Happy Women Always Look Fabulous Lily was deeply shaken by her husband’s betrayal. At forty, she found herself alone—her daughter away at university in another city. Two months ago, her husband Igor had come home, sat down, and announced: “I’m leaving you. I’ve fallen in love.” “In love? With whom?” Lily was stunned. “As men do. I fell for someone else. I feel good with her, I forget about you completely,” he replied matter-of-factly, like it was no big deal. He packed quickly and left. Only afterwards, reflecting, did Lily realise the decision hadn’t been made overnight. He’d been taking his things bit by bit, and that day he just threw them in a suitcase and shut the door on their life together. Lily cried, mourned, and thought nothing good would ever happen to her again. Life seemed to have stopped. She didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. Her phone rang constantly—her daughter, her best friend—but she answered reluctantly, usually hanging up quickly. At work, she didn’t want to talk to colleagues, all of whom looked at her differently; some with pity, others with a smirk. Lily still hoped: Maybe Igor’s fling would lose its appeal, maybe he would return to her. “If he comes back, I’ll forgive him—I still love him.” One weekend morning, Lily woke up early, as always, but lay in bed—no reason to get up, no reason to rush anywhere. Around eleven, her phone rang. “Who bothers calling this early? I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she decided, glancing at the unfamiliar number. Then a thought popped into her head—what if it was Igor, who’d lost his phone or needed a new SIM? What if he wanted to come back? She regretted not answering. As she pondered, the phone rang again. “Hello?” she said into the receiver. “Hi!” chirped a lively female voice. “Sorry, who is this?” Lily replied, voice dripping with irritation. “Lily, it’s me—Kerry! Your old mate!” came the answer. Lily was disappointed; she’d been hoping to hear Igor’s voice. “How are you holding up?” “Not well,” Lily answered, quickly hanging up as tears streamed down. She sat on the sofa and tried to calm herself. Shortly after, someone rang the doorbell. Lily’s heart leapt—could it be that Igor had changed his mind? She opened the door, and found herself face-to-face with a glamorous, confident woman—her old school friend Kerry. Kerry was radiant, with bold lipstick, stylish clothes, and a heavenly perfume that snapped Lily into the present. After school, Kerry had gone off to university in London, and they’d only met once in the last fifteen years. At school, they’d danced at parties, gossiped, swapped secrets. “Wow, you look amazing!” Lily said involuntarily. “Hey, darling. I’ve always looked like this. You… not so much,” Kerry said, giving Lily a top-to-bottom scan. “Well, are you going to let me in, or—?” “Come in,” Lily replied, grudgingly letting her friend into the flat. Kerry had come prepared, heading straight for the kitchen with a bottle of Spanish wine, cake, and oranges. “Get out the wine glasses—let’s toast our reunion!” Kerry chattered away, and Lily, wordlessly, fetched glasses and sliced cake. Without asking more questions, Kerry opened the wine and poured them both drinks. “To our reunion!” she cheered, raising her glass. They toasted, and after another round, Lily finally spilled everything—her pain, her heartbreak. Kerry just listened, then shrugged. “Oh Lily, I thought something truly awful had happened.” “It has!” Lily protested. “Your husband never left you.” “My husband? Please, I left him,” Kerry replied, “after I found out he’d hooked up with some young thing. I filed for divorce right away! He was so shocked—thought he could party on the side and I’d never notice.” “Maybe you didn’t love him,” Lily sighed. “I did love him—a lot,” said Kerry, “but I refuse to stay with someone who hurts me. That’s not love.” “My goodness, Kerry, you make it sound so simple.” “It is! You just complicate everything—and you always have. So where’s your daughter?” “She’s at university, in another city. Staying with an aunt.” “Figures. So your ex ditched you and his daughter, but you’re still suffering.” “But I love him…” “Enough, Lily. Time for my special treatment for heartbreak—no pills needed. Shopping, makeovers, and maybe new romance!” “Ooooh, Kerry…” “Come on, get dressed! We’re off to the shopping centre, then the salon. No excuses. And do you have any cash put by?” “Well, yes—we were saving for a new car for Igor.” “He can make do with his old banger. You need to file for divorce and stop hoping for him to come back. And, actually, we should get your share for that car!” “No, let him keep it,” Lily snapped. “Kerry, are you back from London for good?” “For good—I can’t stand it there anymore. Now get changed—we’re taking you out! Oh, and by the way, Rita Petrov called. There’s a school reunion in a week, and we’re both going. Quite a few of the lads are single. Remember Vic from our class, the one who always had a thing for you since Year Seven?” “Oh Kerry, who would want me now—I’m just an old nag.” “Don’t be daft, Lily! You need to love yourself! We’ll have you looking like a prize-winning filly in no time,” Kerry laughed as she dragged Lily out of the door. “Hey, you remember my Auntie Cathy? She lives near your mum. She’s getting married for the fifth time, but can’t pick between two chaps!” Soon, Lily could hardly recognise herself in the mirror. “Unbelievable! Brand new hair colour, super-short cut—I’d never have thought it would suit me so much,” Lily marvelled. “I look young and gorgeous! Thank God for Kerry, she’s given me a new lease of life. Otherwise, I’d have sunk into bed and mouldered.” The school reunion was held at a local café, nearly everyone was there except a few who couldn’t travel. Many didn’t recognise Lily at first; Vic, now a successful businessman, couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Lily, I didn’t even recognise you—you’re more stunning now than ever! I always fancied you, but you chose Igor instead. Where is he, anyway?” “He left me,” Lily smiled. “He left? Don’t joke, Lily—no one would ever walk away from a woman like you.” “Apparently they do. But it’s for the best.” “I never doubted that. I’m divorced too—been two years. Things took a turn with my business, and my now ex-wife called me a loser and went off with someone younger. But I bounced back, stronger than ever.” Two months later, Lily was out hand-in-hand with Vic, strolling along the Thames after a night at the theatre. Suddenly, she saw Igor walking toward them, looking gaunt and alone. He didn’t recognise her at first. “Maybe his new woman doesn’t feed him well,” she thought snarkily. Igor caught her eye, hesitated, and asked, “Lily?” She turned slowly, smiled, and said, “Oh, hello. This is Igor—my ex-husband. You didn’t recognise him, did you, Vic?” “Hello. Nope, I didn’t,” Vic said. “I’m Lily’s future husband.” Igor’s jaw dropped. Even Lily was surprised—Vic hadn’t actually proposed yet! “How are you?” Lily asked cheerily. “Oh, I’m… fine,” Igor stammered, “You’ve changed so much! You look fantastic.” Lily smiled, took Vic’s arm and said, “Happy women always look fabulous.” “So things are good for you?” Igor muttered. “Of course! And they’re going to get even better,” Lily replied, and walked off with Vic, feeling the burning gaze of her ex-husband on her back.

