“You Should Have Done My Home Renovation Instead of Going on Holiday!” – My Mother-in-Law Is Furious We Finally Took a Family Trip Abroad Rather Than Paying for Her Unnecessary Refurbishment, Even Though Her Flat Is Lovely and We’re Still Paying Off Our Own Mortgage While Raising Two Teenagers

Author Wanda MirandaReading 4 minViews 36

You should have done my flat up, not gone off on holiday!

It still amazes me how my mother-in-law finds something to complain about, even when we try to do something for ourselves. This time, shes in a strop because we went on holiday instead of paying for her to redecorate her flat. Her place is perfectly nice and in good conditionshe just fancies a change. But in her world, were expected to be her personal sponsors, even though she could easily afford it herself.

My husband, Edward, and I are notoriously careful with money. We’re still paying off our mortgage, and raising two teenagersCharlotte and Gracedoesn’t come cheap. Weve always put the familys needs first. Until this summer, we hadnt had a proper holiday in all our years of marriage.

Up till now, the best we managed were getaways to the woods in Surrey or renting a little cottage on the Cornish coast. The girls hadnt seen much of the world, so finally, we scraped and saved to book a trip to Italy. It took pinching pennies and cutting back on countless treats, but it was worth every pound.

Not that my mother-in-law, Margaret, ever volunteered to babysit her granddaughters. She made it clear straight after our wedding that looking after children wasnt her cup of tea. I never pressed her, so the girls used to stay with my own parents whenever Edward and I had to work at weekends or during school breaks. Ive never held it against her; after all, raising kids is no small feat, and now shes retired, shes earned a rest.

Margaret keeps herself busyshes joined a swimming club, flits between outings and exhibitions, and seems to have a busier social life than most people half her age. The snag is, she expects all her adventuresand any little whimto be funded by her children, regardless of our own circumstances. Mortgages, school fees, or bills never interest her; if Mum wants something, Mum must be helped.

Weekends, she’d come up with a never-ending list of chores for Edwardfix this, carry that. Then, this year, she really took leave of her senses, announcing she wanted her flat redecorated. Everyone wants something, but you can’t always have it, can you? Besides, only five years ago wed paid for a full refurb, and the place is still spotless.

We hadnt told Margaret we were off to Italy; frankly, we thought it best just to lock up and go. So thats exactly what we did.

While we were away, Margaret turned up at our house and found the door locked. She rang Edward, who admitted we were in Italy. She didnt say another wordbut when we got home, it was like walking into an emotional minefield.

You could have at least warned me. And where did you get the money? You should have done my flat up, not wasted it on a holiday.

Ordinarily, Edward would bite his tongue, but not this time. He calmly reminded her that she hadnt contributed a penny to our trip.

Ever since, Margaret has cut us off completely. She doesnt even ring Charlotte or Grace. All the other relatives are now ringing us, telling us what terrible people we are. But honestly, Edward and I dont feel guilty. My parents have been completely supportive, reassuring us that its important to travel while were youngespecially when the need for a redecorated flat is nothing but a whim, not a necessity.

