I drew in a long breath, the kind that scraped against my throat and forced myself to speak. "I… I'm moving out." The words came quieter than I'd intended, but steady enough to hang in the charged silence.
For a beat, the room was frozen. Father paused mid-sip of his tea, the porcelain cup trembling just enough to rattle against the saucer. His eyes narrowed, sharp as a hawk's, pinning me in place. "Moving out?" The disbelief in his voice was sharper than a blade. "And where, exactly, do you think you're going?"
I shifted, my palms damp, but lifted my chin. "I want to be near Emma. I'm moving to Hull." My voice cracked, but didn't falter. I glanced at Mother, whose fingers clutched her string of pearls as though they were her only lifeline. "I'll rent a room, find work, and keep studying. I need to do this — for me. For my future."
Father's jaw flexed, the lines around his mouth deepening. Then his palm slammed down on the table with a crack that made Jack flinch. "Manage on your own? At sixteen?" His voice carried that dangerous calm, but underneath it pulsed a fury that made my stomach knot. "This isn't some adolescent whim! Life doesn't wait for a boy who wants to play at being a man!"
Heat rose in my face, but I stood my ground. "I can. I've thought about it. I'll finish my A-levels, I'll work, I'll —"
Mother's lips parted. Her voice came small, wavering. "Why? Why would you do this to yourself?" Her eyes were glassy, as though I had struck her.
I swallowed, hard, my throat dry as paper. "Because Emma and I love each other. And I'm finally old enough to live life on my own terms." My words wavered, but I didn't. I couldn't. They weren't going to control me any longer.
The air in the room thickened. Father shoved back his chair and rose, the sudden motion rattling the silverware. His towering frame made the space feel smaller. "You're still a child!" His voice roared, reverberating off the walls. "You cannot throw away your future for some infatuation! You have no idea what it means to live in the real world!"
Jack and Alex sat frozen, their eyes flicking from him to me, wide and uncertain, like they were watching a battle they didn't dare interrupt.
Mother's face flushed crimson. "Is she pregnant?" she blurted, her voice breaking into disbelief. "Is that what this madness is about? We can give her money — help her take care of it —"
"No!" The word tore out of me before I could stop it. My hands shook, but my voice grew louder. "She's not pregnant. And yes, I do know what the world is like, Father, because I've seen it with my own eyes. I've seen Emma's family live with less than us, yet they have more than we ever will. Love, joy, laughter — you name it, they have it. And in this house?" My voice cracked into a shout. "Nothing but pressure, pretense and suffocation! Emma makes me feel alive. Her family makes life worth living. Not this charade, where every breath feels like a crime!"
Silence thundered after my words. My lungs burned, my pulse pounded in my ears.
Father stared at me, rigid as stone, eyes burning with contempt. His voice dropped to a slow, venomous growl. "If you walk out of this house, you will not come back. I'll not give you a penny and I'll write you out of my will."
The weight of his threat pressed against me like a vice. But something inside me had already broken free. I met his gaze and shrugged, the defiance sharp in my tone. "I don't care about your money."
"Thomas!" Mother gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. Her voice cracked, trembling with horror, but not conviction. She had nothing to offer me but shock.
I bent down, lifted my bags, and slung them over my shoulders. My brothers didn't move, didn't speak, just stared at me as though I'd grown into someone they didn't recognize. Maybe I had.
"Goodbye," I said simply, my voice low but firm. "Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye, Father. Jack. Alex."
The door clicked shut behind me, the sound final and hollow. For a moment, I stood on the step, my grip on the straps of my bag so tight my knuckles burned. My chest — no, my whole body — ached. Part of me screamed to turn back, to beg them to understand, to cling to the life I knew. To have even their anger, just to prove I still belonged.
But another part surged forward, untethered. Free.
I walked down the path, each step a mixture of liberation and grief. The air outside struck me sharper than I'd ever known, cutting, alive, almost exhilarating. I thought of Emma, of Hull, of what waited for me and with every breath I reminded myself: I was brave. I had to be, for Emma.
Still, the ache lingered. Leaving behind the only home I'd ever known felt like tearing a piece of myself away. The walls that had contained me for so long now loomed behind me, silent and unforgiving. I could almost hear the echoes of their fury, their disbelief, seeping through the bricks.
And yet… I didn't stop. I couldn't.
Emma was waiting.
The thought twisted in my gut. I should have done this weeks ago. Right after the exams, I should have packed my bags and gone to her. Stayed. If I'd been there, if I'd kept close, maybe Harry never would have gotten the chance. Maybe she wouldn't be broken now, wouldn't look at me with the same haunted eyes I saw in my dreams. The guilt gnawed at me, hot and relentless. I had failed her.
I clenched my fists, forcing the thought down. I couldn't change what had already happened. I could only move forward. From here on, I would never let her stand alone again.
The streets blurred as I walked, the houses like faceless witnesses to my choice. I pictured Emma's smile, small but radiant, her hair catching the sunlight. The sound of her laugh. The way her hand felt in mine, grounding me, pulling me into a world that was real.
My hands tightened on my bags. Terror and determination warred inside me, but the latter burned hotter. Emma had survived. She had carried on through pain that should have crushed her. Now it was my turn to be brave, to carry the weight for her.
I could almost hear her voice in the wind, soft and steady, telling me it would be okay. That she needed me; and I needed her. For the first time in months, the knot of helplessness in my gut began to loosen.
I was finally doing the one thing that mattered. I was choosing her. Choosing us.
The street stretched ahead, bathed in the fading light of dusk. Each step was heavy, but it carried me closer to her, closer to the life I should have started long ago. My guilt and fear hardened into something new, something fierce: resolve.
This was my leap. My decision. And no matter how terrifying it was, I knew one thing for certain:
For Emma, for us, I would not stop.