Author Walton MerrittReading 9 minViews 25

Happy women always look their best

Claire was deeply hurt by her husband’s betrayal. At forty, she found herself alone, her daughter away at university in another city. Just two months ago, Tom had come home from work and declared:

Im leaving you, Ive fallen in love.

What do you mean? With who? stammered Claire.

Just how men leave their wives, I suppose. Ive met someone else and Im happy with her. When Im with her, I forget all about you. So dont bother pleading, Ive made up my mind, Tom replied in a flat tone, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

He packed quickly and left. Later, after giving it some thought, Claire realised Tom hadnt decided overnight; hed been quietly gathering his things for a while, only to throw them hastily into his suitcase that day before slamming the door behind him.

Claire cried and agonised, convinced nothing good would ever happen to her again. It felt like her life had ended, or at least ground to a halt. She didnt want to see or hear anyone. She didnt want to speak, and yet, the phone kept ringing. Her daughter called, her friend called, but she answered reluctantly and hurried to disconnect. At work, she avoided chatting with her colleagues. People looked at her differentlysome with pity, others with barely concealed glee.

Secretly, she hoped:

Maybe Tom will get bored with the woman who took him away, and hell come back. And Ill forgive him, because I still love him.

One Saturday Claire woke up early, as usual, but lingered in beda sense of listlessness and no place to hurry. Eventually, she got up. Near eleven, the phone rang.

Who feels the need to call so early? I dont want to talk to anyone, she thought, letting it ring, although she instinctively glanced at the numbera stranger. Wait, what if its Tom? What if hes lost his phone or been robbed and changed SIM cards, she wondered. What if hes coming back? I shouldve answered.

While she pondered, the phone rang again.

Hello, hello, she answered loudly.

Hiya! chirped a womans bright voice.

Hello, whos this? asked Claire, her tone flat and irritated.

Claire! Is it really you? Whats happened to your voice? Its not right not recognising old friends. Its me Sophie!

Claire was disappointed, shed hoped to hear Toms voice.

