Once, when I was pregnant for the second time, a girl with a baby knocked on the door.

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 3 minViews 3

When Im pregnant for the second time, a young woman arrives at the front door with a baby in her arms.

I never imagined such a scene could unfold in my life. It turns out I have been unaware of who I have actually been sharing my years with.

I meet Thomas when Im fifteen; hes seventeen. Five years later we marry, and within a year I become pregnant. When our daughter is born, Thomas is overjoyed. He showers her with attention and soon takes on extra shifts at work.

My husband buys a spacious twobedroom flat, and our daughter becomes his top priority. He walks her to nursery, drives her to her piano lessons and ballet class, and they often take evening strolls together while watching cartoons. My family feels perfectuntil everything changes suddenly.

While Im expecting my second child, theres a knock at the door. On the doorstep stands a girl, about twenty, cradling a newborn. I step aside and invite her in. She introduces herself as Poppy, nineteen years old, and explains she is Thomass second wife.

Two weeks ago she gave birth to a son and wants to set the record straight. She tells me they have been living together for two years and that she isnt about to give up. I call Thomas and ask him to come home. His reply astonishes me:

Love, weve always got along well. Lets keep it that way. Im not divorcing, but Im not leaving Poppy either.

I refuse to accept that. With tears in my eyes I grab his suitcase and throw it out the door. He lunges after me, shouting:

Darling, youll regret this. The flat is in my name, so you and the kids will have to move to a rundown council house on the outskirts. Dont even think about maintenance payments; my official salary is barely enough. Figure out how youll survive.

I cant believe those words come from the man I love.

I become certain I do not want my children growing up near him. Thomas walks away with Poppy, and I pack my belongings and those of my children, heading straight to my own flat.

Theres no time for more tears. Thomas quickly files for divorce, and I spend my last pounds on a competent solicitor. The lawyer handles the paperwork, and the flat ends up belonging to me and the kids. I dont even claim alimony.

Seven years later I marry again. He is nothing like Thomas; hes a wonderful man. It later emerges that Poppy had only been after money from my exhusband, and when Thomas was left homeless she threw him out. He tried to return to me, but after everything he said, I have no desire to take him back.

