The Unwanted Yet Indispensable Granddaughter: When Nana Solovyov Tries to Claim the Little Princess, But Mum and Her Connections Stand in the Way

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 12 minViews 1

There, look, thats her! Im certain of it! whispered an elegant woman to her rather simple-looking companion. Lets watch her for a minute.

A little girl, no older than five, played quietly in the sandbox, building a true princess castle. Right now it looked more like a lopsided hill, but Charlotte refused any offers of help from adults. She was sure she could manage on her own! And there was still a moat to dig around the castle, and a cave for the dragon! Someone had to protect the kingdom, after all.

The summer sun hung high over Hyde Park. Charlotte sat comfortably in the shade of the awning her father had rigged above the sandbox, spared from the worst of the heatunlike her parents. Worried about sunstroke, her mother had retreated to a patch of shade under a big oak, having dispatched her husband for ice creams and lemonade. Just as she took a phone call, Charlottes mum, Sarah, let her gaze slip from her daughter for a moment. That was all the onlookers needed.

Hello there, sweetheart, said the strange woman, planting herself beside Charlotte with a confidence that made the little girl flinch and shuffle away. Losing her balance, Charlotte fell into her sandy fortress, nearly flattening it. Her eyes filled with tears, devastated by her ruined castle. Oh, dont cry! Its only a pile of sand. Tell you what, Ill build you a real castle if you like.

MUM! Charlotte screamed, filling her lungs the way theyd taught her at nursery, recalling every safety tip her parents had ever told her.

In a flash, she scrambled out of the sandbox, narrowly avoiding the arms of a strange man who lurched forward to grab her.

Sarah heard her daughters urgently frightened cry and sprinted to her side, her phone clattering onto the grass. For a moment, her friends concerned voice crackled uselessly from the handset.

My darling girl, Sarah said, crushing Charlotte into a tight embrace. What happened, sweetheart?

There… there, sobbed the little one, clutching her mothers neck. There was a strange lady! And a man too! He tried to catch me! Mum, I was so scared!

Her father, James, arrived at a run. He quickly looked Charlotte overno harm done, thank heavensthen shot a hard look at the pair who had so frightened her.

A woman in her sixties pursed her lips, unimpressed by the scene before her. The little girl There could be no doubt, she was her granddaughter! The hair, the eyes, the set of the face The spitting image of Michael himself at that agewell, if you imagined Michael as a girl.

Youve gone a long way to hide yourself, the older woman sneered, eyeing her former daughter-in-law. And what gave you the right to spirit my granddaughter away to the other end of the country?

James, take Charlotte home, said Sarah, fixing her eyes on her husband and pressing her daughter into his arms. Call Dad, too. Ask if he can send someone by, just in case.

Oi, dont you dare! I want to meet my own granddaughter! the woman cried after them, making no move to follow the tall, broad-shouldered man as he strode off. What could she do against him? If only theyd checked first to see if Sarah had remarried

Mrs. Smith, Sarah said, practically hissing the name as she sized up her former mother-in-law. What are you talking about? What granddaughter? Or is your memory going? Because I can remind you

***

How is my future grandson? Mrs. Smith demanded impatiently, as her son and daughter-in-law returned from the hospital.

Were having a girl, as Ive told you before, Sarah replied with a tight smile, silently wishing her mother-in-law would leave faster. The woman seemed to sleep at her own place and spend every waking minute here. Sarah hid in the bedroom as often as she could, pleading headaches to keep away from her.

The doctor made a mistake, of course, Mrs. Smith declared. Smiths have sons, same as always. Never girls.

Is that why you disowned your eldest sonbecause they had a daughter? Sarah replied acidly, utterly exhausted by the daily lectures she endured. You repeat yourself every day.

That wasnt his child! Mrs. Smith flared. She hated the memory. Tanya lied, and he was daft enough to believe her! ME! He wouldnt listen to ME! He went off with some some girl! She nearly spat the last word.

Tanya has the DNA results, and you know it. You checked the certificate a half dozen times yourself. Tried to convince Alex it was forged.

It was forged! How dare you question me? Mrs. Smith seethed, just barely restraining herself. For now, at least, it was best not to cause too much stress. One needs the heir to be safe, after all. All her friends had grandsonsshe didnt.

