One of the most common mistakes is to think of people as simply good, bad, stupid, or clever. A person is ever-changing, full of possibilitiestoday foolish, tomorrow wise; once cruel, now kind, and vice versa. Thats the greatness of man. And thats why we mustnt judge. You condemn someone, and already theyre different,” Leo Tolstoy once wrote in his diaries.
Arguing with genius is hard, sometimes near impossible. Life proves him right every timeif you look closely, sift the wheat from the chaff, and then the heart of truth becomes clear, almost tangible.
But today, thinking about such complexities feels unbearable because since morning, the heats been relentless. Proper July heat, like the air itself smashed against sun-scorched walls, bounced onto the pavement, even hotter, and then just gave up, bowing its head to the sun pouring summer from the sky.
Yet inside Emily, its winter. A bitter, biting cold. So this summers passing her by.
Schools just ended. Universitys the next step, as expected for a graduate. But Emilys pregnant. What university now? And Jake turned out to be a right coward. When she told him about the baby, he just bit his lip, turned to the window, and said,
“Sure, I was first but whos to say there wasnt a second?”
Emily didnt even cry then. Just stood there, staring at his back. And his back was just a backcalm, unbothered. Steady breathing. She wanted to say more, to ask what she was supposed to do now, but then the doorbell rangher mum was home from work. Jake went to answer. Exchanged a quick hello in the hallway, then left.
Her mum marched straight into Emilys room and demanded to know what was wrong. Emily, flustered, blurted out,
“Nothings wrong. Im just pregnant.”
Her mum stood there, eyes locked on hers. Then she shoutedthough Emily didnt catch the words, because the sound was cut short by the sharp slap across her face.
And thats when winter settled inside Emily. Like snow had suddenly fallen, burying her up to her neck. Cold. Empty. Inside and out.
Her mum kept yelling, but snow muffles sound. So Emily just sat on the edge of her bed and started crying. Except the tears never left her eyesthey froze inside, turning to little crystal beads rolling around in the emptiness. She could almost hear them clinking.
Her mum stormed out. The front door slammed. Silence. And there Emily was, alone with her frozen tears in the middle of a scorching July evening.
She curled up under the covers and only then did she really cryproperly, like a girl. Sniffling, sobbing. And oh, how sorry she felt Not for herself, nofor the baby who wasnt even born yet and already no one wanted it. Not its father, not its gran, not even her, its hopeless mother. No one was glad for it.
She fell asleep, though the sun was still up. Dreamed something, too. Woke when someone sat beside her, stroking her hair.
Her mum was back. Stroking, murmuring,
“Emily, love, forgive me. Im a fool, even if Im not that old yet. Should be happymy girls all grown. Gonna be a mum soon. And here I was…”
She was crying, swiping at tears with her palms, still talking,
“Only thing I keep thinkingplease dont let it be a boy, please not a boy! Men, theyre all well, you know. Not one of em ever really understood or cared for a woman properlyyour dad didnt, mine didnt!”
Then Emily really started wailingloud, messy. Sat up, clung to her mum, hugged her tightthe most precious person in her life. And there they were, both crying, mourning their own sorrows. But warm together. And outside, summer still blazed.
Thenthe doorbell again. Her mum sniffed hard, wiped her face, stopped Emily from getting up.
“Stay put, love, Ill get it stay.”
She went, smoothing her hair. Tragedy or not, if theres a man at the door, best not look a complete mess.
Opened it. And there stood two men. Jake, and in fronthis dad. He spoke first.
“Evening, Mrs. Thompson. Sorry to call so late. But my lad heres told me the whole story, no secrets left, I reckon.”
Turned to his son, sharp.
“Or is there, future granddad?”
Jake just hung his head. His dad went on.
“So here we are, both of us, to ask for your daughters hand. If Emily can forgive the rubbish he spat earlier, that is.” Glared at Jake. Then cuffed him round the ear. “Go on, you little git, beg her pardon! And if she doesnt forgive you, youre no son of mine!”
Aye, people change. Mess up, then dont know how to fix it. Thank God for mums and dads. Theyd never steer us wrong.
