Became the Maid: When Althea Announced She Was Getting Married, Her Son and Daughter-in-Law Were Shocked and Unsure How to React—At 63, Was Changing Her Life for Love Too Much? Her New Husband Yury Lived with His Daughter’s Family, Promised No Problems, and Althea Moved In—Only to Soon Realize She Was Expected to Cook, Clean, Look After Everyone, and Manage the Garden Without Thanks. When Althea Refused to Be the Servant and Left, Unsure if Her Own Family Would Take Her Back, She Finally Found Out What It Means to Be Truly Loved—Just for Being Herself.

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 9 minViews 2

Became the housekeeper

When Margaret announced she was getting married, her son and daughter-in-law were completely taken aback by the news and had no idea how to respond properly.

Are you sure you want to turn your life upside down at your age? asked Sophie, glancing nervously at her husband.

Mum, why the sudden rush? fretted Oliver. I mean, youve been on your own for years and devoted most of your life to raising me, but getting married now just seems ridiculous.

Youre both young, thats why you talk like that, Margaret replied calmly. Im sixty-three and who knows how much time Ive got left. I have every right to spend my remaining years with someone I love.

Well at least dont hurry with the paperwork, Oliver tried reasoning with his mum. You barely know this George fellow just a couple of months, and now youre ready to change everything?

At our age, youve got to seize the moment. Theres no use wasting time, Margaret reasoned. Besides, what do I need to know? Hes two years older than me, lives with his daughter and her family in a three-bedroom flat, gets a solid pension, has a nice allotment.

And where exactly are you planning to live? Oliver was baffled. We live together, but theres just no room for another person here.

Dont worry so much. George isnt after our square footage, so I’m moving in with him, Margaret explained. The flats spacious, I get on well with his daughter, everyones grown up, so there shouldnt be any drama.

Oliver was anxious, and Sophie tried to convince him to accept his mums decision.

Perhaps were just being selfish? she mused. Its convenient for us that your mum helps out she looks after Emily a lot. But shes got every right to arrange her own life. If shes got this opportunity, we shouldnt stand in her way.

Its one thing to live together, but why get married? Oliver didnt get it. Just what we need a bride in a white dress and some tacky wedding games.

Well, you know, theyre from a different generation. Maybe they feel more secure that way, Sophie attempted to reason.

In the end, Margaret married George, whom shed met by chance whilst out shopping, and soon moved into his flat. At first everything seemed fine, the family accepted her, her husband was kind, and Margaret genuinely believed that, finally, shed earned her shot at happiness and could simply enjoy every day. But it wasnt long before the reality of living with her new family started to reveal itself.

Could you cook a roast for supper? Georges daughter, Helen, asked. I’d do it myself, but works a nightmare and I can barely find a minute. Youve got plenty of free time.

Margaret got the hint and ended up taking charge of the kitchen, which led swiftly to her handling the shopping, cleaning, laundry, and even trips to the allotment.

Now that we’re married, the allotment’s our shared territory, George declared. Helen and her husband dont have time to go there, the granddaughters still small, so itll just be the two of us.

Margaret didnt argue. In fact, she rather enjoyed being part of a big, friendly family where everyone pitched in. Shed never had that with her first husband hed been idle and slippery, and dashed off as soon as Oliver turned ten. Twenty years had passed since then and they never heard from him again. Now, it all felt right somehow, so the fuss didnt bother her and the tiredness didnt breed resentment.

Mum, just how are you meant to keep up at the allotment? Oliver fussed. After every trip, youre exhausted, I bet your blood pressures all over the place! Do you really need this?

Of course I do I love it, the pensioner replied. George and I will grow loads of fresh veg, therell be plenty to go round, well share some with you too.

Oliver worried, as in all these months, no one had invited them over not even to just get acquainted. He and Sophie had invited George for tea, and though hed promised, he was always too busy, tired or simply unavailable. Eventually, they stopped trying clearly, their new relatives werent keen on keeping up the connection. All they wanted was for Margaret to be happy.