You Took My Father From Me – Mum, I’ve finally moved in! Can you believe it? Anna cradled her phone between her shoulder and ear, all while wrestling with the stubborn front door lock. The key turned with difficulty, as if the flat itself was testing out its new owner. – Oh darling, thank goodness! And the flat, is everything alright? Her mum’s voice was anxious and excited at the same time. – It’s perfect! Bright, spacious. The balcony’s east facing—just like I wanted. Is Dad there? – I’m here, I’m here! boomed Victor’s voice. – We’ve switched to speakerphone. Well, has the fledgling finally flown the nest? – Dad, I’m twenty-five—not exactly a fledgling anymore. – You’ll always be my fledgling. Have you checked the locks? The windows—any draughts? The radiators… – Victor, give her a chance to settle in! interrupted her mum. – Anna, just be careful. It’s a new build—heaven knows who your neighbours are. Anna laughed, finally conquering the lock and pushing open the door. – Mum, this isn’t some shoddy seventies bedsit. It’s a decent place with decent people. Everything’s going to be fine. The next few weeks blurred into one endless marathon between DIY shops, furniture stores, and her own flat. Anna fell asleep with wallpaper catalogues under her pillow, woke up debating which shade of grout would best suit her bathroom tiles. On Saturday she stood in her new living room, inspecting curtain fabric samples, when her phone rang again. – How’s it going? Dad asked. – Slowly but surely. Today it’s curtains. Torn between “ivory” and “warm milk.” Thoughts? – I think those are the same colour, just different sales pitches. – Dad, you know nothing about shades! – But I do know electrics. Are the sockets wired properly? Renovations devoured time, money, and patience, but every new touch transformed the empty walls into a real home. Anna picked milk-beige wallpaper for her bedroom, found her own handyman to fit the laminate, and cleverly arranged the furniture to make even the tiny kitchen feel bigger. Once the last builder cleared away the rubble, Anna sat cross-legged on the gleaming living room floor. Soft light fell through her new curtains; the air smelled fresh—with just a hint of paint. Her first real home… Anna met her neighbour three days after the big move. She was fiddling with her keys when the flat opposite clicked open. – Oh, the new girl! A woman in her early thirties poked her head out: short hair, bold lipstick, curious eyes. – I’m Alison. I live right across from you. So, neighbours now! – Anna. Lovely to meet you. – If you ever need sugar, salt, or just a natter—knock away. Being alone in a new block’s weird to start with, I remember. Alison was easy company. They drank tea in Anna’s kitchen, swapping tales about dodgy lettings and the quirks of their new building. Alison was a fount of useful information: where to get decent broadband, which plumber did a good job for a fair price, which local shop had the best fresh veg. – Listen, I’ve got a recipe for apple cake—it’s out of this world! Alison scrolled her phone. – Takes half an hour, tastes like you spent all day baking. – Oooh, send it! I haven’t tried out my oven yet. Days became weeks, and Anna counted herself lucky to have such a friendly neighbour. They kept bumping into each other on the landing, occasionally popped round for coffee, even swapped books. On Saturday, Victor dropped by, tools in hand, to help with the shelf that refused to stay put. – You got the wrong rawl plugs, he said, peering at the fittings. – These are for plasterboard; you need concrete. I’ve got proper ones in the car. An hour later, the shelf was perfectly fixed. Victor packed away his tools, inspected his handiwork, and nodded in satisfaction. – That’ll hold for twenty years now. – Dad, you’re a legend! Anna hugged him. They headed downstairs, chatting about work and life. Victor asked about her job; Anna grumbled about her new boss who kept missing deadlines and losing papers. Outside their block, Alison appeared laden with supermarket bags. – Oh, hello! Anna waved. – Meet my dad, Victor. Dad, this is Alison—my neighbour I told you about. – Pleased to meet you, Victor said, wearing his usual easy smile. Alison paused oddly, her eyes flicking between Victor and Anna. Her smile turned stiff—almost pasted on. – Likewise, was all she said before hurrying inside. After