Single. Period.

Free. Full Stop.

Clara sat at her small office desk, absently swirling a cup of tea between her hands. Her gaze travelled over the endless rows of identical workstations, past the pale grey walls of the call centre, until she paused on Alice the young woman across from her.

Alice didnt seem to fit in with the rest. There was a light in her wide eyes, a subtle spark of curiosity and intelligence in her delicate features and tidy hair, which set her apart. Clearly, this job dialling debtors on a script, churning out numbers, having awkward talks about overdue bills was entirely unsuited to someone like her.

Dont you ever feel suffocated in here? Clara finally asked, tearing her eyes from her tea. She studied Alice closely, searching for a trace of frustration or disappointment.

Alice turned her head gently, as if it took her a moment to realise the question was for her. Then she smiled quietly and shrugged with calm ease:

Its only for a while. I need to find my feet. Ive no home or friends in this city. I arrived with nothing but two suitcases and the belief that I could change things.

Her tone was even, without sadness or bitterness. She seemed accustomed to explaining her presence here and did so without complaint.

Clara traced the rim of her cup in thought. She was genuinely curious what had led Alice to abandon her old life and start over in a strange city.

What made you leave everything behind and set off into the unknown? she asked, lowering her voice out of instinct.

She noticed the way Alice tensed ever so slightly, her smile drawn a little thin. Clara immediately regretted her question it had come out too direct, perhaps even blunt.

Forgive me, you dont have to answer. I know not everyone wants to bare their soul to a colleague, she quickly softened. But if you ever need advice or a helping hand, do come to me. Ill do my best.

Alice looked up and nodded in gratitude. There was sincerity in Claras offer. For all her briskness and direct words, Clara had a rare gentleness about her something Alice had already noticed in their short time together.

Yet the offer of help, though kindly meant, triggered a heavy tide of memory in Alices heart. Her mind flickered with images from the past a cosy home, familiar streets, beloved faces. She took a deep breath to push the memories aside, turning her attention back to the computer, where the next debt collection number blinked on the screen…

*****************

Alice had only recently turned eighteen. She still didnt quite feel grown up it seemed as though school would only just end, and real life would suddenly begin, full of promise and discovery. She dreamt of going to university, making new friends, of the day she could set out on her own. But one evening, everything turned upside down.

That day, her mother was unusually lively. She kept glancing at the clock, fussing with her hair, double-checking the kitchen. When the doorbell finally rang, she all but flew to the hallway, as if she had been waiting forever for this visitor.

A few moments later, her mother ushered in a young man. His name was Charles. He swept in, chin raised, surveying the room with the confidence of someone used to admiration. He wore a neat navy suit, crisp white shirt, and a smart watch that winked in the light.

At first, Charles seemed pleasant enough. He spoke fluently, peppering conversation with references to studies, scientific facts, and quoted the classics as though they were daily parlance. Clearly, he wanted to dazzle not just the company in the room, but perhaps the whole city, with his intellect.

But the longer he stayed, the more Alice recoiled from his manner. Charles made passing remarks about family acquaintances, always with a trace of disdain in his voice. He judged their life choices, careers, and habits with a know-it-alls mockery, as if only he knew how things ought to be done. Alice found his superiority repellent, and could not understand how anyone could so glibly judge others without even trying to understand them.

Her mother, however, glowed. She kept flashing Alice meaningful looks, as if to say, See what a clever, promising gentleman he is. She nodded enthusiastically at every word their guest said, as if his comments were revelations, not just sentences.

And suddenly, like a bucket of cold water, Alice understood: Charles wasnt just another guest. He was here with a purpose. Her mother clearly saw him as a prospective suitor. Panic rose inside her. Breath caught in her throat as she wondered; How? Why him? Who gave them the right to choose for me?

She tried to meet her mothers gaze, hoping this was only a misunderstanding, that any second shed laugh and say, We just asked Charles to tea! But instead, her mother turned with a stern, immovable expression. Her look said, This will happen, because I have decided it.

