**Ready to Run with My Son and the Bare Necessities from This Village**
Ive already packed the essentials in my mindjust enough to escape with my son from my husband and his parents, from this tiny village lost in the countryside. No, I wont spend my life tending goats, cows, and their endless vegetable patches. They seem to think that marrying Oliver automatically signed me up as the unpaid labourer for their farm. But I disagree. This isnt the life I want, and I wont let my son grow up 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, it didnt seem so bad. Oliver was attentive, his parents, Margaret and her husband, seemed kind. The village even had its charmrolling green fields, fresh air, quiet. For a moment, I thought I might adjust. 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 makes my skin crawl. Me, a city girl whod never lifted anything heavier than a laptop, had to learn milking before sundown. That was my first warning.
Oliver, it turned out, had no intention of standing up for me. Mums righteveryone works here, he said when I tried to protest. And so began my new routine: up at dawn, feeding animals, weeding the garden, cleaning the house, cooking for everyone. I felt more like a servant than a wife. And if I dared ask for a days rest, Margaret would roll her eyes and launch into her lecture: In my day, women worked from sunup to sundown without complaint! Oliver stayed silent, as if it were none of his concern.
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 was either slaving on the farm or moving to London, where hed always be an outsider. I want him in a proper nursery, to study, to travel, to see the world. But here? There isnt even decent internet to put cartoons on for him. When I mentioned enrolling him in an art class in the nearest town, Margaret scoffed: What for? Better he learns to milk the cowthats useful!
I tried talking to Oliver. Told him I felt suffocated, that this wasnt the life Id dreamed of. But he just shrugged. Everyone lives like this, Emily. What else do you want? And then I found out Margarets planning to expand the barn and buy another cow. Of course, the 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 York has promised to help with a place and a job. I picture my 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 he can grow up with real opportunities. I want to feel human againnot some overworked machine.
Of course, Im afraid. I dont know what life in the city will hold. Will I find work? Will the money last? But one things certain: I cant stay here. Every time I watch my son playing in the yard, I know he deserves more. So do I. I wont let him see his mother bowed under this weight, losing herself to please others.
Margaret said the other day that Im too city and will never be one of them. You know what? Shes right. I dont want to be. 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 lifeeven if it means grabbing a bag and running with my son to somewhere no one forces me to milk cows.
**Lesson learned:** Sometimes, the hardest choices are the ones that set you free.