My Husband’s Family Decided to Take Over Our Countryside Cottage for the Holidays—But I Refused to Hand Over the Keys — “We’ve had a chat and come to a decision: what’s the point of letting your cottage sit there empty? We’ll take the kids there for Christmas break. Fresh air, hill for sledging, we’ll fire up the sauna—perfect! You’re always at work anyway, Lenny, and Vicky needs a rest, though he claims all he wants is to catch up on sleep. So, hand over the keys, we’ll head over in the morning.” Svetlana, my sister-in-law, was speaking so loudly and assertively down the phone that I had to hold it away from my ear. I stood in the kitchen drying a plate, trying to process what I’d just heard. My husband’s family’s nerve had already become the stuff of legend, but this was a new level. “Hold on, Svet,” I said, steadying my voice, “What do you mean you’ve decided? With whom, exactly? The cottage isn’t a holiday let or a youth hostel. It’s our home—mine and Vicky’s. And, for your information, we were planning to be there ourselves.” “Oh, don’t be daft!” Svetlana scoffed, chewing on something. “Vicky told Mum you’re staying home, probably glued to the telly. You’ve got loads of space, two floors—we won’t get in your way if you do decide to turn up. But it’d be better if you didn’t—our lot’s a bit rowdy. Gena’ll invite his mates, there’ll be a barbecue, a bit of music… You know yourself, you and your books would be bored stiff.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. The whole scene played out in my mind: Gena’s mates, cheap lager, Svetlana’s two teenagers who’d never heard the word ‘no’, and my poor cottage—the place I’d poured my heart and savings into for five years. “No, Svet,” I said firmly. “I’m not handing over the keys. The house isn’t set up for guests; the heating is tricky, the plumbing’s temperamental. And I just don’t want a crowd of people descending on my home.” “We’re not people, we’re family!” Svetlana shrilled, pausing mid-chew. “I’m Vicky’s sister, your nephews and niece! What’s wrong with you, got too cold-hearted with all your book-keeping? I’m calling Mum right now—she’ll hear how you treat family!” The line went dead with a volley of angry beeps. I put the phone on the table, hands trembling. I knew this was just the beginning. Soon, my mother-in-law Nina would be on the warpath. Vicky came into the kitchen a moment later. “Lenny, did you have to be so blunt?” he started, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “I mean, Svet’s… well, Svet, but it’s just family. They’ll be upset.” I brushed his arm off. “Vicky, do you remember last May?” I asked quietly. He winced. “You mean when they came for ‘just a quick barbecue’? The broken apple tree, the burnt carpet, the mound of greasy dishes—because Svet ‘had her nails done’ and none of them touched the dishwasher except to clog it up with half-eaten plates? My smashed vase, my flattened peonies?” “Well… the kids were just playing…” he mumbled, studying the linoleum. “Kids? Your nephew’s fifteen, your niece thirteen. They know full well what they’re up to. They nearly set the sauna on fire last time! And you want to let them all loose there, on their own, in the winter?” “But Gena said he’d keep an eye—” “Gena will only keep an eye on the vodka running out!” I turned to the window. “No, Vicky. I said no, and I mean it. It’s my house—legally and actually. I poured every penny into that place. I know every nail. And I won’t let it be wrecked.” That evening passed in icy silence. The next day, sure enough, Nina turned up, faux-fur hat, lipstick, giant shopping bag with a tail of frozen fish poking out. “Open up, Lenny! We have things to discuss!” she boomed. On the kitchen throne, cradling tea, she came straight to the point. “So—what, your own sister-in-law isn’t good enough for your precious little palace? All she wants is for her children to breathe some fresh air instead of plaster dust. You’d rather let that house rot empty?” “It’s not a palace, it’s a family home,” I told her firmly. “And anyway, it’s not a free-for-all for Gena’s birthday parties when they can’t be bothered to ask permission.” “That’s not how we do things in this family! If you won’t give up the keys, I swear, I’ll curse this house! My foot will never cross the threshold again!” “Well, you never come to weed the beds anyway,” I shot back. “You viper!” Nina exploded. And so it went—husband stuck in the middle, guilted by his mother, caught by his wife, unable to choose. In the end, I made the choice for us both. “We’re going to the cottage ourselves—today. Pack your things.” We beat them to it. But sure enough, hours later, cars roared up the snowy drive. Out poured the whole clan—Svetlana, Gena, their kids, their mates, even a dog, trail-blazing through my flowerbeds. “Let’s in! It’ll be a laugh!” hollered Gena. I stood by my husband at the gate. “We told you: we’re here. There’s no room for ten plus dog and chaos.” “But we’ve come all this way! Vicky, say something!” He faltered—saw the look in my eye. Then, finally, quietly, he said: “Mum, Svet—Lenny’s right. We told you. Go home.” Accusations rained. “You traitor! You snake!” Nina shrieked. But they left. My husband sat down on the steps, head in his hands. “God, what a disgrace—my own mother…” I wrapped him in my arms. “Not a disgrace, Vicky. Growing up. You protected us. You made your own boundary.” He managed a small, tired smile. For three blissful days, there was peace. Walks in the snowy woods. Steak and wine. Books by the fire. No calls—family boycott in full force. Then a smug photo texted through from Svetlana: “Look, we’re partying without you! Bet you’re jealous!”—a grotty shed, vodka bottles balanced on crates, forced grins. I showed it to Vicky, then deleted it. A week later, Nina asked him to take her to the doctor, as if nothing had happened. The cottage key, meanwhile, was moved to a safe—just in case. Sometimes you have to be the “bad guy” to others in order to protect your own happiness and family. And, for the first time, our cottage finally felt like home.