A strong wave of protest welled up inside Alice. She wanted to leap up and shout that her life was her own, and she alone would choose who she let into it. But the words stuck. She only clenched her fists beneath the table, hiding her turmoil.

From her earliest childhood, Alices life had not been about what she wanted, but about following her mothers meticulous plan. Any hint of independence was snuffed out sternly and without question. Her mother always knew best: what was good, what was right, which path to follow.

Once in junior school, Alice had desperately wanted to join the art club. She loved mixing watercolours, making patterns, and dreamed of painting something truly beautiful. She shyly told her mother this dream, only to hear:

Art? Out of the question! Ballet is what you need, itll do wonders for your posture.

So Alice danced, meticulously learning steps and smiling on command. But her heart wasnt in it her movements were neat, but the joy belonged to paints and brushes, not ballerina shoes.

In secondary school, she made a friend lively, a bit cheeky, always suggesting adventures. They spent breaks together, walked in the park after lessons, shared secrets. For the first time, Alice felt free to be herself, no one elses version of her. But that friendship ended too:

Alice, shes not your sort. Dont see her any more, her mother decreed.

Alice tried to protest, to explain what her friend meant to her. Her mother only shook her head,

I know whats best for you.

School finished, and it was time to choose a career. Alice had fallen for law the challenge, the promise of justice, the intricate cases. She bought textbooks, began prepping for A-levels, even enrolled in prep courses. Once again, the icy verdict:

Law? Absolutely not! Education, my dear become a teacher, itll serve you well when youve children.

So it went, year after year. Alice had long ago learned not to argue. She simply nodded, did as told, while nursing quiet wounds and secret hopes. She swallowed buts and what ifs, hiding them for the sake of peace.

But when Charles left that first evening, something snapped. Alice trembled, her voice shook, but she could not remain silent.

Why do you decide for me? she burst out, on the verge of tears. Why dont you even ask what I want?

Her mother, ever composed, folded her arms:

I want whats best for you. One day youll see Im right.

Those words, so familiar and so unbearable, only fanned the flames. Alice screamed, wept, tried to explain that she was her own person, with dreams and a vision for her future too. In a moment of fury she grabbed a teacup and hurled it to the floor. Porcelain shattered, but even that violence did not break her mothers monotone:

Youre being silly. When you calm down, youll understand Im right.

Alice stared at the broken bits at her feet. She realised nothing worked: not words, not tears, not even anger. Her mothers certainty was a fortress no force could breach.

The next morning, everything changed. Alice woke to a strange quiet her phone was gone from the bedside table. Her laptop, too, was missing. Confused, she opened her door and found her mother standing in the corridor, face unreadable.

Wheres my things? Alice demanded, panic blooming inside.

Ive taken them, her mother answered, cool as ever. Until youve come to your senses and made the right decision, you dont need those distractions.

Before Alice could protest, her mother marched her back to her room and locked the door from outside. The handle wouldnt budge. At first, Alice was stunned. It was like something out of a storybook the princess locked in a tower. But reality was far grimmer.

Only the barest necessities were left: her bed, a wardrobe, desk and chair. No phone, no laptop, not even a radio. She checked the window also locked. She shouted, called her mother, but her only answer was receding footsteps.

For the first few hours she paced, pounded on doors, walls, hoping someone would hear her. Then she sat on the bed, trying to think straight. Perhaps this was some elaborate scare to bring her in line? But by evening she saw it was real.

Food appeared by the door twice a day meagre fare, just enough to keep hunger at bay. Alice tried to count the days, but time melted together into a grey, endless smear.

By the end of a week, she was exhausted, less from isolation than despair. She stopped shouting, stopped fighting. Instead, she sat by the window, watching clouds drift by, thinking endlessly of what might have been.

When her mother finally opened the door, Alice could barely look up.

Well? Are you ready to do the right thing? her mother asked, standing in the threshold.

