**Ready to Run Away with My Son and the Bare Necessities from This Village**
Ive already packed the essentials in my mindready to flee with my son from my husband and his parents, away from this tiny village lost in the countryside. No, I wont dedicate my life to their goats, cows, and endless vegetable patches. They think that because I married Daniel, I automatically signed a contract to be the unpaid labourer on their farm. But I disagree. This isnt the life I wanted, and I wont let my son grow up in this backwater, where the only entertainment is debating how many litres of milk Daisy the cow gave today.
When I first arrived after the wedding, it didnt seem so bad. Daniel was attentive, and his parents, Margaret and her husband, seemed kind. The village even had its charmrolling green fields, clean air, quiet. I thought I might adjust. But reality soon showed its true colours. 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 sunset. That was my first warning.
Daniel, as it turned out, had no intention of standing up for me. Mums righteveryone works here, he said when I protested. And so began my new routine: up at five, feeding 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 sunup to sundown without complaint! Daniel stayed silent, as if it were none of his business.
My son, just three years old, is my only light. Looking at him, I know I cant let him grow up here, where his future is either slaving on the farm or moving to London, where hed always be an outsider. I want him in a good nursery, to study, to travel, to see the world. Here? There isnt even decent internet for 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 Daniel. I told him I felt suffocated, that this wasnt the life Id dreamed of. He just shrugged. Everyone lives like this, Emily. What do you expect? Then I found out Margarets planning to expand the barn and buy another cowguess whod do the extra work? That was the final straw.
Ive been secretly saving money. Not much, but enough for two bus tickets to the city. A friend in Manchester promised help with housing and work. I picture my son and me boarding that bus, leaving this village, the goats, the cows, and Margarets lectures behind. I dream of a little flat where its just us, where I can work and my son can grow with real opportunities. I want to feel human again, not a workhorse.
Of course, Im afraid. What will city life be like? Will I find a job? Will the money last? But one things certainI cant stay. 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 broken under this burden, 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 travels, of a happy family. And Ill do whatever it takes to reclaim that lifeeven if it means grabbing a suitcase and running away with my son where no one forces us to milk cows.
**Lesson learned:** Sometimes the hardest choices are the ones that set you free.