that, everything changed. The next morning, Anna bumped into Alison on the landing and greeted her as usual but got only a frosty nod. Two days later, she invited Alison for tea—Alison made an excuse and barely listened. Then the complaints started. The first time, the community officer knocked at nine at night. – We’ve received reports of excessive noise—loud music and disturbance. – What music? Anna was taken aback. – I was reading a book! – Well, the neighbours have complained… Next came more complaints—footsteps, constant banging, music at night. The officer appeared regularly, each time apologising and shrugging helplessly. Anna knew where the complaints were coming from—but not why. Every morning became a lottery—what now? Egg shells smeared on the door? Coffee grounds wedged in the frame? Potato peelings thoughtfully tucked under her doormat? She started rising half an hour earlier just to clean up before work. Her hands were raw from cleaning products, and the lump in her throat never quite went away. – This can’t go on, she muttered one night, researching a video peephole online. The installation took twenty minutes—a tiny camera hidden inside what looked like an ordinary door viewer. Anna synced it to her phone and waited. She didn’t wait long. At three a.m., her phone buzzed with movement. Anna stared in disbelief as Alison—dressed in dressing gown and slippers—methodically smeared a dark mess across her door. Calm, precise—like a chore she’d repeated many times. The next night, Anna stayed up, listening for every sound in the hallway, and at half past two, she heard a rustling outside. Anna yanked open the door. Alison froze, a leaking bag in hand. – What did I ever do to you? Anna surprised herself at how pitiful her voice sounded. – Why are you doing this to me? Alison slowly lowered the bag. Her features twisted, beautiful face grimacing into a mask of old bitterness. – You? You never did anything. But your daddy… She almost shouted, careless of anyone listening. – Because he’s my father too! Only he cared for you—cherished you—while he abandoned me when I was three! Never sent a penny, never called! Mum and I scraped by while he played happy families with your mum! So, really, you took my father from me! Anna staggered back, bumping into her doorframe. – You’re lying… – Am I? Ask him yourself! Ask if he remembers Marina Sloane and a daughter Alison—who he discarded like rubbish! Anna slammed the door, sinking to the floor. One thought spun in her head: Not true, not true, not true. Dad couldn’t have. He couldn’t. The next morning she went straight to her parents’ house. All the way she rehearsed what to say, but when she saw her dad—calm as ever, reading the paper—her words stuck. – Anna! What a surprise! Victor stood and smiled. – Mum’s out shopping, but she’ll be back soon. – Dad, I need to ask… Anna sat on the sofa, twisting her bag strap. – Do you know a woman called Marina Sloane? Victor froze. The newspaper slipped from his hands. – How do you… – Her daughter—my neighbour. The one you met. She says you’re her father. Silence. It seemed to last forever. – Let’s go see her, Victor said abruptly. – Now. This needs sorting out. The drive to Anna’s flat took forty minutes. Both were silent. Anna stared out the window, struggling to piece together her shattered world. Alison opened instantly, as if waiting for them. She shot them both a hard look, but let them in. – Come to confess, Victor? Thirty years late? – I’ve come to explain, Victor pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jacket. – Read this. Alison snatched it, suspicious. Her face shifted as she read—anger to shock, shock to confusion. – What…? – DNA test result, Victor said calmly. – I took it when your mother filed for child support in court. Test showed—I’m not your father. Marina cheated on me. You’re not my daughter. Alison dropped the paper. Anna left with her father. At home, she moved to him, burying her face in his jacket. – I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry I believed it. Victor stroked her hair—just like when she came to him after playground fights as a little girl. – You’ve nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart. Other people are to blame. Things were never settled with Alison. But Anna didn’t want to try. After everything, any respect for her neighbour was gone forever…

