**Love Until the Grave**
Emma stepped out of the shop, adjusting the heavy grocery bag in her grip as she headed home. She hadn’t bought much, yet the bag weighed her arm down. Pausing in front of her house, she frowned. “No lights on. Emily’s run off again.” Emma shook her head. “Just wait till she gets back… Ever since she got mixed up with that… that Jack, her grades have dropped. Skipping school, teachers complaining. A-levels are coming up, then uni. Oh, just you dare come home—I’ll give you a piece of my mind!”
Inside, she dropped the bag onto a chair by the kitchen table and glanced at the stove. “Of course. I asked her to peel potatoes or boil pasta. Gone. What am I supposed to do with her?”
She tore off her coat, flung it into the hallway, and stormed back into the kitchen. Cupboard doors slammed, plates clattered—Emma cooked dinner in a fury, rehearsing the scolding she’d deliver when Emily finally returned.
But Emily didn’t hurry back. By half ten, she was still missing. Emma paced, muttering under her breath:
“Just you wait till you get home… I’ll make sure you never forget this. I’ve slaved away, given you everything, and you can’t even boil pasta? I’m exhausted, doing it all alone. Does she think I didn’t want a life of my own? I was hardly older than her when I had her. Ungrateful. Is she bent on repeating my mistakes? Let her try—she’ll learn the hard way.”
Her anger boiled over. She wanted to smash something, anything, just to release the fury burning inside.
Then the lock clicked. Relief flooded her—until she saw Emily’s guilty face, eyes still shining with reckless delight. The anger roared back.
“Where have you been? Do you know what time it is? And your studies? Exams are around the corner, and you’re gallivanting God knows where!”
“I did my homework,” Emily tried to defend.
“Quiet! Don’t backchat me! Have you lost your mind? I raised you, hoped you’d get an education, a decent job—then he turns up, and you throw it all away!”
“I’m not throwing anything away. Stop shouting!” Emily snapped.
Her eyes dimmed, cheeks flushed with defiance.
“Oh, you—” Emma bit back an insult, fists clenched.
Helpless, she scanned the room for anything to vent her rage. Emily darted toward her bedroom, but Emma grabbed the folded umbrella from the side table and swung.
“Mum!” Emily shrieked, ducking, arms shielding her head.
The cry froze Emma’s hand. The umbrella clattered to the floor. Her shoulders sagged, all fight draining away.
“I was out of my mind worrying,” Emma whispered, suddenly exhausted. “Where were you? What’s that on your finger?”
Emily slowly lowered her hands, glancing at the delicate gold band with a tiny white stone.
“Jack gave it to me.” She peered up—the storm had passed.
“You’re still in school. Doesn’t he know that?”
“He does. So what? In two months, I’ll finish my exams—”
“Then you’re an adult? Please. While you live under my roof, you follow my rules. At least help around the house without being nagged. You think adulthood means doing whatever you want? Staying out all night? Dropping out? What if you get pregnant?” The rage surged again, unstoppable.
“Mum, he loves me. And I love him.”
“If he loved you, he’d want what’s best for you, not this. Where did he even come from?” Emma groaned, rocking side to side.
That night, she tossed and turned. The argument, the fear for Emily—her mind raced. How had her bright, obedient daughter, her pride, turned into this? Dark scenarios played out until, desperate, she called her only friend.
“What’s happened?” Sarah’s voice was groggy.
“Emily… she’s with this older boy, skipping school, teachers are—”
“I warned you not to smother her.” A yawn crackled through the phone.
“She’s talking about love at seventeen. He’s ruining her.” Silence. “Sarah? Fine, I’ll call tomorrow.”
Sharing the pain had helped a little. Emma finally slept, fitfully. By morning, things seemed less dire. She resolved to act—but how?
Over tea, she plotted how to get through to Emily. Peeking into her room, she found her asleep, cheek on her palm. Her heart twisted.
Leaving for work, an idea struck. She pocketed her keys, fished out Emily’s from her coat, and locked the door with the spare set. “She’s staying home. I’ll call in sick for her. She’ll think things over.”
At nine, Emily called, furious. “Why’d you lock me in?”
“To make you think. We’ll talk when I’m back.”
The day dragged. No words came—only anger.
Returning home, she saw a crowd outside the opposite block. A neighbour hobbled over.
“Emma… don’t panic. Police and paramedics are coming.”
Emma’s heart lurched. The setting sun blinded her, but then she saw them—two figures on the roof.
“That’s not… I locked her in!”
“Her boyfriend must’ve got her out,” someone said.
“Emily!” The scream came out a strangled gasp.
A shaky voice rang from above: “Stay back, or we’ll jump!”
Emma stood frozen, neck craned, tears blurring her vision. Then—movement. She lunged forward as darkness swallowed her.
She woke to a paramedic’s face. “Emily—”
“She’s alive. Over there.”
Emily rushed into her arms, sobbing. “I’m sorry!”
A whisper from the medic: “Tell police he forced you up there.”
Two ambulances arrived. One carried Jack’s body away—he’d leapt at the last second.
After that, Emily shut down. Police came, then left. Emma took leave, watching her daughter relentlessly.
“It’ll pass,” she soothed.
Classmates visited. Slowly, Emily spoke again. She aced her exams, skipped prom despite the dress Emma had scraped together for.
They applied to uni, then escaped to Sarah’s countryside cottage. Emily whispered with Sarah, even smiled sometimes.
Autumn faded into winter. Emma shopped for a New Year’s gift—not a ring to replace Jack’s, but a necklace.
Then, days before Christmas, she heard laughter from Emily’s room. A man’s voice. Her heart pounded.
“Emily?”
“Mum, this is…” Emily blushed.
“Don’t you recognise me?” the young man asked.
Emma frowned.
“Paul. I was there when you fainted that day. We met at the mall, picking gifts for our mums.”
A quiet evening followed, full of stories and laughter. Emma watched the tenderness in Paul’s gaze.
They spent New Year together. Two years later, he and Emily married.
Love draws people like moths to a flame. The first love shouldn’t become tragedy—a scar, not a wound.
We all hope to love until death, to share life’s trials. But sometimes, one falters, choosing an end over endurance.
“Life’s too long for love. Simply too long.”
