Once I reached my hotel room, I fell onto the bed, completely drained. I knew I had to stay alert and set an alarm for early morning, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, sleep took over. It felt like I was sinking into a deep, peaceful darkness-a much-needed break from the day’s craziness.
When I woke up, the light seeping through the curtains reminded me that reality was waiting. I didn’t have any formal education or work experience beyond the twisted world of the mansion. How could I survive out here? Panic crept in as I realized the seriousness of my situation. Rachel’s money would only stretch so far; I needed to figure out how to support myself.
SUMMARY: This part shows the big contrast between Emma’s initial excitement about her freedom and the harsh reality she faces. It captures her first moments of freedom in the UK, finding a place to stay, and the realization of the challenges ahead. Emma’s anxieties about survival, her lack of skills, and Rachel’s limited financial support lay the groundwork for her journey to independence. This contrast between her life in the mansion and her new life makes it clear how much she needs to adapt to make it on her own.
I took a deep breath, pushing through the soreness in my body from the long journey. I had to be strong, for Rachel and for myself. I took a quick shower, the warm water a small comfort after all that had happened. Wrapping myself in the hotel towel, I looked at my reflection in the steamy mirror. The girl staring back at me looked unfamiliar, yet she was all I had now.
I got dressed in a plain outfit I had packed, leaving the mansion uniforms behind for good. I stepped outside, feeling the cool morning air and watching the city come alive around me. The cobblestone streets and old buildings were a sharp contrast to the luxury of the mansion’s halls. I walked for hours, letting the city guide me as I tried to figure out my next steps.
Eventually, I found myself in a charming neighborhood with rows of small apartments. I spotted a rental agency with a simple sign, and I decided to take a chance. Inside, a woman with a kind face was sitting behind the desk, barely looking up from her newspaper as I approached. With Rachel’s cash safely in my pocket, I nervously told her I was looking for a place to live and handed over a fake ID Rachel had arranged for me.
After a quick glance at the ID, she nodded and took me to a cozy studio apartment. It was small but had everything I needed-a bed, a kitchenette, and a tiny bathroom. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the single window overlooked a quiet courtyard. The rent was high, but the independence it offered felt worth it. I handed over the cash with trembling hands, and she passed me the keys with a jingle.
“You’re lucky, love,” she said, her accent thick. “This place just opened up.”
As I stepped into my new apartment, I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. This was my fresh start, my escape from the mansion. I took a deep breath and walked around the room, my feet sinking into the soft carpet. The kitchen was tiny, the fridge empty, and the stove looked old, but it was mine. The bed was simple, just a worn comforter and one pillow, but I felt an odd sense of pride.
Sitting on the bed, the reality of my situation started to weigh on me. I needed to find a job. Rachel had warned me the money wouldn’t last forever, and I needed to start building a life for myself. But what skills did I have? The only training I had was from the mansion staff, and that wasn’t something I could put on a job application.
An idea came to me, practical and simple-I could look for a cleaning job. After all, I knew how to keep a place spotless; I’d been doing it for years. Feeling a renewed determination, I headed back outside, ready to face whatever the day would bring.
I ended up in a small cafe, the aroma of coffee and fresh pastries filling the air. On the chalkboard menu, there was a ‘Help Wanted’ sign-a glimmer of hope in my search. I went to the counter, and the barista looked me over, sizing me up. “You looking for work, love?” she asked with a warm smile.
“Yes,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m good at cleaning and organizing-whatever you need.”
The barista’s name tag read ‘Sophie.’ She nodded, her eyes narrowing a bit as she studied me. “Alright, let’s chat. I’m Sophie.”
Taking a deep breath, I tried to look confident. “I’m Emma,” I said, hoping I sounded believable.
“Nice to meet you, Emma,” she replied, wiping her hands on her apron. “We need reliable help. The pay’s not great, but it’s honest work.”
We talked for a few minutes, and she seemed to accept my story. I had practiced it many times-a simple tale of escaping a bad situation to start fresh. She took down my number, and I left feeling a small spark of hope. I spent the rest of the day handing out copies of my resume, which Rachel had quickly put together, the fake name and address feeling strange on my lips.
As the sun set, my stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since the minimal airplane meal. I stopped by a small market and bought a few basics-bread, cheese, and a bottle of water. Back in my apartment, I sat at the tiny kitchen table, taking a bite and feeling a small relief. I had food, shelter, and a possible job. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Over the next few days, life became a mix of job hunting and settling into my new place. I cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, trying to make it feel more like home with the little I had. The quiet was strange after the constant noise of the mansion, but I found myself liking it. It was my own silence, my own space, and it felt right.
As time passed, a new challenge appeared. Working at the cafe was tough, but my body soon started to betray me. One evening, as I was closing up, a sharp pain stabbed through my stomach. I gasped, bending over as the intense pain grew. It felt like fire was spreading through me, burning from the inside out.
Fear gripped me as I realized something was wrong. Rachel had warned me there could be consequences from the mansion. I flagged down a taxi, whispering the address of the nearest hospital as I clutched my stomach, trying to stay calm. The streets of London blurred as the taxi sped along, and I fought back tears. This couldn’t be happening-I had just tasted freedom.
The hospital was cold and impersonal, with harsh lights glaring off the white walls. I stumbled into the emergency room, the pain now a constant ache. A nurse looked at me and quickly called for a doctor. They rushed me into a small room, and after a brief exam, the doctor returned with a reassuring smile.
“You’ll be fine, Miss…Emma, right? Just a bad case of food poisoning; we’ll have you out of here soon.” Then, as if it were nothing, she added, “And you’re about a month along-congratulations on the pregnancy.”
I froze, my heart pounding as her words hit me. I was pregnant-with Harrison’s child. The man who had owned me, claimed me in the most brutal way possible. The man I had to escape. Rachel’s warnings about the mansion’s impact replayed in my mind. What would I do now? Would they come looking for me? Would they take my baby away?
With shaking hands, I pulled out the burner phone Rachel had given me and dialed her number. After what felt like an eternity, she answered, her voice steady, a lifeline in my chaotic world. “Rachel,” I whispered, barely able to get the words out over the hospital noise. “I’m pregnant.”