At first, she was. The chores brought her satisfaction. Only, the number of jobs kept growing, and that started to wear her down. When they went to the allotment, George always complained about his back or his heart. The caring wife would settle him on the garden bench while she lugged branches about, raked leaves and carted rubbish off herself.

Borscht again? Georges son-in-law, Tony, wrinkled his nose. We had that yesterday; I was hoping for something else tonight.

I just didnt have time to cook anything else, and didnt get round to shopping today either, Margaret explained. I spent the day washing curtains and now my heads spinning, so I had to have a bit of a rest.

I get it, but Im not a fan of borscht, Tony pushed his bowl aside.

Tomorrow Margaret will treat us to a proper feast, wont you love? George chimed in.

And sure enough, the next day Margaret was on her feet in the kitchen from morning till evening, only for it all to be gobbled up in half an hour. Then she did the clearing up, and it just went on and on like that. Suddenly, Helen and Tony started finding fault in everything, and George sided with them, always making it seem like Margaret was to blame.

Im not a young girl anymore I get tired too, and I honestly dont see why Im supposed to do absolutely everything on my own, she spoke up after their latest round of complaints.

Youre my wife, so youre responsible for keeping this house in order, George reminded her.

As your wife, I should have rights as well as responsibilities, Margaret said in tears.

Shed calm down and carry on, trying her best to keep the home atmosphere pleasant. But one day, shed had enough. That day, Helen and Tony were off to visit friends and decided to leave their daughter with Margaret.

Well, she can stay with her grandad or go with you, because Im popping round to my granddaughters birthday, Margaret said.

Why should we all have to change our plans because of you? Helen snapped.

No one has to. But I dont owe you either, Margaret replied. I told you on Tuesday about my granddaughters birthday. Not only did everyone ignore it, now youre trying to chain me to the house.

Thats out of order, honestly, George bristled. Helens plans are messed up, and your granddaughter is just a little one you can wish her happy birthday tomorrow.

Or, the three of us can go visit my family now, or you can look after your granddaughter while Im out, Margaret said, firm.

I knew nothing good would come of your marriage, Helen spat. Her cookings mediocre, shes useless at cleaning, and only ever thinks about herself.

After everything Ive done here these past few months, you think that too? Margaret looked at George. Tell me honestly did you want a wife or just a housekeeper for everyones whims?

Youre making me out to be the bad guy, George blinked quickly. Dont start an argument over nothing.

Im asking a simple question and Im entitled to an answer, Margaret stood her ground.

If thats how you feel, do as you wish, but theres no room for that kind of attitude in my house, George declared proudly.

In that case, Im resigning, Margaret said, and went to pack her things.

Will you take back your wayward nan? she asked as she lugged her bag and her granddaughters birthday present home. I went off and got married, now Im back, and honestly, I hope you dont ask for details. Just say youll have me.

Of course we will! Oliver and Sophie rushed over. Your rooms waiting and were over the moon youre back.

Just happy for no reason? she needed to hear the words.

Isnt that what family is all about? Sophie smiled.

Margaret finally knew she wasnt just the maid. Yes, she helped around the house and watched Emily, but Oliver and Sophie never took advantage or treated her like skivvy. Here, she was really just mum, grandma, and mother-in-law a proper part of the family, not the help. Margaret moved back home for good, filed for divorce herself and tried her best not to dwell on that chapter of her life.

