As autumn drew to a close, Emily finally made up her mind about university, though she had wavered for ages over what she wanted to do with her life. Suddenly, she realised she wanted to dedicate herself to medicine. She had done well in school and lived comfortably with her parents—wanting for nothing. She had loving parents, nice clothes, holidays by the sea, and plenty of gifts.
Her father, James Whitmore, worked in city administration and held a high-ranking position. He never denied his wife or daughter anything, dressing Emily like a doll. He was confident in her bright and secure future. Her mother, Margaret, was a housewife.
But life has a way of turning on a dime…
“Mum, I’m off!” Emily mumbled through a mouthful of toast as she dashed out the door, racing to school. “Why did I stay up till three staring at my phone? Now I can barely keep my eyes open,” she thought, but she managed to slip into class just before the bell, breathless.
“Who was chasing you?” her friend Sophie asked as Emily slumped into the seat beside her.
“No one, just overslept again,” she sighed, just as the lesson began. The girls exchanged weary glances.
After third period, their form teacher approached Emily, avoiding her gaze.
“You need to go home. It’s about your dad…”
“What? What happened?” Emily gasped, grabbing her things and sprinting home.
Outside the building, neighbours had gathered, an ambulance stood waiting, and police were arriving. Emily followed two officers inside… Her mother wasn’t crying anymore—just swaying silently, her face dark with grief. Her father lay motionless on the sofa.
“It was his heart, love,” the neighbour whispered gently. “His heart gave out.”
Emily clung to her mother, both weeping uncontrollably. The funeral and wake passed in a blur. Neighbours came by, offering support. Her mother turned to stone, barely speaking.
“Mum, please say something,” Emily begged, but her mother only stared blankly, as if looking right through her. Then, one morning, as Emily ate her toast alone, her mother shuffled into the kitchen and murmured,
“He’s calling me, love. Your dad…” Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed.
Emily shook her frantically—”Mum! Mum!”—before bolting next door.
Mrs. Thompson, their neighbour, called an ambulance at once. Emily sobbed while the older woman held her. “It’ll be alright, love. The doctor’s on his way.”
The paramedics arrived quickly, but after examining her mother, the doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry… there’s nothing we can do. She’s gone.”
The days that followed were a haze. With no relatives left—her mother had been an orphan, her father an only child—Mrs. Thompson stepped in. Teachers and classmates helped too. Slowly, Emily regained her footing. Mrs. Thompson took charge, feeding her breakfast, meeting her after school, making sure she ate.
The exams came and went, graduation passed. Emily’s dreams of university faded—higher education was a luxury she couldn’t afford now. She had to think practically. Her parents’ savings wouldn’t last forever.
“Thank you, Mrs. Thompson. You got me that job at the shop. At least I’ll have my own money now,” she said gratefully.
“That’s the spirit, love. You’ve got to start somewhere. You can always study later—just keep your wits about you.”
Emily worked hard, never refusing extra shifts—mopping floors, helping unload deliveries. It was strange seeing this delicate girl hauling boxes, a far cry from her old life.
One evening, a man and woman stopped her outside her building.
“Emily?” the woman asked.
“Yes? Do I know you?” she replied, exhausted from work.
“We’d like to talk about your future. Mind if we come up?”
“Why should I let strangers into my flat?”
“I’m Anna, this is Paul,” the woman nodded at the man.
“Don’t worry, love,” Paul said. “We just want a chat. Not exactly the place for it out here.”
Reluctantly, she let them in.
“Emily, we’re offering to buy your flat. It’s too big for you—four rooms for one person? And the bills must be steep.”
“They are,” she admitted. “But I won’t sell. It’s all I have left of my parents. Where would I go?”
“We’ll find you a smaller place once this one sells,” Anna pressed.
Emily refused outright. The pair exchanged glances before leaving politely. “Think it over. You’re all alone—why cling to all that space?”
She told Mrs. Thompson everything.
“Don’t you dare deal with them! They’ll swindle you blind. Next time they come, fetch me.”
Anna called several times, pressing about the flat. “How’d they even get my number?” Emily wondered.
Then, one evening, Anna and another man ambushed her again.
“We need to talk,” Anna insisted.
“I’ve said no. I’m not selling,” Emily snapped.
Spotting Mrs. Thompson watching from her kitchen window, she gave a slight nod. The older woman marched out.
“Who are you? Emily’s not selling. Now clear off!” She tugged Emily inside.
“Right, come to mine. I’m calling Anthony.”
Her son, a policeman, took down the details.
“Just ring me if they come back,” he told Emily.
Three days later, while Emily was working, Anna and Paul strode in. Their faces spelled trouble.
She quickly dialled Anthony, leaving the line open. The shop was nearly empty.
“Emily, we’re done playing nice,” Paul sneered. “Sell, or you’ll regret it.”
She kept her eyes on the door, relief flooding her as Anthony and two officers stormed in.
Handcuffed and shoved into a squad car, the pair were hauled away. Later, Anthony reassured her:
“They’re going away for a long time. You weren’t their first target—they’ve scammed others.”
One evening, as autumn’s last leaves fell, an elderly regular, Mr. Harold Wilson, shuffled into the shop, pale and leaning heavily on his cane.
“You don’t look well, Mr. Wilson,” Emily said gently.
“Not feeling it, love. Dizzy, weak…”
As he paid, he swayed and collapsed. A customer called an ambulance while Emily grabbed his phone, spotting “son, Gregory” in his contacts.
“Hello?” a man’s voice answered.
“It’s not your dad—it’s Emily, from the shop. He’s collapsed. The ambulance is coming.”
Silence, then: “I’m in the next town. Don’t leave him—I’m on my way.”
The paramedics took him to St. Mary’s Hospital. Later, Gregory rushed in.
“Thank you,” he said, handing her a bouquet the next day. “You saved him. If you hadn’t called…”
She blushed under his gaze.
While Mr. Wilson recovered, Gregory visited daily. On discharge day, Emily joined him to collect his father.
Overjoyed to see her, the old man grinned. That evening, Gregory confessed:
“I’m fifteen years older, but I’ve fallen for you. You’re wiser than your years. I’ve been divorced four years—never thought I’d remarry. But with you… I’m sure. Marry me. Even Dad approves.”
Emily didn’t hesitate. Gregory moved in—his father needed care, and he could manage his business remotely.
Emily enrolled in law school (her husband’s suggestion—”We’ll need our own solicitor”). Soon, their son Arthur was born. They lived happily in her flat, with Mrs. Thompson doting on little Arthur, thrilled for them all.
