Ready to Flee with My Son and the Essentials from This Village
I had already packed my bag in my mindjust the essentials to escape with my son from my husband and his parents, from this tiny village lost in the English countryside. No, I wont dedicate my life to their goats, cows, and never-ending vegetable patches. They seem to think that marrying Oliver automatically signed me up to be the free labour for their farm. But I disagree. This isnt the life I wanted, and I wont raise my son in this backwater, where the only entertainment is arguing over how many litres of milk Daisy the cow gave.
When I first arrived after the wedding, things didnt seem so bad. Oliver was attentive, and his parents, Margaret and her husband, seemed friendly. The village even had its charmrolling green fields, fresh air, quiet. I almost believed I could adapt. But reality soon showed its true face. A week after moving in, Margaret handed me a bucket and ordered me to milk the goats. Youre one of us now, Emilytime to pull your weight! she said, with a smile that still sends chills down my spine. Me, a city girl whod never lifted anything heavier than a laptop, had to learn how to milk before sunset. That was my first warning.
Oliver, as it turned out, had no intention of defending me. Mums righteveryone works here, he said when I tried to protest. And so began my new routine: up at five, feeding the animals, weeding the garden, cleaning the house, cooking for everyone. I felt more like a servant than a wife. If I dared ask for a days rest, Margaret would roll her eyes and launch into a lecture: In my day, women worked from dawn till dusk and didnt complain! Oliver stayed silent, as if it had nothing to do with him.
My son, just three years old, was my only light. Looking at him, I knew I couldnt let him grow up here, where his future would mean either slaving on the farm or moving to London, where hed always be an outsider. I want him to go to a good nursery, to study, to travel, to see the world. But here? There isnt even decent internet to let him watch cartoons. When I mentioned enrolling him in an art class in the nearest town, Margaret scoffed: What for? Hed be better off learning to milk a cowthats useful!
I tried talking to Oliver. I told him I felt suffocated, that this wasnt the life Id dreamed of. But he just shrugged. Everyone lives like this, Emily. What did you expect? And just days ago, I found out Margarets planning to expand the barn and buy another cow. Of course, the extra work would fall on me. That was the last straw.
Ive been stashing money away in secret. Not much, but enough for two bus tickets to the city. A friend in Cambridge promised to help with a place and a job. I can already picture itmy son and me boarding that bus, leaving behind this village, the goats, the cows, and Margarets lectures. I dream of a little flat where its just us, where I can work and my son can grow up with opportunities. I want to feel human again, not like some workhorse.
Of course, Im scared. I dont know what life in the city will be like. Will I find work? Will the money last? But one things certainI cant stay here. Every time I watch my son playing in the yard, I know he deserves more. And so do I. I wont let him see his mother bent under this weight, losing herself to please others.
Margaret said the other day that Im too much of a city girl and will never truly be one of them. You know what? Shes right. I dont want to be one of them. I want to be myselfEmily, who once dreamed of a career, of travel, of a happy family. And Ill do whatever it takes to reclaim that life. Even if it means grabbing a bag and fleeing with my son to where no one can force me to milk another cow.