The Sunday Dad: A Story “Where’s my daughter?” Olesya repeated, her teeth chattering—was it from fear or from the cold? She had left Zlata at a birthday party, in the children’s playroom at a shopping centre. She barely knew the birthday girl’s parents but didn’t worry—this wasn’t the first time she’d left her daughter at a kids’ party, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Only today, she was late—the bus hadn’t come for ages. The shopping centre was in an awkward spot, everyone usually drove there, but Olesya didn’t have a car. So she’d taken Zlata by bus, gone home for her scheduled lessons, which couldn’t be cancelled, then come back—and was just fifteen minutes late, sprinting over the icy car park, out of breath. Now, the birthday girl’s mum, a petite woman with big blue eyes, stared at Olesya in surprise and said: “Her dad picked her up.” But Zlata didn’t have a dad. Well, technically she did, but he’d never met his daughter. Olesya met Andrey by chance—out walking with a friend along the river, her friend twisted her ankle, some lads offered help. Just like in a familiar movie, they lied about being students at Oxford, about generals and professors for fathers. Why they did it, who knows—young and foolish. But when Olesya got pregnant, and Andrey found out she was a trainee primary teacher and her dad was a bus driver, he shoved money for an abortion into her hands and vanished. Olesya didn’t get the abortion, and never once regretted it—Zlata became her lifelong companion, wise beyond her years and utterly dependable. They were always happy together; while Olesya taught lessons, Zlata played quietly with her dolls, and afterwards they’d cook milk soup or eggs in the kitchen, sharing tea and buttered biscuits. Money was always tight—most went on rent—but neither Olesya nor Zlata complained. “How could you hand my child over to a stranger?” Olesya’s voice trembled and tears welled up. “But he wasn’t a stranger,” snapped the blue-eyed woman. “He’s her father!” Olesya could have set her straight, but what would’ve been the point? She needed to speak to the security staff, get the CCTV footage… “When did this happen?” “Just ten minutes ago…” Olesya spun round and ran. Over and over, she’d told Zlata: never go off with anyone you don’t know! Her legs wouldn’t obey, her vision blurred, she bumped into people but didn’t stop, didn’t apologise. On instinct, she cried out: “Zlata! Zlata-aa!” The food court was noisy, most people ignored her shouts, but a few glanced round. Breathless, Olesya had no idea what to do—maybe her daughter hadn’t left yet, maybe… “Mummy!” For a moment, she couldn’t believe her eyes. There was her daughter, coat flapping, ice cream smeared all over her little face, running towards her. Olesya grabbed her and clung on as if letting go would make her collapse right there (and maybe it would). Then she stared at the man. Respectable, short-cropped hair, ridiculous jumper with a snowman, ice cream in his hand. He saw in her eyes all she wanted to say, and babbled: “I’m so sorry! I should’ve stayed right there, but those little monsters were teasing her! Said Zlata didn’t have a dad, and he’d never come, because she’s weird. So I thought I’d teach them a lesson—said, ‘Come on, love, let’s get an ice cream till mummy arrives,’ Honestly, I didn’t realise you’d be so worried…” Olesya was shaking. She wasn’t about to trust a stranger. But had they really been teasing Zlata? She looked into her daughter’s eyes, and Zlata got it instantly. She sniffed, stuck out her chin. “So what! I’ve got a dad now too!” The man spread his hands awkwardly; Olesya still couldn’t say a word. “Let’s go,” she finally managed. “It’s late—we’ll miss the bus.” “Wait!” he offered, tentatively waving. “Can I give you a lift? I mean, after all this… No, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a weirdo! My name’s Arthur. I’m a good guy! Look, that’s my mum—I promise, she’ll vouch for me.” He pointed to a woman with purple curls at a nearby table, buried in a novel. “If you like, we can go to her—she’ll give the best references!” “I’m sure,” muttered Olesya—still quite tempted to whack him over the head. “Thanks, we can manage.” “Mum…” Zlata tugged on her sleeve. “Let them see daddy’s driving us home!” The birthday girl and her mum were still by the playroom with another child Olesya didn’t know. Her daughter’s eyes were pleading. It would be hard tramping home over icy pavements in this state. Olesya made