And so…

Claire, seriously. Are you alright?

No, Claire replied and abruptly hung up, tears streaming down her face.

She went to the sofa, hoping to calm herself. A while later, someone rang the doorbell. Claire perked up, that strange hope flickering again.

Maybe Toms thought better of it, she muttered, going to open the door.

Hello! said a striking woman; Claire barely recognised her former friend and schoolmate, Sophie.

She looked well-groomed, lips painted brightly, dressed stylishly, and smelling remarkableher perfume snapped Claire out of her haze. After finishing school, Sophie went to uni in London and theyd only met once since, about fifteen years ago. Back in school, theyd been closewent to parties together, dated boys, swapped secrets.

Sophie, you look amazing, Claire blurted out.

Hello, love. Ive always been like this, but you Sophie gave her a critical scan, Well, are you letting me in, or…?

Come in, Claire said, albeit reluctantly.

Sophie hadnt come empty-handed. She strode to the kitchen, unpacked a bottle of Spanish wine, a cake, and some oranges.

Get your glasses. Lets celebrate! I cant even remember the last time we spoke. It feels like ages Sophie chattered, while Claire set out two glasses and sliced the cake.

Without pressing for answers, Sophie opened the wine and poured them each a glass.

To our reunion! she toasted, draining her glass. Claire followed suit.

Sophie raised her glass again for their friendship, and after her second drink Claire felt like venting. It had all built up. Sophie listened patiently, and when Claire had finished, she shrugged her shoulders.

Oh Claire, I actually thought something tragic had happened.

How isnt this a tragedy? You dont understand; your husband never left you, said Claire sadly.

Well, not quite! I left my husband, actually. Gave him the first blow when I found out he was seeing some young thing on the side. Filed for divorce immediatelyhe was stunned, probably thought hed have his fun and Id stay clueless…

Maybe you didnt love him.

I did! Sophie said, But I wont tolerate disrespect. When someone cheats, its proof theres no love left.

Goodness, Sophie, you make it sound so simple.

It is. Youre the one making it complicatednot that you havent always been like that. Wheres your daughter?

Shes at university in Manchester, living with my cousin.

I see. So Tom left you and his own child, yet youre still hung up on him.

But I love him…

Thats enough, Claire. Time for a little remedyyoure in a right state.

A remedy? Pills wont help me.

Oh, not pills, love. Those wont work. What you need are old reliable curesnew hairstyle, shopping trip, maybe a new romance.

Oh, Sophie… groaned Claire.

Right, get yourself together, were off to the shopping centreand were stopping at the salon, Sophie said cheerfully. And no excuses. Got any savings put by?

Savings? Well, yes. Tom and I were saving for a new car.

Forget Tom. Let him make do with the old one. You should file for divorce and never rely on him again. Dont you dare forgive him And if you want, well sort out a claim for half the value of that tired old car.

Let him choke on it, blurted Claire, waving her hand. Sophie, have you come back from London for good, then? Youve not mentioned it.

For good. Didnt fancy staying. Now, get out of those old house clothes! Were hitting the shops. Oh, I almost forgotRuth Peters rang me. Theres a school reunion next week and youre coming. The lot of us will be thereand some of our old boys are divorced. Keep your eyes peeled. Remember how Dan had a crush on you from Year Seven?

Oh Sophie, honestly, Im nobodys prize. Past my prime.

Dont be ridiculous, Claire! Dont talk about yourself like that. Self-love and care, thats what you need. Well soon have you looking like youre ready for Ascot, Sophie laughed, grabbing her bag. Hey, you remember my Aunt Kate who lives by your mum? Shes on her fifth fiancétrying to pick between two suitors for her hand, can you believe?

Soon enough, Claire stared at herself in the mirror, barely recognising her reflection.

I cant believe this transformation! she marvelled. Her hair a brand new shade, cropped ultra shortshed never imagined it would suit her so well. Younger, prettier, full of life. Well done, Sophie, she thought. Shed have never managed it alone.

The evening of the school reunion was held in a cosy café; almost everyone had come except a few who couldnt make it. Many barely recognised Claire, and Daniela distinguished, self-assured mancouldnt take his eyes off her.

Claire, I didnt realise it was you! You look stunningbetter than ever. I always liked you, but you picked Tom instead, didnt you? Where is he, anyway?

He left me, Claire replied with a light smile.

Left you? Are you joking? A woman like you? Daniel said, genuinely surprised.

Oh, it happens. But now, I think its for the best.

