Running away is nearly as easy as they say. You only really have to stay quiet. And let that be the one thing Emma had trouble doing tonight.
She tried her best to be quiet. She didn't want to risk waking up any of the other people in the home. She didn't want to think about what would happen to her if she was caught sneaking out of this place. But it was an old house and Emma felt like a breathe alone would made the walls creak.
As quietly as she could, she collected the few things she owned and stuffed them into her backpack. She recounted the pounds she has collected. She stuffed it in the front pocket of her bag. She slung the bag over her shoulder and, with one last look around the room, she quietly closed the door behind her.
She waited for a moment, making sure she hadn't awoken anyone. She took a relieved breath. She hadn't. She tiptoed to the barrister. She couldn't help but look at the picture frames on the wall. Portraits of happy people. They were lucky, she thought. Being happy is a privilege, and one not reserved for her.
Emma crept down the stairs, putting down each step gently.
The stairs creaked. Emma held her breath. For a few seconds, she remained on the same step, her heart was beating in her chest. No sound from upstairs.
She hurried down the next few steps and made it safely to the landing.
She rushed out of the door, closing it gently behind her.