Once, When I Was Pregnant for the Second Time, a Girl with a Baby Knocked at My Door.

Author Emily TaylorReading 3 minViews 3

Hey love, you wont believe what happened the second time I found out I was expecting. I was at home in my little flat in Manchester when there was a knock on the door, and a young woman with a baby stood on the step. I never imagined Id be in a situation like that.

Turns out Id been living with a man I thought I knew inside out.

I first met Thomas when I was fifteen; he was seventeen then. We got married five years later, and a year after that I was pregnant again. When our daughter, Lily, was born, Thomas was over the moon. He doted on her, started putting in extra hours at work, and bought us a decent twobedroom flat. Lily became his world he took her to nursery, to ballet class, and theyd go for walks together while we watched cartoons on the sofa. It felt perfect, like a pictureperfect family.

Then everything flipped on a day when I was pregnant for the second time. Someone knocked, and a girl about twenty stood there with a baby. I stepped aside and let her in. She introduced herself as Poppy, twentyone, and said she was Thomass other wife. Shed just had a son two weeks earlier and wanted to set things straight. She told me theyd been seeing each other for two years and that she wasnt about to back down.

I rang Thomas and asked him to come over. His reply blew me away: Love, weve always managed, havent we? Im not leaving you, but I wont abandon Poppy either. I couldnt accept that. With tears in my eyes I grabbed his suitcase and threw it out the door. He chased after me, shouting, Youll regret this, darling. The flats in my name, so you and the kids will have to move to a rundown place on the outskirts. Dont even think about maintenance my pay is meagre. Figure out how youll survive. I was stunned hearing those words from the man I loved.

I knew I couldnt let my children grow up with that chaos. Thomas walked off with Poppy, and I packed Lily, the baby, and my things and headed for my own place. There was no time for sobbing. Thomas filed for divorce quickly, and I spent the last of my savings on a good solicitor. The solicitor handled everything, and the flat ended up being handed over to me and the kids. I didnt even chase spousal maintenance.

Seven years later I married again. Mark is nothing like Thomas hes kind, supportive, and truly wonderful. Turns out Poppy was only after Thomass money, and when he was left homeless she tossed him out. He tried to crawl back to me, but after what he said and did, I had no desire to let him back into my life.

Its been a wild ride, but I finally feel settled and happy. Cant wait to catch up properly soon. xoNow were building a future together, surrounded by love, laughter, and the steady rhythm of a life finally at peace.

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.