I couldnt agree more, Claire. Im divorced myselftwo years now. My ex-wife and I got along, I run a business, we have a grown-up son. But two years ago, my business hit the rocks and my wife labelled me a failure before running off with someone younger and, I suppose, more successful. I bounced back in a year, though, and the business is flourishing.

They strolled the riverbank after the theatre, arm in arm, enjoying the evening lights. Suddenly, Claire spotted Tom walking toward them, thinner, clearly alone. He barely recognised her.

Looks like his new partner isnt feeding him well, she thought.

As Tom passed, he caught Claires eye, questioningwas it really her? He continued by, but then stopped.

Claire?

She turned slowly, smiled, and said:

Oh, hello, Tom! This is Daniel, my old school frienddid you not recognise him?

Hello. No, I didnt, Daniel replied. Im Claires future husband.

Toms jaw dropped. Even Claire was startledDaniel hadnt proposed yet.

How are things? Claire asked cheerfully.

You look amazing, Tom said quietly.

Claire smiled again and, taking Daniels arm, replied:

Happy women always look their best.

So youre doing well? Tom muttered.

Of course. And things will only get better, she said, and walked away with Daniel, feeling Toms gaze burning into her back.

Writing this tonight, I reflect on what Ive learned: No matter how much pain you endure, or how lost you think you are, theres always a chance to find yourself anew. Happiness doesnt wait on anyones returnits up to you to seize it, even when you least believe its possible.

A Miracle Didn’t Happen Tanya left the hospital with her newborn son. But there was no miracle—her parents didn’t come to meet her. The spring sun was shining, she pulled her now-loose jacket tight, grabbed her bag with clothes and paperwork in one hand, adjusted her baby with the other, and started walking. She had nowhere to go. Her parents had flatly refused to let her bring the baby home—her mother demanded she give him up. But Tanya had grown up in care herself, after her own mother abandoned her, and she’d vowed never to do the same, no matter what it cost. She’d been adopted by a decent couple—not rich, often ill, but kind and indulgent, so she never really learned independence. Now, Tanya understood she was partially to blame for her son’s absent father; he’d seemed serious, promised to introduce her to his family, but when she told him she was pregnant, he’d said he wasn’t ready for nappies, left, and blocked her number. Tanya sighed. “No one’s ready—not the father, not my parents,” she thought. “But I’m ready to take responsibility.” She sat on a bench, letting the sun warm her face. Where could she go? People had said there were shelters for mothers like her, but she’d been too shy to ask about them, hoping her parents would change their minds and come. But they hadn’t. She decided to go to the countryside, to stay with her gran—she’d help out in the garden while receiving Child Benefit, and find a job later. Things would work out; grannies are usually kind. She shifted her sleepy son, pulled out her battered phone, and nearly walked in front of a car. The driver—an older, tall man—jumped out, scolding Tanya for not watching where she was going, saying she could have killed herself and the baby and left him with jail time. Tanya, frightened and teary-eyed, comforted her now-wailing son. The man calmed down and asked where she was going. Sniffling, Tanya admitted she didn’t know. “Well, hop in,” he said. “You and the little one can come to mine, get settled, and we’ll sort things out.” He introduced himself as Mr Constantine Gregory, and helped her in. At his roomy flat, he offered a bedroom for Tanya and her baby and fetched essentials, refusing any money. He quickly enlisted a friendly neighbour who was a doctor; she drew up a list and called in a visiting nurse for tomorrow. Later, Constantine Gregory confided that he’d lost his only son, Saveliy, in a tragic motorbike accident before his wedding. He’d never met his late son’s child—though he had a photo of the bride-to-be and knew she’d been expecting. “Stay here,” he urged Tanya. “You and the baby—this is your home now. I’m lonely, and would love some family around.” Tanya agreed happily—and revealed that she’s adopted from care, her birth mother leaving only a locket on her blanket. When she emerged in new clothes, Mr Constantine Gregory noticed the locket and, upon opening it with a special mechanism, discovered a lock of his late son’s hair inside. Realising that Tanya was actually his granddaughter, he joyfully embraced her and her son, refusing any DNA test—“You’re my granddaughter, and he’s my great-grandson. Case closed.” “Would you like to see photos of your parents?” he asked, his eyes shining with tears of happiness. By Sofia Corall.

