always win.”
She liked him. These new feelings thrilled and slightly frightened her. Her thoughts tangled. Danny? Forgotten in an instant. What was he compared to Thomas Reeves? All the way home, she wondered—would he kiss her? How should she react? At her door, he just wished her goodnight and left. She felt oddly disappointed.
The next day, as Emily left school, Thomas stepped out of a parked BMW, opening the passenger door. Before getting in, she glanced around—were her friends watching? The girls on the steps gaped, while Danny stood frowning nearby. Emily slid in triumphantly—but once they drove off, fear gripped her. Where was he taking her?
He just drove her around town, chatting about places he’d visited for matches. The attention flattered her. He behaved properly, never overstepping. From his trips, he brought back perfumes and pretty trinkets. The humble rose was history. Her friends gasped over the gifts, green with envy. Danny? Emily barely noticed him anymore.
After finishing school, she started uni. Thomas picked her up most days in his car.
“Where’s your Romeo?” the girls teased whenever she walked home.
“Training camp,” Emily would smile.
His proposal came out of nowhere—right in Trafalgar Square, down on one knee with a velvet ring box (small diamond, naturally). Straight out of a film.
A patrol car stopped, nearly arresting them for public disturbance.
Emily’s only regret? That none of her friends had seen it.
At the registry office, she stood in a froth of lace, dazzlingly beautiful, deliriously happy. Beside her, Thomas—fit, handsome, a winner. His muscles strained his suit jacket. What more could she want?
From the wedding, her new husband whisked her off to his flat.
A month later, Emily realised she was pregnant. So inconvenient—what about uni?
“Think of our son. You’ll finish later if you want. Stay home. Money’s no issue,” Thomas said.
“What if it’s a girl?”
“It’ll be a son. I win, remember?”
She had a boy. The congratulations and gifts faded. Thomas trained, travelled for matches—she stayed home with the baby. Her friends vanished. Mum hinted she’d call but not visit—son-in-law didn’t want interference.
Not that Emily minded much, but happiness feels fuller with witnesses. Now, no one saw. It felt… dull. Isolated, like a leper. Gradually, she woke from the dream.
When their son grew older, things eased slightly. Emily took him to prep classes, mostly sports clubs. Chatting with other mums, she always felt Thomas’s presence, even absent. On the street, she glanced over her shoulder—was someone watching? Once, she mentioned it.
“Paranoid. Like I’ve time to stalk you,” he snapped.
“Tom, I want to work, finish my degree. I’m sick of being home.”
“Oh? Thousands of women dream of your life. Fancy swanning about while I work?” His glare burned through her. She dropped it.
Once, while Harry was at nursery, she visited a friend. Over tea, Emily admitted she was tired of being trapped.
“You’re mad, Em. No bosses, no Mondays? Everything handed to you!”
“Where were you?” Thomas roared when she returned.
“At Sarah’s, just tea—”
He backhanded her. For the first time, she understood *seeing stars*.
“Bored at home? Have a girl—you’ll be busy,” he growled, shoving her onto the bed.
Emily stopped going out, meeting anyone—no provoking him. But fear settled in her soul. Who was this man?
One day, walking home with Harry, they passed a watermelon stall.
“Mum, buy one!” Harry begged.
The young vendor grinned, hefting a giant melon with flirty compliments.
“It’s huge—how will I carry it?” Emily fretted.
“Very sweet!” He offered to deliver it.
That evening, Harry mentioned the melon. Emily cursed not warning him to stay quiet.
“Go to your room,” Thomas told their son.
Once alone, he hit her so hard she blacked out. She woke on the floor. Thomas sat eating watermelon, spitting seeds on the tiles.
“Slumming with immigrants? Be glad you’re alive. Next time, you won’t be.”
Next day, a gruff old man sold melons. She knew Thomas was behind it.
Her face swelled, eye purpling. Sunglasses and a scarf hid the worst. At nursery, she bumped into an old classmate.
“Just moved nearby—my daughter’s starting here. That looks sore—husband?” Sarah asked, nodding at her cheek.
“No! Just a tooth abscess.”
“Usually, they say they walked into a cupboard,” Sarah said dryly. “Fancy a coffee?”
Emily refused.
“Scared of him? Controlling? Run. It’ll only get worse.”
“It’s my fault. He loves me.”
“Your choice. Here’s my number—call if needed. I know a cop.”
Emily pocketed the paper but never rang.
Thomas’s rages grew worse. He aimed for hidden bruises now. The mirror showed a ghost of the girl she’d been.
“He’ll kill you,” Sarah said when Emily finally called. “Useless calling the cops—they’ll hold him overnight and release him. Run. Ready? I’ll arrange everything. Don’t phone—he might track it. We’ll use Harry’s cubby.”
“Like spies,” Emily joked bitterly.
“Better safe. Men like him don’t let go.”
Passport? No. England was vast enough to hide in.
Emily barely believed this was her life. Where was the loving Thomas? She blamed herself, searching for reasons.
But his violence escalated. She tiptoed around the flat, fearing misplaced words.
One day, she found a note in Harry’s cubby—Sarah’s tiny handwriting detailing escape plans.
Emily packed basics, hiding them normally. Days passed without incident. Maybe she’d overreacted? She called from a payphone.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go?”
“Up to you. Or wait till he hits Harry.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Suit yourself.”
That evening, Thomas noticed her nerves.
“Shaking? I’ll take Harry tomorrow.”
“No, I’ll be fine—”
He kissed her—then punched her stomach. The pain erased her doubts.
Next morning, she waited till Thomas left for training. Dressing Harry quickly, they fled, a small bag in hand. She fought not to look back. A car pulled up—they got in.
The village was tiny, half-abandoned but pretty. The cottage was old but habitable. For days, Emily jumped at noises. But Thomas never came. Harry played with local boys, growing tanned and strong.
One morning, nausea hit—pregnant again. Bad timing. But she wouldn’t end it.
Then she saw Danny.
She never expected that Danny, the boy who once offered her a single rose, would be the one to help her and Harry finally find peace.