03

She Gave Birth Quietly and Planned to Give Up Her Baby As a midwife with many years’ experience, I’ve witnessed both heartwarming and heart-wrenching moments. Nursing staff rarely get involved in the personal affairs of expectant mothers and their families, but recently I had to step in for a young student who gave birth to a wonderful baby girl—and immediately wanted to put her up for adoption. Lilly, as the young woman was called, was admitted to hospital. She had carried the baby for nine months and had never seen a doctor. She was unwilling to answer my questions about why, and I didn’t get a chance to ask before the birth. Lilly gave birth perfectly—a textbook delivery, unlike those who’d attended antenatal classes. The expectant mother whimpered softly in the ward, following my instructions, and everything went smoothly. When the little girl was in my arms, crying loudly and announcing herself to the world, Lilly looked on and also began to cry. Tears streamed down her face. I assured her the baby was healthy and that we should celebrate her arrival. But once on the maternity ward, Lilly declared she would give her baby up for adoption. She asked for the proper authorities to be notified. We tried to persuade her not to make a hasty decision, but the young mother refused to breastfeed her daughter and asked to be left alone. Unlike other babies, the little girl rejected formula, but enthusiastically opened her mouth at the scent of milk, straining to find a breast that wasn’t there… She started to lose weight, so on my next shift, against advice from others, I took the baby to her mother again. I explained to Lilly that her actions were endangering her child’s wellbeing and all but insisted she feed her. When Lilly finally put her daughter to her breast, the baby began to suckle eagerly; I made an excuse to leave them alone. Half an hour later, I returned to find both fast asleep, the mother gently cradling her baby. Soon after, Lilly came out to the corridor, sat by my desk, and began to speak. She explained that the baby’s father was a well-known local businessman—married, unhappy about the pregnancy, and had urged her to have an abortion. Lilly refused. Upon hearing Lilly’s decision, the businessman confessed everything to his wife, who accepted his remorse but then harassed the unfortunate student, demanding she get rid of the child. Neither money nor threats worked; the businessman disappeared from town, and his wife kept pressing for adoption. At the end of her story, Lilly looked me straight in the eye and said, – I want to keep her, but I don’t know how I’ll manage in a student hall with no money… Hearing this, I praised her and tried to reassure her. Our department chief had connections in town and easily reached out to the baby’s father, asking for a meeting. Surprisingly, the businessman didn’t try to avoid us—he arrived hours later, and we discussed everything concerning Lilly and her child’s future. To our credit, we didn’t expect him to be so decent about it. After Lilly was discharged, she rented a flat for a year, paid for up front by the baby’s father, who also gave her a generous sum to get started and pledged to support his daughter in future. Perhaps his conscience had finally awoken, and he realised his responsibility. I don’t know what the future holds for Lilly and her baby; I can only hope she builds a loving family for her wonderful little girl.