Alice nodded. Words failed her. She just wanted it to end.

Much later, in therapy sessions, she would revisit this moment. Why hadnt she run? Why hadnt she fought harder? The answer eluded her perhaps years of submission, perhaps the fear of shattering what little stability she had, however unjust.

Life settled into the planned groove. Preparations for the wedding became routine: dress fittings, menus, building guest lists. Alice did everything mechanically, as if sleepwalking. She delayed wherever possible, claiming coursework, teaching placement, anything. Sometimes shed say autumn was wrong for a wedding, then claim spring was too soon.

But her delays wore thin. Eventually, her mother and Charles had enough.

Youve spent long enough dithering, her mother huffed. Its time to act.

So Alice and Charles were put in a flat together to get used to each other as the family put it. Registration at the registry office, they said, was merely a formality.

It was then that Alice realised she was pregnant. The news crashed over her like a wave of ice. She sat on the edge of the bath, staring at the test strip, in disbelief. How, why, why now?

Pregnancy became a waking nightmare. She felt nothing for Charles, just irritation and alienation. His voice, his mannerisms, even his scent revolted her. The prospect of sharing life and raising a child with him was unbearable.

She hesitated for days before telling Charles. One evening at supper, she forced herself to say it. Charles nodded, as though shed said nothing of consequence, and replied:

Very well then.

Alice dropped her gaze. The worst of all worlds had come true.

Still, Alice did not give up. Cautiously, day by day, she tried to sway her mother. She didnt argue outright but dropped hints, suggesting friends whod married well, wondering aloud about more desirable matches.

My friend Lilys husband owns a property firm. Theyve already a flat in the city. Molly married a surgeon he earns heaps…

Her mother listened, eyes narrowed but silent. Alice sensed her mothers resolve softening ever so slightly.

Another day, she invented a story about another admirer a successful entrepreneur who was allegedly interested in her but was taking things slowly, giving her time.

Gradually, the mood shifted. Her mother began to agree it was sensible to wait, perhaps until university was finished. Alice dared to hope she could gently nudge her way out of the planned match.

But discovery of her pregnancy wiped out those efforts. Alice realised her mother would act at once dragging her to the registry office as soon as possible, believing the matter settled for good.

Alice had to act fast, quietly, while her mother still suspected nothing. She found a private clinic far from home, in another borough. She hoped no one there would know her or her family.

In the doctor’s office, she tried to keep her composure. The woman behind the desk was calm and professional. Alice took a deep breath and said firmly:

I wish to end the pregnancy. My mind is made up.

The doctor nodded, showing neither sympathy nor reproach. She asked a few questions, filled out forms, scheduled tests and a follow-up. Everything was coldly businesslike just as Alice needed.

As Alice left the clinic, her mind spun blankly. She walked to the bus-stop, fingering the appointment slips, already planning how to keep all secret.

Suddenly, a chill ran through her. She thought back she recognised the doctor, her face and voice. Wasnt she someone her mother occasionally encountered at the shops, on the green? She even recalled her mothers fond description.

A dreadful panic seized Alice. What if, even now, the woman had phoned her mother? Confidentiality was all very well, but could she trust a family acquaintance not to tip her off out of a sense of duty?

There was no time to lose. Every second might count. Her only thought now: escape, before her mother suspected anything.

She dashed to her room, hands shaking, yanked open a drawer. Jeans, a shirt, jumper, underthings stuffed into a battered suitcase she kept for weekends with friends. She grabbed her toothbrush, comb, and all the savings she could find.

She rapidly locked the suitcase, glanced once around the room. Her eyes landed on a photo her and old classmates on the last day of school. She almost picked it up, but steeled herself; there was no time for sentimentality. Bag in hand, she tiptoed to the front door.

Her heart hammered so loudly she could barely hear anything else. Slowly, carefully, she turned the key, slipped into the corridor, and only then did she break into a trot.

