«Emma, enough with the mirror already!» Sarah called out sharply from the doorway of her daughter’s bedroom in their modest home in Willow Creek, a sleepy town in rural Ohio. «How about helping me out instead of primping for hours? You know I’m swamped with chores that nobody else seems to care about.» – «Give me a break, Mom,» Emma shot back lazily, her eyes glued to her reflection as she adjusted her mascara. «You kept the family together, kept this house standing. What more do you want?»
Emma’s sarcastic tone barely fazed her. At eighteen, she was restless, dreaming of a life far beyond the weathered front porches creaking under summer heat and endless cornfields of Willow Creek. The air buzzed with cicadas, and the faint smell of diner coffee lingered from Main Street. This small town felt like a cage. She craved excitement—city lights, new faces, a chance to be someone bigger than the girl next door.
Sarah, on the other hand, took pride in her role as the backbone of their home. She’d built a life with her husband, Tom, embracing the traditional values of their tight-knit community. By local standards, Sarah wasn’t a knockout—tall and wiry, with sharp features and none of the curves that could win the county fair’s pageant. Her grandmother, a no-nonsense woman named Betty, used to say, “Sarah, with your looks, you’ll be lucky to find a husband. Men around here want women with some meat on their bones.” In a bigger city, Sarah’s slim frame and pale skin might’ve been called elegant, but in Willow Creek, she felt like an outsider. Growing up, she’d envied her friends who flaunted engagement rings and planned big weddings at the community center, while she sat home, dateless, fearing she’d end up alone.
That all changed when she met Tom. He was the son of Linda, a woman with a bold personality and a reputation that raised eyebrows. Linda had been the talk of the town in her youth—stunning, flirty, and always chasing the next big thing. She’d tried to make it in Chicago years ago but came back to Willow Creek after her dreams fizzled. Her return stirred whispers; folks called her a homewrecker, claiming she still turned heads, even among married men.
The townsfolk kept their distance, wary of Linda’s charm. She, in turn, didn’t hide her disdain for Sarah, calling her plain and boring. At family dinners, Linda would lean toward Tom and say, “You could’ve done better than this wallflower who shops at Goodwill and knits like my grandma.”
Sarah bit her tongue, swallowing the sting of those words. Tom, though, stood firm. “This is my life, Mom. Stay out of it,” he’d snap, brushing off her jabs.
But Linda never let up, mocking everything from Sarah’s thrift-store dresses to her quiet hobbies like knitting. The tension between them simmered, threatening to boil over.