I think Ill lie down. Im going faint.

Sarah shut herself in the bedroom, closing the door tight. More and more often, she doubted whether marrying Michael was a mistake. She loved him, of course. But living with a mother-in-law like this Her own mum had been right: better to move somewhere far away from this mad woman.

Shed mentioned moving a time or two to Michael, but he rejected the idea instantly.

How could we? Abandon Mum to her fate? What about Dad? Hes uselesscant fix a thing, cant even carry home the groceries. My brother? You know he fell out with Mum. He let himself get fooled. Doesnt matter what the paternity test saysyou can fake those, you know

When Sarah suggested at least asking his mother to visit less, Michael shut her down.

Mum only wants the best for us! She gives helpful advice, supports you with the housework. You should thank her for it! Youre always hiding in the bedroom

Im hiding because Im sick of your mother! Sarah snapped finally. If she keeps tormenting me, shell never see her granddaughter. Ill go to my parents! And dont forgetmy fathers a police inspector. Hell help me if I need it, trust me.

After that row, Mrs. Smith toned it down a bit. She still showed up every day, but limited her time and nitpicking. Sarah knew it wouldnt last, but for now it was a relief.

It also galled Sarah that Mrs Smith made no secret of her need for a grandsonno girls in the Smith family, thank you! The blow-up with the older sona surprisingly decent blokewas a clear example.

Michael was no better. No way could he have a daughter! He barely glanced at the ultrasound results without a sneer.

If its a girl, Ill toss you both out, he told Sarah once, drunk. Means you got her elsewhere. Im no fool like Alex! No ones pulling the wool over my eyes!

That was the last straw for Sarah. Suddenly, marriage to Michael seemed more like a bad ride that needed to end soon. Her dad had contacts. Hed help with a quick divorce

And, sure enough, she had a little girl. Michael blew up in the maternity ward, shouting at Sarah as if there was no one else in the room. The young woman in the next bed shrank from the commotion until security rushed in to remove the bellowing new father.

The next day, Mrs. Smith herself paid a visit to the hospital. She didnt shout, for once, but delivered her speech in such cold, bitter words that Sarah wept. Thankfully, her own guardian angel in uniforma senior officerappeared at just the right moment and gently but firmly ushered Mrs. Smith away, hinting that slander might not end well for her.

Michael wasted no time. He filed for divorce. But when the law told him he couldnt divorce while the baby was under a year old, he tried to disclaim paternity. He filed suit, convinced by his mothers nonsense.

The solicitor helping him nearly rolled his eyes. No girls in the Smith family? What utter nonsense! DNA tests, of course, were the final word.

I dont think youll win, the solicitor said plainly. Especially as your brothers child is a girl, too.

Thats not his, either!

But the DNA results

Fake! Michael declared, egged on by his mother.

I shouldnt say this in advance, but if a test is ordered, the court will accept it as fact.

I know shes not mine and thats that.

But it didnt matter. Sarah decided to sever all ties with this poisonous brood, so she accepted Michaels abandonment. Shed rather be formally listed as a single mum than risk him resurfacing years later to interfere with her daughters life.

***

So, remember now? And why isnt Michael with you?

Michael Michael passed away, the woman said, her voice low. And your daughtershes all thats left of him. Dont worry, well raise her well, make her a proper person

You? Raise her? Sarah recoiled, her fury untamed. Youre nothing to my daughter. Your son is nothing, and the court says so. If I see you near my girl again, Ill go to the police. Attempted abduction, Mrs. Smith. My father is a respected man in this city, so dont expect mercy.

You dont understandwe have no one else!

Youve got your eldest son. Alex has a daughtergo visit them.

He wants nothing to do with us the woman muttered, eyes fixed on the ground. Realisation finally dawning.

Shows a bit of sense, at least, Sarah said dryly. You put us through hell, and you want more? Should I remind you what you called my child?

Mrs. Clarke, is there a problem? Two burly men in uniform hurried over to the Inspectors daughter.

Yes, a small one. See that these people leave the city, would you?

But

No buts, one of the men interrupted, stepping forward. The Smiths immediately backed away, and Sarah couldnt hide her satisfaction. Lets go.