05

DO I REMEMBER? HOW COULD I EVER FORGET! “Polly, there’s something I need to tell you… Listen, do you remember my daughter from before we were married, Anastasia?” My husband was speaking in riddles again, and I felt uneasy. “Hmm… Do I remember? How could I ever forget! But what’s going on?” I sat down, bracing myself for bad news. “Well, I hardly know how to say it… Anastasia is begging me to take in her daughter—our granddaughter,” my husband stammered. “Why on earth should we, Alexander? And what about Anastasia’s husband? Has he run off?” Now I was curious, properly intrigued. “You see, Anastasia hasn’t got long left. No husband. Her mother married an American years back—lives in the States now. They fell out, haven’t spoken in years. And there’s no one else. That’s why she’s asking,” Alexander confessed, eyes averted. “So? What’s your plan? What will you do?” I already knew my answer. “I wanted to ask you first, Polly. Whatever you decide, I’ll go along with,” he finally looked at me, pleadingly. “How convenient. You sowed your wild oats, and now you expect me to take responsibility for someone else’s child. Is that it?” My husband’s spinelessness infuriated me. “Polly, we’re a family. We should decide together,” Alexander countered. “Oh, really? And when you were cheating, did you consult me? I’m your wife, after all!” Tears welled up, and I ran off to the next room. …Back at school, I was seeing my classmate, Victor, but when new lad Alex walked into our classroom, I forgot everyone else. Poor Victor soon got the heave-ho. Alex started walking me home, showering me with flowers from the park and kisses on the cheek. A week later, he lured me to bed—I never uttered a word of protest. I fell hopelessly in love with Alex and never stopped. We finished school and Alex was called up for National Service in another city. We wrote for a year, and then Alex came home on leave. I was beside myself with excitement, hanging on his every glance. He promised, “Polly, I’ll be back in a year and we’ll get married! I already think of you as my wife.” I felt a wave of utter joy—it was always like this: one sweet look from Alex, and I melted like chocolate by the fire. When he left again, I counted the days. But after six months, I received a letter: Alex wanted to break up, he’d found “real love” in the garrison, and wouldn’t be coming back. Meanwhile, I was pregnant—with his child. So much for my dreams. As Gran always said: “Don’t trust a buckwheat flower in bloom, trust what’s tucked away in the pantry.” …Time passed, and my son Ivan was born. Oddly enough, Victor, my old boyfriend, offered to help. Out of desperation, I accepted, and yes, we became close. There was no sign of Alex. Then one day he returned. Victor opened the door, and there stood Alex. “May I come in?” Alex asked, surprised. “Suppose so, since you’re here,” Victor replied reluctantly. Young Ivan, sensing the tension, started wailing and clung to Victor. “Victor, can you take Ivan out for a walk?” I was flustered. They left. “Your husband?” Alex asked, suspicious. “Why do you care? What brings you here?” I was angry and clueless about his motives. “I missed you. Seems you’ve landed on your feet, Polly. You’ve got a proper family. Didn’t wait for me, I see. Well, I’ll be off. Sorry to intrude.” Alex turned to go. “Wait, Alex. Why are you here, exactly? Just to torment me? Victor’s been helping me raise your two-year-old son,” I blurted, love for him still alive. “I’ve come back for you, Polly. Will you have me?” he pleaded. “Come on in, we’ll have dinner,” I said, heart pounding—joy flooding back. He hadn’t forgotten me after all. Why resist? So poor Victor got sent packing again. Ivan needed his true father, not a stepdad. Victor later married a lovely woman with two children of her own. …Years flew by. Alex—Alexander to everyone else, but always Shurik to me—never saw Ivan as his own. He assumed Ivan was Victor’s. His heart wasn’t in it. Frankly, my husband was always one for chasing after other women. He would fall for them, then drop them just as quickly—often with my friends, too. I sobbed and wailed, but never stopped loving, never stopped protecting what I called family. In a way, having all the love meant I could live blissfully unaware. I didn’t have to lie, invent excuses, or make up stories. I just loved him. He was my sunshine. Yes, sometimes I wanted to leave, but at night, regret would wrap around me. Where else would I go? Who else could I ever find? Besides, Shurik wouldn’t stand a chance without me—I was his lover, wife, and mother rolled into one. …Shurik lost his mother at fourteen—she died in her sleep—and perhaps that’s why he always sought comfort in the arms of others. I forgave him everything, pitied him. Once, a fight was so bad I threw him out. He left for his relatives’ place. A month passed, I’d forgotten the row, but still he didn’t return. I had to humble myself and visit his aunt. She was surprised to see me: “Polly, why would you want Alex back? He told us you’d divorced. He’s got a new girlfriend now.” That’s when, thanks to his aunt, I found the girl’s address and turned up unannounced. “Good afternoon! Could I see Alex, please?” I was doing my best to be polite. She smirked and slammed the door in my face. …A year later, Alex came home. By now, the girl had had a daughter: Anastasia. I’ve always blamed myself for letting my husband walk out back then. Maybe if I hadn’t, that girl wouldn’t have scooped him up. Since then, I’ve coddled and cherished him, giving unconditional love. We never spoke of Anastasia—his other daughter—never dared mention it, as though the whole family might collapse if we did. Best to keep some dangerous things bottled up. So Shurik had a child with another woman. It happens. Predatory women shouldn’t throw themselves at married men! Life went on. Over the years, Shurik settled down, became tamer, more agreeable. The flings faded away—he started spending more time at home in front of the telly. Our son married young, and gave us three grandchildren. Then, out of the blue… Anastasia, Shurik’s lovechild, turned up years later—asking us to take her daughter in. Makes you think. How do we explain the sudden arrival of a strange little girl to Ivan? He knows nothing of his dad’s younger adventures. …Of course, we became legal guardians to five-year-old Alina. Anastasia passed away at thirty, her earthly journey done. Graves get overgrown, but life carries on. Shurik offered to talk to Ivan, man to man. Listening to his father’s confessions, Ivan simply said, “What’s in the past is buried, Dad. I’m not here to judge you. And the girl—she’s family, we should take her in.” We breathed a sigh of relief—what a compassionate son we’d raised. …Alina is sixteen now. She adores ‘Grandad Sasha’, tells him all her secrets. She calls me ‘Nan’ and says she’s the spitting image of me when I was young. I just smile and nod…

