Ready to Run Away with My Son and the Essentials from This Village
I had already packed the essentials in my mindenough 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 to their goats, cows, and endless vegetable patches. They think that by marrying Daniel, I signed some invisible contract to be the unpaid labourer of 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 arguing over how many litres of milk Daisy the cow gave.
When I first arrived after the wedding, it almost seemed bearable. Daniel was attentive, his parents, Margaret and her husband, seemed friendly enough. The village even had its charmrolling green fields, fresh air, silence. For a moment, I thought I could 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 to milk before sundown. That was my first warning.
Daniel, it turned out, had no intention of standing up for me. Mums right, everyone works here, he said when I tried to protest. And so began my new routine: up at dawn, feeding animals, weeding gardens, scrubbing floors, cooking for the lot of them. I felt more like a servant than a wife. If I dared ask for a day off, Margaret would roll her eyes and launch into her sermon: In my day, women worked sunup to sundown and never complained! Daniel would stay 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 boiled down to 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. 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 snorted, What for? Better he learns to milk the cowsthats useful!
I tried talking to Daniel. Told him I was suffocating, that this wasnt what Id dreamed of. He just shrugged. Everyone lives like this, Emily. What more do you want? 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 saving money in secret. Not much, but enough for two bus tickets to the city. A friend in Oxford promised to help with a place and a job. I picture it nowmy son and I stepping onto 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 chances. I want to feel human again, not some overworked machine.
Of course, Im afraid. What will life in the city be like? Will I find work? Will the money last? But one things certainI cant stay here. Every time I see my son playing in the yard, I think he deserves better. So do I. I wont let him watch his mother bend under this weight, disappearing just 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 life. Even if it means grabbing a suitcase and running away with my son to where no one forces me to milk cows.