Sarah made her way home, her mood lighter than air. Still, one thought nagged.

Best keep an eye on those Smiths. Make sure they stay away for good. Ill tell Dad to sort it all out.When she reached their front door, Charlotte was peering out through the hall window, her dragon plushie clutched protectively to her chest. The moment Sarah crossed the threshold, her daughter ran into her arms, trembling but safe.

Mummy, you came back.

Always, Sarah whispered into Charlottes curls. No one will ever take you from me. Youre mine, and Im yours.

They walked together into the kitchen, where James poured lemonade and tried his best not to hover. Charlotte immediately set to designing a new castle out of pillows and blocks on the living room floor, this time naming her mother Queen Defender and her father the Chief Ice Cream Bringer. Sarah sank into the couch, finally letting herself exhale.

She watched the golden light spill through the window, warm and dappled by the leaves outside, and felt something shift deep inside hera weight gone at last. The Smiths shadows, so long and cold, had finally lifted. Here, in this small rented flat crowded with laughter and love, her daughter was safe. Here, Sarah had chosen her own ending.

Charlotte barreled into her lap, smudged with lemonade and determination. Mummy? Can we go to the park tomorrow? My dragon needs a new cave.

Sarah wrapped her arms around her daughter, smiling. Tomorrow and every day after. Our kingdomour rules.

In that moment, surrounded by forts and sunlight and the echo of Charlottes giggles, Sarah knew: there would be days ahead filled with worries and wishes, but they would face them together. The story of their little family wasnt a fairy tale, but it was theirs. And as Charlotte built worlds from sand, Sarah promised herselfno one would ever topple what they created together.

Outside, the world bustled on. Inside, love reignedunshakable, unbreakableat the heart of their new castle.

Keep Your Distance! I Never Promised to Marry You—And Besides, How Do I Even Know That Child Is Mine? Maybe She Isn’t Mine at All? That’s what Victor—who was only in their village on business—told a stunned Valentina. She couldn’t believe her ears or eyes. Was this really the same Victor who had once declared his love and treated her like a princess? Once, he’d called her “Valyusha,” promised her the world, but now he looked like a sullen stranger… Valentina wept for a week after waving Victor goodbye forever. At thirty-five, plain and resigned to the unlikelihood of finding happiness, she made the decision to become a mother. When her time came, Val—now on her own—gave birth to a noisy little girl she named Mary. Mary grew into a quiet, undemanding child, almost as if she knew that crying would get her nowhere… Val cared for her daughter, made sure she was fed, clothed, and had toys—but real motherly affection seemed absent. A hug, a cuddle, a walk—these simple acts rarely happened. Little Mary would reach for her mother, but Val would brush her aside: busy, tired, a headache… Maternal instinct just never woke in her. When Mary was seven, something unexpected happened—Val met a man and even brought him home! The village gossips were shocked: “Has Val lost her mind?” Her new partner, Igor, was an outsider, didn’t have steady work, and nobody really knew anything about him. Maybe a rogue… Val didn’t listen to the whispers. She seemed to know this was her last chance at happiness. Soon, though, opinions shifted: Igor, it turned out, was handy and kind. He fixed the porch, patched the roof, raised the fallen fence—every day he improved their tired old house. People started to seek his help, and he’d tell them, “If you’re poor or old, I’ll help for free. Otherwise, pay with cash or food.” Sometimes money, sometimes homemade jam or eggs or ham. Val had a vegetable patch but no livestock—until Igor, and soon their fridge had fresh cream and milk. Val even softened—she smiled more, became gentle, and started showing Mary little acts of love. Mary, now in school, thrived under Igor’s quiet care: he cooked, told her stories, bandaged her knees, taught her to fish, and bought her first bike. At Christmas, he gave her white skates and carved a patch of ice on the river for her to learn. He held her hand every time she fell. She learned to stand and glide, and one day, overjoyed, she hugged him and whispered, “Thank you, Dad…” Igor brushed away tears so she wouldn’t see. Even as Mary grew up and moved to the city, he was always there—at her graduation, carrying groceries to her student flat, walking her down the aisle at her wedding, and cradling his grandchildren with boundless love. When Igor was gone, at his graveside, Mary and her mother mourned deeply. Throwing a handful of earth and sighing, Mary whispered, “Goodbye, Dad… You were the best father in the world. I’ll always remember you.” And in her heart, Igor lived on—not as stepfather, not as ‘Uncle,’ but as her true Dad. Because a Father isn’t always the one who gives life, but the one who raises you, who shares your sorrows and joys, and who’s always by your side. A Touching True-Life Story: Thank you for reading—don’t forget to follow for more incredible stories!