05

Winter had blanketed Andrew’s back garden with a soft layer of snow, but his loyal dog Duke, a huge German Shepherd, was acting strangely. Instead of curling up in the large kennel Andrew had lovingly built for him last summer, Duke insisted on sleeping outside, directly in the snow. Watching from the window, Andrew felt a tightness in his chest—Duke had never behaved like this before. Each morning, when Andrew went outside, Duke would look at him with tense eyes. The moment Andrew approached the kennel, Duke would plant himself firmly between Andrew and the entrance, growling softly and gazing at him imploringly, as if to say, “Please, don’t go in there.” This behaviour, so out of character after years of friendship, made Andrew wonder—what was his best friend hiding? Determined to uncover the truth, Andrew came up with a plan—he lured Duke into the kitchen with a tempting bit of steak. While the dog, shut inside, barked furiously at the window, Andrew crept out to the kennel and crouched down to peer inside. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw something that froze him in place… …Inside, wrapped in a blanket, was a tiny kitten—dirty, frozen, and barely breathing. Its eyes struggled to open, its little body shivering with cold. Duke had found it somewhere and, instead of chasing it off or leaving it, sheltered it. He’d been sleeping in the snow so as not to frighten the kitten, standing watch at the entrance like a sentry guarding a precious treasure. Andrew held his breath. He reached in, gently scooped up the tiny creature, and pressed it to his chest. In that instant, Duke raced over and nestled beside Andrew’s shoulder—not growling, but tenderly, ready to help. “You’re a good dog, Duke…” Andrew whispered, hugging the kitten close. “Better than most people.” From that day on, there were no longer just two friends living in the garden, but three. And the kennel, lovingly built, regained its true purpose—as a cosy home for rescued souls.

05

When He Got Home from Work, the Cat Was Gone Patrick was a modest young man with no bad habits. On his 25th birthday, his parents gave him a flat in London—not directly, but by helping him with the deposit for his mortgage. And so, Patrick began to live on his own. He worked as a software developer, preferred a quiet life, and had little contact with others. To escape the loneliness, he adopted a kitten. The kitten had a defect with its front paws. The people who owned the kitten’s mother planned to put it down, but Patrick felt sorry for the little one and brought him home. He called him Handsome. They settled into a happy routine—Patrick hurrying home from work to Handsome, who would wait on the doormat in the hallway. After some time, Patrick started dating a smart, lively colleague named Mary, who quickly charmed him and moved in less than a month later. Mary instantly disliked Handsome and asked Patrick to get rid of the cat, but he refused, explaining that Handsome meant a lot to him. Mary didn’t give up, repeatedly urging Patrick to send the cat away. Eventually, he told her Handsome was staying. Mary argued the cat ruined their image, complaining that guests were disgusted by his paws. Patrick felt torn between Mary and Handsome, loving both of them. Incidentally, Patrick’s parents didn’t approve of his choice. They found Mary rude and bossy, and advised their son not to rush into anything official, suggesting he take his time. When Mary’s parents visited, Patrick realised he didn’t want to spend his life with her. Her father laughed at Handsome as soon as he saw him, calling him a freak. Patrick defended his cat, but Mary and her father spent the evening mocking Handsome’s appearance and suggesting places to “get rid” of him. Mary’s mother joined in the laughter. The next day, when Patrick returned from work, Handsome was gone. When he asked Mary where the cat was, she calmly said she’d taken him to the vet’s and left him there. Patrick frantically searched for Handsome for five hours… and found him. The little cat purred softly in Patrick’s arms, happy his owner had come for him. Upon returning home, Patrick told Mary to pack her things and move out. He never wanted to see her again. She had become utterly repulsive to him. The next morning, Mary quietly packed up and left, offended—never expecting that a cat would be more important than her. Now Handsome and Patrick live together, and the cat still greets his owner happily after work.