My Husband Only Thinks of Himself—He Eats Absolutely Everything and Never Leaves Anything for Our Son! “Adam, where have all the bananas gone?” I ask my husband. “I ate them, I fancied some.” “Couldn’t you have left even one for our son’s tea?” “You’re just making a fuss. It’s not like the shops have run out of bananas.” “Then go and get some more.” “I’ve got a football match. How can I go?” This is how things are in our home all the time: cottage cheese, biscuits, apples—you name it. I even have to hide food, otherwise with a father like this, my little boy might end up hungry. We’ve been married for five years, and our son’s nearly two. We’ve got a mortgage, so money is tight. My husband claims he’s the breadwinner because he got us this home—although, in truth, he just sold his single-bed flat for the deposit, with my parents’ help. My mum thinks Adam is a selfish so-and-so, and honestly, I tend to agree. One day, we were preparing for a birthday party. I’m cooking for the guests and he’s constantly under my feet, emptying the plates. The worst was when he got at the cake. I’d left it on the balcony because the fridge was full. I went to fetch it, and all that was left was one decorated slice of chocolate. Imagine how embarrassed I was! This happens all the time. Sure, he works, but it’s possible to be sensible and think of others. His only excuse: “We’ll buy some more, don’t stress!” Fine, don’t think about me, but how can a father not think about his own child? Especially when we barely have enough money, and I’m counting on every bit. He can easily eat a month’s worth of food in a week. “Why are you bothering him? He’s a man, let him eat. He earns the money. Don’t whinge, just cook more,” my mother-in-law defends him. Thing is, no matter how much I cook, it’s never enough—he’ll eat everything. We can’t afford to just buy more, with the mortgage, the clothes, the bills. After all this, I told my husband that if he does it again—we’re getting divorced. We’ll split the flat and go our separate ways. He took offence, ran to his mother, and now my mother-in-law isn’t even speaking to me. But I honestly think I’m right. What do you think?

A Miracle Didn’t Happen Tanya left the maternity hospital with her newborn son. There was no miracle—her parents didn’t come to meet her. The spring sun shone down as she wrapped herself in her loose jacket, gathered her meagre belongings and documents, cradled her baby, and stepped outside. She had no idea where to go. Her parents had refused to let the baby come home; her mother demanded she sign him away. But Tanya, herself a child from the care system, had promised never to abandon her own child, no matter what. She’d grown up with foster parents who treated her kindly and sheltered her from hardship, but life hadn’t been easy. She blamed herself for her son having no father. He’d seemed serious, promised to introduce her to his family, but when Tanya told him she was pregnant, he said he wasn’t ready and vanished out of her life. Now, no one was prepared to help—not the baby’s father, not her parents. Only Tanya was willing to take responsibility. Tanya sat on a bench, feeling the warmth of the sun and the weight of her future. She’d heard about centres that support mothers in her situation, but hadn’t dared ask for directions, clinging to hope her family would show up. They never did. With resignation and hope, she decided to travel to a village where an elderly lady—her grandmother—might take her in. She’d help with the garden and find work when her benefits ran out, trusting that luck would smile on her eventually. She adjusted her sleeping son, opened her battered phone to find the nearest bus, and nearly walked into the path of a car. The driver, a tall, gray-haired man, leapt out and scolded her for not looking where she was crossing—saying she’d get them both killed, and that he’d end up in jail for it. Frightened, Tanya wept, which made her baby join in. On learning she had nowhere to go, the man said: “Get in the cab with your boy. We’ll sort this out and see what can be done. I’m Konstantin Gregory. And you?” She replied, “Tanya,” and followed him. At his spacious flat, he gave her and the baby a room and fetched supplies. His neighbour, a doctor, helped list what she’d need, and when he returned, he found Tanya asleep, the baby wakeful. While caring for the child, Tanya woke and panicked at her son’s absence, until Konstantin returned the baby reassuringly and showed Tanya his purchases. He explained his history—a widower whose son was lost in a tragic accident years ago, whose fiancée vanished before he’d had a chance to help. He invited Tanya to stay, insisting she and her baby belonged. Moved by his kindness, Tanya explained she’d been adopted, her own mother abandoning her at an orphanage gate—leaving only a necklace. When Konstantin noticed the familiar pendant and revealed it was one he had made for his late son, both were stunned: the pendant held a lock of his son’s hair. It dawned on them—Tanya was his granddaughter. Her suggestion of a DNA test was waved aside. “No need,” he said, “You’re family—my granddaughter, and that’s my great-grandson.” The past had kept them apart; fate had brought them together—a family at last. By Sofia Coralova