My Rules
As often happens, Emily never knew her father. He left her and her mother soon after she was born. They lived in a small town in a modest house. Her mother didn’t spoil her. From childhood, Emily knew how to light the fireplace, weed the garden, and fetch groceries from the shop.
She was a straight-A student, loved going to school, and dreamed of becoming an actress and living in a big city. After finishing school, she left her small town for Manchester, took the first job she found, and enrolled in university part-time.
“Dreams are dreams, but you need a career that will always put food on the table,” her mother said. “Actors have feast or famine.”
After graduating, when she started earning more, Emily bought herself a car on finance—nothing fancy, just a humble second-hand Ford Fiesta, but reliable. She proudly drove it home to show her mother.
Now she owns a different car, but she never forgot her first. Recently, she spotted it parked in town and couldn’t believe the old thing was still running. She’d have kept it forever, but… as life goes, she fell in love. First love, first heartbreak. He persuaded her to move in with him, renting a small flat. Soon, he talked her into selling the car.
“It’s old, it’ll break down any day,” he argued. “Let’s sell it and buy something newer that’ll last.”
Emily agreed. What else could she do? Men knew better about these things than young women. She let him handle the sale. To buy a new car, she took out another loan. He promised to help with payments. How thrilled she was with her new Vauxhall!
Somehow, he ended up driving it most of the time. He’d drop her at work, then run his own errands. He helped with a couple of payments before saying money was tight.
Things might have carried on—Emily loved him, made excuses—until a neighbour stopped her in the courtyard and asked if she knew her boyfriend brought other women home.
“I saw it with my own eyes. They pulled up in your car, arm in arm, and left three hours later.”
“Oh, I know. That’s—” Rage and hurt choked her words. “Sorry, I’m in a hurry,” she mumbled, rushing inside.
“Kick him out, love, before it’s too late,” the neighbour called after her.
At home, Emily let the tears flow. When he returned, she took the car keys and showed him the door.
Now she was alone—with a car and a loan. She cleaned offices after hours so colleagues wouldn’t know, tutored students in French, and dragged herself home exhausted. But she paid off the loan quickly. Then she took out a mortgage on a flat.
Visiting her mother on holiday, her hometown seemed tiny and worn.
“Why are you still single? Youth doesn’t last. Pretty girl like you, with a car…” her mother said, half-admiring, half-worried.
In a moment of self-pity, Emily told her about the failed relationship.
“Too trusting. I told you—big cities are full of rogues. You read love stories, but real life’s different. No knights in shining armour left. Just men leeching off hardworking women. Ah well, you’ll find your match.” Her mother left, then returned with a newspaper-wrapped bundle.
“Here. I’ve been saving for your wedding. Not much, but enough for a deposit.”
Emily kissed her, both in tears.
Back in the city, she bought a tiny one-bed flat. She only came home to sleep anyway. She kept tutoring evenings and weekends to cover the mortgage but stopped cleaning offices. Exhausted, she still loved returning to her little place.
After her ordeal, Emily treated men cautiously—no serious relationships, no letting anyone in. At twenty-eight, she had a flat, half-paid mortgage, a car she used for tutoring.
She’d achieved everything herself—no rich relatives, no father to help.
But her love life was stagnant. No time to meet men, and when she did, she held back. Yet she longed for marriage, someone to cook for, iron shirts for, welcome home… and children, of course.
Then out of the blue, an old school friend, Sarah, showed up with preserves from Emily’s mum.
“You’re lucky, Em. Smart to leave our dead-end town. Look at you—flat, car, good money. I stayed for Tom, remember? Loved him since school. His mum was ill—I nursed her, spoon-fed her. Was it worth it? Then she died, and just when we talked marriage, some new young teacher caught his eye. I gave them both hell!”
Sarah sighed. “So I left to start fresh. Ran into your mum—got your address. Mind if I crash here a few days? I’ll find work, get a place.”
“Stay. I’m barely home. Can’t even keep a cat.”
But Emily wasn’t used to sharing space. Still, she couldn’t turn Sarah out.
Next morning, Sarah hogged the bathroom while Emily rushed. That evening, Sarah lounged while Emily cooked.
“Any luck job-hunting?”
“Nothing suits. No education, see?”
“Some jobs don’t need degrees.”
“What, scrub floors? No thanks.”
“You want to be manager right away? That takes skill, responsibility—”
“Chill! I’ll look when I’m ready. Or hinting I should leave?” Sarah’s voice cracked.
Emily sighed. “Sorry. Peace?”
Days passed. Sarah partied, borrowed Emily’s dress without asking, left messes. Finally, Emily snapped.
“Enough! You’re here to work, not freeload. Pack up and go.”
“Or what? I’ll clean up!”
“That’s what you said last time.”
Sarah left in a huff. Later, Emily found her tutoring cash—hidden in a drawer—gone. She called Sarah, furious.
“I didn’t take it!” Sarah lied.
“Return it, or I’ll sue!”
That night, Sarah tossed partial cash on the table, stormed out. Emily felt guilty—had she driven her to this?
Months later, her mother mentioned Sarah was back with Tom—pregnant, beaten when he drank.
“Poor Sarah,” Emily thought. “Maybe if I’d been kinder…” But she never visited.
Then she realised—life wasn’t just rules and work. Money wouldn’t replace love. Time to live a little—cinema, theatre, maybe even love….
(Note: Culturally adapted names, locations, brands, and idioms while preserving the original story’s essence and length.)