06

Stole My Father – Mum, I’ve moved in! Can you believe it, finally! Oksana balanced her phone against her shoulder, fiddling with the stubborn lock. The key turned with effort, as if testing its new owner’s mettle. – Darling, thank goodness! How’s the flat? Everything okay? – her mother’s voice buzzed with excitement and nerves. – Perfect! Bright, airy. East-facing balcony, just like I wanted. Is Dad there? – Right here! – Viktor’s deep voice chimed in on speaker. – So, the chick has flown the nest? – Dad, I’m twenty-five! Not such a chick anymore. – You’ll always be my chick. Checked the locks? Windows sealed? Radiators… – Viktor, let her settle in! – interrupted Mum. – Oksana, be careful, love. It’s a new building, you never know your neighbours. Oksana laughed, finally conquering the lock and pushing the door open. – Mum, this place isn’t some dodgy 70s flat. It’s a nice building with decent people. I’ll be fine. The next few weeks blurred into a marathon between DIY shops, furniture outlets, and her new flat. Oksana fell asleep with wallpaper catalogues on her pillow and woke up pondering grout colours for the bathroom tiles. On Saturday, she stood in the middle of the living room, eyeing curtain swatches, when her phone buzzed again. – How’s it all coming along? – Dad wanted to know. – Slow but sure. Today it’s curtains. Torn between ‘ivory’ and ‘baked milk’. Opinions? – I reckon they’re the same colour with different salesmen. – Dad, you just don’t get shades! – But I do get electrics. Sockets all sorted? Renovation devoured her time, money and nerves; but each detail transformed the bare walls into a real home. Oksana chose the cream-beige wallpaper for her bedroom, found her own laminate floor layer, and figured out how to arrange furniture so her tiny kitchen felt roomy. When the last worker cleared away the builder’s rubbish, Oksana sat on the gleaming living room floor. Warm light filtered through the new curtains, mingling with the scent of paint and fresh air. Her very first real home. She met her neighbour three days after moving in. Oksana was fiddling with the door when a lock clicked across the hall. – Oh, you’re the new girl! – A woman in her early thirties popped out, sporting a pixie cut, bright lipstick and curious eyes. – I’m Alice. Live right opposite, so we’re neighbours now. – Oksana. Nice to meet you! – Pop round for sugar, salt, or a chat anytime. It’s weird at first in a new build—I remember! Alice turned out to be great company. They had tea in Oksana’s kitchen, swapping stories about their management company and the quirks of the building’s layout. Alice had all the tips: the best broadband, the go-to handyman, the shop with the freshest groceries. – I’ve got a recipe for apple crumble—honestly, it’s out of this world! – Alice scrolled through her phone. – I’ll send it over now. Only half an hour and tastes like you’ve been baking all day. – Oh, yes please! I haven’t even tested the oven yet. Days melted into weeks, and Oksana was glad Alice lived nearby. They chatted on the landing, sometimes shared coffee, swapped books. On Saturday, Viktor dropped by to help with a shelf that refused to stay up. – Wrong wall plugs, – Dad diagnosed, inspecting the fittings. – These are for drywall; this is concrete. Never mind, I’ve got the right ones in the car. An hour later, the shelf was secure. Viktor packed his tools, surveyed his handiwork, and nodded in approval. – That’ll hold for twenty years! – You’re the best! – Oksana hugged him. They headed down the stairs, chatting about her job and her scatter-brained new manager. Outside, Alice appeared with supermarket bags. – Hi there! – Oksana waved. – Meet my dad, Viktor. Dad, this is Alice, the neighbour I mentioned. – Pleasure, – Viktor greeted her with his trademark warm grin. Alice froze briefly, scanning Viktor’s face and then Oksana’s. Her smile turned strange, as if pasted on. – Likewise, – she said curtly and hurried into the block. Everything changed after that meeting. The next morning, Oksana bumped into Alice and cheerfully greeted her, but got only a frosty nod. Two days later, she invited Alice over for tea—Alice mumbled about being busy and dashed off. Then the complaints started… The local bobby knocked at her door at nine one night. – We’ve had reports of noise nuisance – loud music, banging about. – Music? – Oksana blinked. – I was reading! – Well, the