In the taxi, she looked back constantly, half-expecting pursuit. She gave the driver the address of the nearest airport: anywhere, so long as it was far away. She gripped her case tightly throughout, jumping each time her phone buzzed.

At the airport, she moved on autopilot. Finding the departures board, she fixed on the next flight Bristol, in two hours. Without a second thought, she marched to the desk. Her hands shook as she handed over her pounds, but her voice was steady:

One ticket to Bristol, please.

While she waited to board, she sat stiffly on a bench, hugging her bag. The families, the holidaymakers, businesspeople all seemed to belong to another, simpler world. She repeated to herself: Youll manage. Just get away.

When the plane eventually took off, Alice leaned her forehead against the cool window. The city below became a scatter of lights, then vanished. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her trembling.

No sooner had she landed than Alice checked her phone. Dozens of notifications blinked on screen. Missed calls, all from her mother. A torrent of messages: worried (Where are you?!), angry (Get home at once! Do you know what youre doing?!), finally, ultimatums and threats.

One last message, sent just half an hour before:

Ive already put your name down at the registry office Ive friends there. Charles is ready. The weddings in two weeks. Dont think of hiding you SHALL be present.

Alice read it and allowed a dry smile. Not a smile of happiness, but of something new: the realisation shed finally broken the circle. She typed her reply:

Never. I am free now.

She sent it, switched off the phone, and drew a deep breath. Around her, a strange city thrummed, scented with rain and street food. She had no plans, no security, not even a clear idea what would happen next. But for the first time in many years, she felt it this was her decision.

Alice studied the switched-off phone for a while, then coolly removed the SIM card, held it, then tossed it away in the airport dustbin. With that gesture, she severed her ties to the past there would be no turning back.

She looked around. Taxis were touting fares. Travellers hurried to and fro. Alice stood still for a moment, then approached an information desk and asked where she might find a reasonably priced inn nearby. The woman kindly told her of a small hotel on a neighbouring street.

At the inn, Alice paid for three nights upfront, trying not to look flustered under the receptionists gaze. The room was modest but clean: a bed, cupboard, tiny desk, the window overlooking the car park. She perched on the edge of the bed and finally allowed herself a long, shaky sigh. For the first time in days, she felt safe at least for now.

The next morning, Alice got to work on her new life. She visited letting agents and eventually found a simple bed-sit at the edge of town. The landlady, an elderly woman with gentle eyes, didnt ask for many papers, just a months rent. So long as you keep things decent, she said, passing over the keys.

That was home sorted, but she needed money. She tried the high street a few shops, a couple of cafés. The first declined her, as she lacked a local reference; the next offered too low a wage. Then luck struck at a call centre. Not the most pleasant job, but it paid well enough.

A week later, with her nerves a bit steadier, Alice went to the local police station. She explained at the desk:

Im afraid my mother will report me missing. Ive not vanished I left her by choice. She controlled everything, even wanted to arrange a marriage I didnt want. I just want a chance to live my own life.

The constable listened seriously, asked a few questions, checked her ID and employment letter. Satisfied, he told her:

All right. If your mother does report you missing, well confirm youre safe and here of your own free will. But its best if you tell her yourself, to save worry.

Alice nodded though she knew she would not be doing that.

And so her new life began. Each morning, she got up at six, made a simple breakfast, prepared for work. After her shift, shed buy food, cook, sometimes watch telly, or leaf through a book from the shelf. At weekends, shed wander about the city, exploring parks, cafés, the winding streets.

Gradually, that routine felt natural. No longer was she required to justify every action, explain return times, put up with lectures about doing things right. She chose what to wear, what to eat, where to go. Sometimes shed marvel at how easy, really, it was to be herself.

Of course there were hard days. She missed old friends, familiar habits, even those little irritations that were once so tiresome. At such times, shed brew a cup of tea and sit at the window, watching passersby. But each time she reminded herself this was her own decision. For all its simplicity and ordinariness, at last she had a life that was, in every sense, her own.