Tommy
I stayed close to Aunt Stephanie as she walked through the town, every step purposeful. Her presence drew attention without effort — the shopkeepers paused in their work, the townsfolk glanced up, curious, respectful. She didn't introduce herself, she didn't explain; she just talked. Firm, persuasive, and sharp.
"Your voices matter," she told a small group gathered outside the bakery. "These woods are more than just land — they're your heritage, your children's playgrounds. If we let them be destroyed, we all lose something precious. Preserve the woods. Make your opinions heard."
I watched as heads nodded, hesitant at first, then with growing resolve. Some of the local business owners murmured agreements. Aunt Stephanie smiled faintly, clearly used to negotiating even the most stubborn minds into action.
Meanwhile, I could feel the tension building in the back of my mind. My father wasn't idle. I'd heard him on the phone earlier, before I followed Aunt Stephanie into town. His tone was smooth, commanding, persuasive.
"Yes, I need those permits expedited. And make sure the investors know this is a done deal. They can't pull out now," he said, pacing behind his massive oak desk. "Of course, I understand the legal concerns. We'll handle them quietly. Let's ensure everything moves in our favour."
He called in favours from council members, whispered promises of future business to investors, and even hinted at bending rules where necessary. I could practically feel the weight of the power he wielded over the town and the planning committee.
I clenched my fists. Aunt Stephanie's voice and presence were strong, but my father was relentless, ruthless. I wanted to run back, tell Aunt Stephanie to hurry, tell Emma and her family to stay ready — but I stayed close, watching, absorbing.
Aunt Stephanie stopped by the small grocers' and market stalls, speaking to the owners in turn. "People's voices are powerful," she told them. "If you stand together, the council cannot ignore you. Even the richest developer must respect public opinion."
I followed her, heart pounding, torn between hope and fear. She was incredible, rallying support without so much as raising her voice in anger. And yet, my father's reach was long. He had connections, favours owed, and wealth to manipulate situations.
As she spoke to a group outside the post office, I caught her glance, sharper than ever, and I understood: this was more than just words. This was strategy. She had planned this to the smallest detail. And I realised, for the first time in weeks, that maybe we stood a chance.
But I also knew the truth: the fight wasn't over. Not by a long shot. My father would push back, hard. He would bend rules, grease palms, and leverage every ounce of his influence. And the summer wasn't even nearly over.
I swallowed, taking a deep breath. For Emma's sake, for her family, for the woods, I would follow Aunt Stephanie's lead and do whatever it took.
Whatever was required.
Emma
Dad came back from town just as the last light was slipping behind the trees. His boots were dusty, his brow furrowed, and he carried that heavy silence that meant he had been turning thoughts over and over until they weighed him down.
I'd been waiting for him, trying not to pace, keeping Zoey settled on my lap while the twins bickered over who had to sleep on the fold-up bed. Mum was at the table, wiping down jars and muttering about what still needed packing. Everything we owned seemed to be in boxes, as if the decision was already made.
When Dad finally sat down, Mum straightened. "Well?"
Dad sighed, "Tommy's aunt. She's sharp. She knows what she's talking about."
He rubbed his temples. "She talks well, I'll give her that. Got half the town hanging on her every word." He paused, staring at the worn boards beneath the table. "But talking doesn't put food on the table. Talking doesn't guarantee work. Hull does."
My chest tightened. "But — she said she's rallying the town. She believes they can stop it." My voice cracked, and I hated how small it sounded.
Dad's gaze flicked to me, tired but steady. "Emma, I know you want to believe. I do. But we've already packed, and the offer in Hull is real. A steady wage. A roof over our heads. I can't gamble your futures on promises and speeches, not when I've a chance to earn money."
Mum bristled, crossing her arms. "But don't you think it's worth waiting? At least a few more weeks? If the whole town pushes back —"
"And if nothing comes of it?" Dad cut her off, sharper than usual. "If I turn down this offer and the council sides with Jonathan Whitmore anyway, what then? We'll be left with nothing. No home, no job waiting in Hull. Just the dole."
His words hit like stones in my chest. The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in.
Mum's lips tightened. She looked like she wanted to fight, but Dad's eyes, weary and worn, held hers until her shoulders slumped. "A fresh start," he said more quietly. "That's what we need. Somewhere we're not under the boot of someone like Whitmore. Somewhere I can earn without wondering if tomorrow we'll still have a home."
Mum exhaled through her nose, reluctant but softening. "You really believe that?"
"I do," Dad said firmly. "And I need you to believe it too, Mandy. For the children."
I wanted to scream, to shake them both. Didn't they see? Didn't they feel it the way I did? Tommy's aunt was here. She was clever, determined, and she wasn't afraid of Jonathan Whitmore. For the first time since this nightmare began, there was light. And they were snuffing it out, choosing to walk away from everything — our home, our woods, the life we'd built.
The twins clattered through the kitchen, dragging a half-filled box between them, oblivious. Zoey curled against me, her small hands clutching my sleeve. I held her tighter, my throat aching.
Mum touched Dad's arm, reluctant but yielding. "All right," she whispered. "Hull, then. If that's what you believe is best."
Dad's shoulders dropped, some of the tension leaving his face. Relief. As if a burden had been lifted.
But for me, the weight only grew heavier. My heart felt like it was breaking open, spilling grief and fury in equal measure.
I turned my face away so they wouldn't see the tears threatening. I couldn't let them. I couldn't show how much hope I'd pinned on Stephanie's words, how desperately I'd wanted to believe Tommy when he looked at me like we could change the world.
They'd already decided. And I was powerless to stop it.
I kissed Zoey's hair, my lips trembling. "It's not fair," I whispered so softly only she could hear.
Her small head lifted, eyes wide and trusting. "Fair?"
I smiled weakly through the sting in my chest. "Nothing, love. Go play with Teddy."
But as she scampered off, my heart screamed the truth: nothing was fair. Not this, not leaving, not losing everything when for the first time it felt like we might actually have a chance to fight.
I slipped outside when no one was watching, standing beneath the darkening trees, the air sharp with pine and earth. Somewhere out there, Tommy was fighting for me — for us — for all of this. And inside, my parents were giving it up without even waiting to see.
I pressed my fists to my eyes, anger burning through the tears. I couldn't let go. Not yet.
Not while there was still hope.