Hang On Just a Little Longer “Mum, that’s for Anna’s next term.” Maria set the envelope on the battered vinyl tablecloth. A hundred thousand. She’d counted the money three times—at home, on the bus, at the doorstep. Each time, exactly enough. Elena put her knitting aside and peered over her glasses at her daughter. “Maria, you look awfully pale. Shall I make you a cuppa?” “No thank you, Mum. I can only stay a minute—I have to make my second shift.” The kitchen smelled of boiled potatoes and something medicinal—either joint cream or those drops Maria bought her mother every month. Four grand a bottle, which lasted three weeks. Plus blood pressure tablets, plus quarterly check-ups. “Anna was so thrilled when she heard about the work placement at the bank,” Elena took the envelope as carefully as if it were fragile glass. “She says there are good prospects.” Maria said nothing. “Tell her it’s the last money for her studies.” The final term. Maria had kept this up for five years. Every month—an envelope for Mum, a transfer for her sister. Every month—calculator in hand, subtracting bills, medicine, groceries for Mum, Anna’s university costs. What was left? A rented room in a shared house, a winter coat that was six years old, and forgotten dreams of her own flat. Once, Maria had wanted to visit London. Just for a weekend. To see the National Gallery, stroll along the Thames. She’d even begun saving—then Mum had her first serious health scare and all the savings went on doctors. “You ought to take a break, love,” Elena stroked her hand. “You look done in.” “I will, Mum. Soon.” Soon—as in, when Anna found a job. When Mum stabilised. When she could finally breathe and think of herself. Maria had been saying “soon” for five years. Anna graduated as an accountant in June—a first, no less. Maria went to the ceremony, taking leave from work, and watched her little sister cross the stage in her new dress (a present from Maria, naturally) and thought: that’s it. Now everything will change. Anna will get a job, start earning, and Maria would finally stop counting every penny. Four months passed. “You don’t get it, Maria,” Anna sat curled up on the sofa in fluffy socks. “I didn’t spend five years studying to slog for peanuts.” “Fifty thousand a year isn’t peanuts.” “Maybe not for you, but for me it is.” Maria clenched her jaw. She made forty-two on her main job. If she was lucky with extra shifts, another twenty. Sixty-two thousand a year, and lucky if she kept fifteen for herself. “Anna, you’re twenty-two. Time to start working somewhere.” “I will. Just not as some nobody in a dead-end office for fifty grand.” Elena fussed in the kitchen, banging pots—pretending not to hear. She always did when the daughters fought. She’d disappear, hide, and later—before Maria left—she’d whisper, “Don’t be cross with Anna, she’s young, she doesn’t understand.” Doesn’t understand. Twenty-two and still doesn’t understand. “I’m not immortal, Anna.” “Oh stop being dramatic. It’s not like I’m asking you for money, is it? I’m just looking for a proper job.” Not asking. Technically—no. Mum did: “Maria, Anna could do with English lessons.” “Maria, Anna’s phone broke, she needs to job hunt.” “Maria, Anna would like a new coat, winter’s coming.” Maria sent the money, bought the things, paid the bills. Silently. Because that’s always how it was: she shouldered the burden and everyone else treated it as a given. “I’ve got to go,” she stood up. “Night shift tonight.” “Wait, I’ll pack you some pasties!” Mum called from the kitchen. Cabbage pasties. Maria took the bag and stepped out into the cold, musty stairwell, smelling of damp and cats. Ten minutes to the bus. Then an hour’s ride. Then eight hours on her feet. Then, if she caught extra work, four more hours at the computer. Meanwhile Anna would be at home, browsing jobs, waiting for the universe to deliver her an ideal position—one that paid one-fifty a year and let her work from home. Their first big row broke out in November. “Are you doing anything at all?” Maria snapped after seeing Anna in the same position on the sofa as the week before. “Sent off even one application?” “Three. This