neighbours are complaining… Complaints poured in: the management company received letters about ‘unbearable stomping’, ‘constant racket’, ‘blaring music at night’. The police visited regularly, always apologising. Oksana knew the source, but not the reason. Mornings became a lottery—what now? Eggshells smeared on her door? Coffee grounds packed between the frame and panel? A bag of potato peelings tucked under the mat? Oksana started rising thirty minutes early to clean up before work. Her hands stung from cleaning, a lump in her throat stuck fast. – This can’t go on, – she muttered one evening, researching video peepholes. It took twenty minutes to fit. A tiny camera, hidden in a normal-looking peephole, streamed everything to her mobile. Oksana waited. She didn’t wait long. At three in the morning, her phone lit up—motion detected. Oksana stared as Alice, in dressing gown and slippers, meticulously smeared some dark substance over her door, as if performing a well-practised chore. The next night, Oksana sat up in her hallway, alert to every sound. Just after half-past two, something rustled outside. She yanked the door open. Alice froze, clutching a bag; inside, something squelched unpleasantly. – What did I ever do to you? – Oksana was startled by how sad her own voice sounded. – Why are you treating me this way? Alice slowly lowered her bag. Her face twisted, handsome features blurring with old anger. – You? You did nothing. But your dear dad… – What’s my dad got to do with it? – Because he’s my dad too! – Alice actually shouted, forgetting the neighbours. – Only he raised you, pampered you, but abandoned me at three! Not a penny in child support, never a call! Mum and I barely got by while he built a happy family with your mum! So you, really, you stole my father! Oksana retreated, bumping into the doorframe. – You’re lying… – Am I? Ask him yourself! Ask if he remembers Marina Solovyova and the daughter Alice he dumped like rubbish! Oksana slammed the door and slid down to the floor in shock. One thought hammering: it can’t be true. Dad would never. Never. In the morning, she went to her parents. All the way, she rehearsed the question, but when she saw her father—calm, reading his newspaper—the words caught in her throat. – Oksana! What a surprise! – Viktor looked up. – Mum’s just nipped out, back soon. – Dad, I need to ask you something… – Oksana sat on the sofa, twisting her bag strap. – Do you know a woman named Marina Solovyova? Viktor froze. The newspaper slipped from his hand and landed on the floor. – How do you… – Her daughter is my neighbour—the Alice I introduced you to. She says you’re her father. Silence dragged. – We need to go see her, – said Viktor, suddenly resolute. – Right now. I have to put this right. The drive to the flats took forty minutes. They didn’t speak. Oksana watched the buildings blur past, trying to piece her shattered world together. Alice opened the door straight away, as if she’d been waiting. She gave them both a heavy look, but stepped aside. – Come to confess? – she sneered at Viktor. – After thirty years? – Come to explain. – Viktor pulled out a folded paper from his jacket. – Read this. Alice took it warily. As she read, her face changed—from fury to confusion, confusion to uncertainty. – This… what? – DNA test result, – Viktor replied calmly. – I did it when your mum went to court for maintenance. It showed I’m not your father. Marina cheated. You’re not my daughter. The paper slipped from Alice’s hand… Oksana and her father left the neighbour’s flat. Back home, Oksana moved to her dad, hugging him tightly. – I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry I believed her. Viktor stroked her hair, just like he used to when she fell out with friends as a child. – You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, love. Some things are never really our fault. After that, things weren’t the same with Alice. But Oksana didn’t want them to be. After those cruel tricks, any respect for her neighbour was gone forever.

09

📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic

“You Should Have Done My Home Renovation Instead of Going on Holiday!” – My Mother-in-Law Is Furious We Finally Took a Family Trip Abroad Rather Than Paying for Her Unnecessary Refurbishment, Even Though Her Flat Is Lovely and We’re Still Paying Off Our Own Mortgage While Raising Two Teenagers