up her mind. “Alright,” she said, curtly. “Brilliant! I’ll just let my mum know!” “Mummy’s boy,” thought Olesya, not unkindly. The woman gave her a friendly wave, and Olesya spun round, mortified. What a ridiculous situation! On the way, she tried not to meet Arthur’s eyes but couldn’t help noticing how gentle he was with Zlata. Zlata sang like a lark—Olesya had never seen her so happy. But when they stopped outside her block, Zlata suddenly drooped. “Will we see you again?” she asked Arthur quietly, looking furtively at her mum. Olesya realised he was waiting for her permission. She wanted to say, “No, Zlata, you mustn’t,” but seeing her daughter’s anxious little face, she couldn’t. She caught Arthur’s look and nodded. “Well, if your mum says yes, I can take you to the cinema for a cartoon. Have you ever been?” “Really? No—I haven’t! Mum, can I go to the movies with daddy?” Olesya coloured. Now she was the one stumbling over her words. “Right, Zlata, you can—on two conditions. First, it’s not polite to call a stranger daddy—call him Uncle Arthur, alright? Second, I’m coming too, because what did I say? Never go with someone you don’t know, no matter how nice they seem!” “I said the same,” Arthur cut in. “About not going off—I did say.” “So can I go?” “I just said—yes.” “Yay!!!” Olesya knew she ought to nip all this in the bud, but couldn’t. She had no one left in the world but Zlata. If only she had someone to turn to! Like her own mum. Olesya barely remembered her—her mum died when she was five, the same age Zlata was now. A boy fell through an icy pond, no one dared go in, but she did. She saved him, but… she caught pneumonia and, with diabetes already, deteriorated fast. That’s why Zlata had diabetes too—Olesya still blamed herself for passing it down. Olesya worried all week until the weekend, but it turned out she needn’t have: when they went to the cinema, Arthur brought his own mother. “So you know I’m not some nutter, my mum can be my best advert,” he grinned. “Well, he is a bit mad,” his mum said with a smile that showed she doted on her son. And while Arthur took Zlata for popcorn, his mum did, in fact, “advertise” him. “You see… May I call you Olesya? Arthur grew up without a father too. I’ve been married four times, and my last husband was perfect! Absolutely perfect, Arthur’s just like him. But, fate had other plans—he never got to hold his son. Heart attack. I gave birth early, I’ve no idea how I coped. Of course, my first husbands helped… Don’t give me that look! We’re still on good terms—first one still loves me, second was the wrong gender, and third loved women far too much to settle down. They all helped try to be a dad to Arthur, but a dad’s a dad. That’s why he connected so quickly with Zlata—he was bullied, too, at school. Poor lad! I was at the teachers’ office so much! He did all sorts of daft things on a dare, just to prove himself, once nearly got himself killed…” What a character—petite, wiry, purple hair, Chanel suit and a Candace Bushnell novel. Olesya couldn’t help liking her. “Don’t worry, he’s not up to anything—just has a kind heart,” she winked. “And he’s taken quite a shine to you.” Olesya flushed. Just what she needed! She knew she shouldn’t encourage this, but felt so sorry for Zlata… After the film, she tried to pay Arthur for the tickets but he shook his head. “When I invite girls, it’s my treat!” Olesya didn’t like that either—she was used to always paying her own way and being independent. Falling for him—nonsense, that’s not how life works. When Arthur drove them home, Zlata piped up: “Daddy, where will we go next time?” “Zlata!” Olesya scolded. She giggled and covered her mouth. “Maybe the natural history museum?” Arthur suggested, ignoring her slip. “What do you think?” “Great! Mum, can we go?” “You go without me,” Olesya said briskly. “Take Catherine with you—she did say she loves butterflies.” She jumped out first, desperate to put an end to, well, whatever this was. She just about heard Arthur whisper to Zlata: “When mum’s not listening, you can call me daddy.” And that’s how Zlata found herself with a Sunday Dad. Sometimes Olesya went, sometimes she let Zlata go with them if Catherine joined in—she still saw Arthur as a stranger and was suspicious, though every time Zlata told her, wide-eyed, how funny and wonderful Arthur was, Olesya found herself catching the excitement, even as she tried to stamp it down. Life doesn’t work like that—no knights in shining armour swoop