The Mysterious Return of Emily: A Tale of Dreams and Fate
Emily left her job in the city late one evening. She didn’t want to go home—her empty flat felt even colder than the autumn wind. After a few steps, she sank onto a bench in a small park. The occasional passerby hurried past, lost in their own worlds. The shop where she worked closed at eleven, and she usually finished close to midnight. By then, the streets were deserted, save for the dim glow of the streetlamps.
“Good,” Emily thought, watching the indifferent shadows. Everyone in the city was strangers—even her neighbors in the building might as well have been ghosts, exchanging barely a word. Loneliness had become her constant companion, and the weight of it was unbearable. She tilted her head back, staring into the dark sky. Autumn was just beginning, and though the stars were faint, they still flickered. But she knew it wasn’t the weather—the city lights drowned them out.
Suddenly, memory carried her back to childhood. She was six, stifled in the heat of a summer night in her granddad’s cottage. Whining, she’d been surprised when he winked mischievously and said, “Come on!”—grabbing an old blanket. They’d climbed to the hayloft. It was cool there, smelling of fresh-cut grass and open fields. Through the gap in the roof, the stars shone huge, like a cat’s watchful eyes.
“Granddad, can you really reach the stars?” she’d asked.
“Course you can, love,” he’d replied. “Long as you don’t stand still. Some folk dream but wait for it to happen. The dream just slips further away. Then they forget, settle for what they’ve got. Never even notice they’re miserable.”
Emily had frowned. “Like at school? If I want top marks but don’t try, I won’t get them?”
“Exactly,” he’d grinned.
After that, the hayloft became her refuge. When she was sad, she’d climb up, stare at the stars, and believe: if she kept pushing, things would work out. In Year Five, when her teacher praised her essay in front of the class, Emily dreamed of becoming a teacher herself. By Year Seven, she’d fallen for the new boy, James, whose dad had bought the old barn to turn it into a farm. She’d imagined a big family, children, a homestead—preferably with James. She’d helped her grandparents, watered the vegetable patch, made jam, picturing it all coming true.
But in Year Eight, everything collapsed. Emily went to the seaside for the first time on a trip her gran had arranged. The sea stunned her with its vastness, and she added another dream—going there with her own family. But when she returned, disaster waited: the cottage had burned down, her grandparents gone. Emily was alone. She’d lost her parents at three—they’d crashed driving back from town before Christmas. Her grandparents had been her whole world.
Her distant relatives, Aunt Martha and Uncle George, weren’t cruel, but they were strangers. They had a son, nine-year-old Oliver. Aunt Martha worked half-days, then ferried Oliver to clubs and training. Uncle George vanished into work, then alternated between the sofa and his laptop. Oliver, glued to his tablet, played games. They lived their own lives, and Emily felt like an intruder. She tried to help—cleaning, cooking, offering to fetch Oliver from school—but Aunt Martha just frowned.
At her new school, Emily never fit in. Classmates mocked her country accent and clothes. Eventually, they grew used to her, but friendship never came. She studied harder, dreaming of teacher training college. But in Year Nine, Aunt Martha offhandedly asked, “Emily, why not leave after GCSEs? Get a trade, support yourself by eighteen.” Emily understood: they wanted her gone. Her form tutor was surprised but didn’t argue. So she let go of her first dream.
William appeared in her first year at college. He was lively, the life of the party, and though Emily didn’t love him, she agreed to a date. After college, she got a job at a shop. Aunt Martha gave her some money saved from her benefits. Grateful, Emily rented a tiny flat with William. He worked but spent evenings with mates, stumbling home at dawn. She tried to make it cozy, but he never noticed. Conversations about the future ended with his, “Don’t nag.” A year later, she left, abandoning her dream of family.
“Maybe the seaside?” Emily thought, but her manager snapped, “No staff, no leave.” She gave in. Work, the empty flat, books, sleep. “Plenty of time,” she told herself. “Can study later, find love later, save more without holidays.”
One evening, lost in thought on a bench, a driver yelled, “Move it!” Waving him past, she remembered Granddad’s words: “The dream slips further away, and folk never notice they’re miserable.” That weekend, she went back to the village.
The cottage barely stood, the yard overgrown, the hayloft rubble. Only the summer kitchen remained. Stepping inside, memory flared—her childhood laughter, Gran’s voice, Granddad’s footsteps. She ran to the porch, but of course, no one was there.
“Afternoon. Interested in the place?” a voice called. A man stood by the fence.
“Suppose,” Emily smiled. “James? That you?”
“Emily?” He stared. “No one’s been here in years. I was driving past, saw someone inside. Had to check. You staying?”
“Just visiting,” she lied. “What’s new?”
James told her about classmates—some in the city, some at uni. He’d stayed to help his dad on the farm. “Space here, not like town,” he said. Emily remembered the fields, the river, the woods. “Is it still pretty out there?”
“Gorgeous. Fancy a look?”
They drove to the river, sat on a fallen tree, drank tea from a flask, ate fresh scones. James talked; Emily listened, breathing in childhood air. For once, she felt light.
“And you?” he asked.
She told him everything: the job, the loneliness, the lost dreams. “Came to reset. Want to fix things.”
“Good on you,” James nodded. “Never too late.” His phone rang. “Got to go. Need a lift?”
“Back to the cottage,” she said, thinking, “Probably off to see his girlfriend.”
Alone, she lit the stove in the summer kitchen. Warmth spread, and a plan took shape. Next morning, she went to the shop.
“Hello, Mrs. Cooper! Remember me?”
“Emily? Blimey!”
“Need a job,” Emily said.
“We’ve got a till girl, but try old Thompson’s farm. Always need hands.”
Emily went to the farm. James, spotting her, grinned. “You? I was just coming here! We’ve got machines, but the animals need tending.”
“Not meeting a girlfriend,” she realized, relieved. Aloud: “I’m staying. Mrs. Cooper said you’ve got work.”
“We do,” James smiled. “Come meet Dad.”
“Emily, you in?” James called that evening.
“Here,” she answered, peeking from the kitchen.
“Brought you a blanket, pillow. Make it cosier,” he said.
“Got any tea?” she laughed.
“Course,” he replied. “You’re brave. Glad you came back.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Fell for you in Year Seven. Always hoped you’d return.”
“Well, I did,” Emily said, taking his hand.
Emily trained as a teacher by distance learning, just as she’d dreamed. She works at the village school now, but keeps her hours light—there’s too much else. A big farm, three children, a husband—all needing care. Where the old cottage stood, there’s a new house with a wide veranda. Evenings, Emily steps out, gazes at the stars, and thinks, “Still so much ahead.” They rarely go to the seaside—but here, they’re happy.