**The Poverty of Spirit: Emily’s Story**
I suppose no one ever really cared for Emily—she grew up like a weed by the roadside, wild and unnoticed. No one spoiled her, no one comforted her. Her clothes were always secondhand, often little more than rags, barely covering her thin knees. Her shoes were too big, full of holes. Her mother, Sarah, hacked off her hair with a bowl over her head to avoid the fuss of styling it, but it stuck out in every direction, as if rebelling against the neglect.
Emily never went to nursery—her parents had no time for that. All they cared about was where their next drink would come from. Her father was a violent drunk, and Sarah was always hungover, clouded in smoke and misery. When they raged, Emily hid in stairwells—running meant avoiding a beating, but if she was too slow, she’d cover the bruises later. The neighbours would sigh, shaking their heads. “Sarah was always reckless,” they’d mutter, “and after she got mixed up with that criminal, well…” They pitied Emily. Sometimes they fed her or gave her clothes. But anything decent her mother would sell for drink. So the girl stayed in tatters.
When school began, Emily clung to learning like a lifeline. Books were her refuge, a world where no one hit her, screamed at her, or made her feel small. She read voraciously, lived in the library, raised her hand in class—hoping someone might finally hear her quiet, steady voice.
But children are cruel, especially to those who are different. Poorly dressed, odd-looking, with that ridiculous haircut, Emily was quickly branded “Pitiful.” Worse still, parents warned their children against her: “Stay away—that drunk’s daughter is trouble.” The teachers, though they saw her bright mind, stayed silent. Easier to look away than defend a girl with no family, no connections. So Emily grew up—alone against the world.
Her only sanctuary was an old oak in the park by the pond. Under its branches, she built a hideaway, bringing books, dreaming, sometimes even sleeping there when home was unbearable. Only stray dogs and cats kept her company—the only ones who never betrayed her.
Her father died when she was fourteen. Frozen in a snowdrift after one too many benders. At the funeral, just Sarah and Emily. The girl felt no grief—only shame and relief. After that, her mother spiralled completely, swinging between rages and oblivion. Long past working, Sarah left Emily to fend for herself. The girl cleaned stairwells for spare change, buying secondhand medical books with the few pounds she scraped together. She dreamed of becoming a doctor—of pulling her mother back from the abyss.
But school remained a battleground. Once, running late, she dropped her psychiatry book—right in front of Rebecca, the class queen and reigning bully. Rebecca picked it up and sneered, “Oh, psychiatry! So you’re not just pitiful—you’re mental, like your mum!”
Emily couldn’t take it. She ran, tears blurring her vision, straight to her oak. Collapsing into the snow, she sobbed into the bark. “Why are they so cruel? What did I ever do?”
Then she saw the dog. It had wandered onto the thin ice of the pond—and fell through. Without thinking, Emily screamed and lunged forward. Sprawling on the ice, she crawled toward it, grabbed the struggling animal—and plunged into the freezing water herself. The cold punched the air from her lungs. She fought—for the dog, for herself, for every soul she’d ever loved.
Just as her strength gave out, someone pulled her free. It was Daniel, a new student, recently transferred from Manchester. Handsome, sharp, quiet—girls swooned over him. But he reached for Emily. “Come on. You’ll freeze. My mother’s a doctor—she’ll help.”
He took the dog too. Sheltered them both. The next day, he walked into class beside Emily. Rebecca gasped. “Seriously? She’s pitiful!”
Daniel’s voice was calm. “Only the soul can be pitiful. You can’t hide that behind clothes or makeup. The harder you try, the more it shows.”
Rebecca paled and fled. The room fell silent. And for the first time, Emily didn’t feel alone. She had a friend. She had the dog, Lucy, whom she’d saved. And most of all—she had a chance. A chance at a new life.