in out of nowhere. And Arthur’s mum praised him so much Olesya started wondering what was wrong with him. After all, why would a mother be matchmaking her son with a girl like her? But gradually, Olesya’s heart melted. Arthur handled things so gently—leaving a chocolate bar on the shelf as he left, always asking before taking Zlata anywhere, watching for Olesya’s opinion. She especially liked Catherine—if Arthur hadn’t been her son, she’d have loved her as a friend. One day, Arthur rang to talk about films, Zlata appeared immediately—whispered: “Is it Arthur?” And flopped on the sofa happily. “Of course, she’d love to come,” Olesya replied by habit. “Wait… I meant both of you. I mean, just us. On our own.” Catherine piped up in the background. “At last!” “Mum, stop eavesdropping! Sorry, Olesya… She’s hopeless.” Zlata whispered: “He invited you to the movies?” Olesya laughed. “I’ve got spy ears too! Listen, Arthur, I…” “Please don’t say no! One chance, I promise to be a perfect gentleman!” “Mum, tell her about her eyes—what you said to me, that they’re just like her mum’s…” Suddenly, Olesya felt ice water on her face. What did her mum have to do with any of this? Arthur yelled at his mother, then said: “Olesya, I’ll come over and explain, alright?” She’d appreciate some explanations… Olesya paced until he arrived, Zlata quietly drawing, as if she knew. “I should’ve said straight off,” Arthur started. “I meant to, but I liked you too much… I was afraid you’d think I only cared because of your mum—and I was frightened you’d hate me. Because… she died saving me.” He stumbled, jumping from one thing to another, eyes pleading. Olesya shook, just like when she’d thought Zlata lost. “Will you forgive me?” Olesya didn’t say a word the whole time, finally forcing out: “I need to think.” “Mum, forgive daddy!” Arthur widened his eyes at Zlata, reminding her of the deal. Olesya repeated: “I need time. Please understand?” She wanted to ask a million questions, but couldn’t. When Catherine rang, though, everything changed. She told Olesya the facts. “He never knew she died—I was trying to protect him as a child. Later I slipped, and Arthur decided to find you. That evening he hoped to meet you and offer help—but then all the mix-up with Zlata… He loved you at first sight! He was worried you’d misunderstand. Don’t blame him—it was a dare, he wanted to prove he was a man even with no dad. All the kids were afraid of the ice, but he went…” Catherine didn’t push, just defended her son gently. But Zlata did push, hard! “Mum, he’s lovely! And he loves you, he told me! He could be my real daddy, don’t you see?” Olesya did see. But still… wasn’t it wrong? Nearly a month passed, and Olesya couldn’t talk to Arthur. She ignored his calls, his messages. The longer it went on, the more she wanted to pick up the phone—and the harder it became to do so. Zlata woke her in the night, crying, clutching her stomach. She’d complained earlier, and Olesya thought it was just bad yoghurt. Now she was burning with fever. With shaking hands, Olesya called the ambulance. And—for no reason she could fathom—Arthur. He arrived with the paramedics, in pyjamas, ruffled and bleary, and came along to hospital, calming her and promising it would be alright, his own voice shaky. “Appendicitis isn’t that scary,” he said. “She’ll be fine, I know it.” Olesya held his hand—whether to calm herself or him, she didn’t know. The waiting room was cold, neither wore warm clothes, so they sat huddled together, sharing warmth. Arthur leapt up to ask the surgeon about the operation. Olesya sat still, terrified to move. If anything happened to Zlata, she’d never recover. But Zlata pulled through. The doctors did a brilliant job; Zlata fought hard, though the doctor said it was a near thing. “It’s like a guardian angel is looking after her,” the doctor said, and Olesya whispered: thank you, mum! Arthur kept thanking him, but the doctor told them both to go home—they couldn’t see Zlata yet anyway, she was in intensive care, and her parents needed rest. He dropped her at her door, and Olesya expected him to invite himself in, but he stayed silent. So she said: “It’s almost morning. Would you like to come in for coffee?” And realised she really wanted him to come in. And maybe, to stay. For good. Zlata recovered quickly—to the amazement of every doctor and nurse. “That’s because I’ve got a mum and a dad,” she said. And no one but Olesya and Arthur understood why that made her so happy…

Julia Waits by the Doorstep: When the Family from Flat 22 Left Town, a Loyal Dog Settled in the Front Yard, Determined to Await Their Return… It happened in the early 1990s in a quiet English market town. On a bright June morning, a screech of brakes shattered the peace outside the local bookshop. Shop assistants rushed out, but the street was almost deserted—except for a stray, injured dog whimpering by the kerb. Vera, the bravest assistant, gently approached the dog, checking for injuries. The others—Natasha and manager Mrs. Eleanor—watched anxiously, fearing the worst. Though the dog showed no visible wounds, her lifeless hind legs suggested serious trauma. Vera insisted, “We can’t leave her out here. Let’s carry her into the stockroom—it might help.” With the manager’s permission, she carefully brought the medium-sized mongrel inside. All day, the dog lay quietly; by evening, she managed a little water and food but could not move her back legs. The next day, Vera persuaded her dad to drive them to the town’s only vet—little more than a converted shed. After a brief exam, the vet gave little hope: “She’s young and strong—she’ll survive, but she may never walk again.” On the drive home, Vera embraced the dog. Her father sighed, “Don’t get too attached. We’re moving to the North soon, and you shouldn’t bring her home.” Vera quietly agreed, but the bond was already there. They named her Julia. The dog remained in the bookshop’s storeroom, dragging her hind legs behind as she explored the yard. The other shop assistants worried, “No-one can take her home, and she wouldn’t survive on the streets. Thank goodness Mrs. Eleanor lets us keep her here.” Julia seemed unfazed by her condition—curious, gentle, and grateful for care. At weekends, the assistants took turns bringing her home; only Vera refused, knowing she’d soon relocate with her family for two years. But one weekend, with no volunteers, Vera relented. Julia charmed Vera’s mother on arrival, earning a spot on their family trip to the countryside. Happy amidst barbecues and friendly dogs, Julia settled by Vera’s bed as if she’d always belonged. But returning her to the shop was traumatic, and by midday she’d disappeared—only to be found exhausted, waiting by Vera’s own doorstep. From that day, Julia knew her way home. Vera decided, “I’m going to care for her, Dad. Will you help?” With her upcoming holiday and resignation, Vera devoted the next months to Julia: vet trips, physiotherapy, and constant love. The improvements were slow, but soon Julia chased after the neighbour’s dog with just a gentle limp. The joy came with heartbreak—Vera’s departure loomed. The neighbour, Mrs. May, offered, “Leave Julia with me—she and my dog are great friends.” When Vera’s family left for London and then the North, Vera called Mrs. May. But Julia wouldn’t stay—even after escaping Mrs. May’s garden, she returned to Vera’s doorstep, steadfast and waiting. Neighbours fed her and let her into the foyer, where she lay outside Flat 22, undeterred by winter chill. Vera kept in touch with everyone. Julia always greeted old friends but refused to leave her post. After a year, circumstances allowed Vera to return. Julia instantly recognised her, trembling with joy. Their reunion moved the whole street. When Vera’s father prepared for another move, he relented: “Pack for you and Julia—we’ll get her papers sorted.” The vet fudged a passport, and Vera’s father even sewed a muzzle. Julia wore it proudly, sensing an adventure. Through long train rides and crowded airports, Julia stuck close to her family. Together, they travelled all over the North of England, to the countryside and back. Never once did she let her family down. Julia spent thirteen bright, happy years at Vera’s side—forever loyal, following wherever Vera led.