month.” “Three applications? In a month?” Anna rolled her eyes and retreated into her phone. “You don’t understand the job market. It’s brutal now. You have to choose the right posts.” “What’s right—a job that pays you for lying about on the sofa?” Elena peered out, nervously rubbing her hands with a tea towel. “Girls, shall I make tea? I baked a cake…” “No, Mum,” Maria massaged her temples. Third day running of headaches. “Just tell me, why am I working two jobs and she’s not working at all?” “Maria, she’s young, she’ll find her way…” “When? In a year? Five? I was already working at her age!” Anna bristled. “Well, sorry, I don’t fancy ending up like you! Like a carthorse, always working and nothing else!” Silence. Maria grabbed her bag and left. On the bus home, she stared at the darkness and thought: a carthorse. So that’s how it looks from the outside. Mum called the next day, asking Maria not to be upset. “Anna didn’t mean it like that. She’s just going through a lot. Just hang on a little longer, she’ll get a job soon.” Just hang on. Mum’s favourite phrase. Hang on until Dad sorts himself out. Hang on until Anna grows up. Hang on until things get better. Maria had been hanging on all her life. Rows became routine. Every visit ended the same: Maria tried to get through to Anna, Anna got stroppy, Elena ran between them pleading for peace. Then Maria left, Elena rang to apologise, everything started again. “You have to understand, she’s your sister,” Mum said. “And she needs to understand I’m not a cash machine.” “Maria…” In January, Anna rang first. Her voice was bubbling with excitement. “Maria! I’m getting married!” “What? To who?” “Dima. We’ve been dating three weeks. He’s… he’s perfect!” Three weeks. And getting married. Maria wanted to say it was madness, say at least get to know the guy—but she kept quiet. Maybe it would be a blessing. Anna would have a husband to support her, and Maria could finally exhale. That fragile hope lasted just until the family dinner. “I’ve got it all sorted!” Anna beamed. “Hotel reception for a hundred guests, live band, and I’ve found the perfect dress in Selfridges…” Maria lowered her fork. “And how much is all that?” “Well,” Anna gave a disarming smile, “About five, maybe six grand. But it’s a wedding, once in a lifetime!” “And who’s paying?” “Oh Maria, you know… Dima’s parents can’t help, their mortgage is huge. Mum’s nearly on the pension. You’ll probably need to get a loan.” Maria stared at her sister. Then her mother. Elena looked away. “You’re serious?” “Maria, it’s her wedding,” Mum spoke in that syrupy tone Maria knew from childhood. “Such an event, only once in a lifetime. You can’t skimp…” “You mean I should take a five-grand loan to pay for the wedding of someone who hasn’t even bothered to get a job?” “You’re my sister!” Anna slammed the table. “You have to!” “I have to?” Maria got up. Inside, everything went weirdly quiet and clear. “Five years. I paid for your studies. For Mum’s medicine. For your food, clothes, bills. I work two jobs. I’ve got no flat, no car, no holidays. I’m twenty-eight and haven’t bought new clothes for myself in eighteen months. “Maria, calm down…” began Elena. “No! Enough! I’ve supported you both for years, and you think it’s just my duty? That’s it! From now on, I’m living for myself!” She left, grabbing her coat just in time. It was minus five outside, but Maria didn’t feel the cold. Inside, there was a strange warmth, as if she had finally shrugged off the bag of stones she’d carried all her life. Her phone buzzed with calls. Maria hung up and blocked both numbers. Half a year passed. Maria moved into her own small flat, something she could finally afford. That summer, she visited London—four days, the National Gallery, riverside walks, long white nights. She bought a new dress. And then another. And shoes. She only heard about her family by accident, through a friend who worked near her mum. “So, is it true your sister’s wedding got cancelled?” Maria froze mid-sip of her coffee. “What?” “Oh, rumour is the groom bailed. Found out there was no money and legged it.” Maria drank her coffee. It was bitter, but somehow delicious. “No idea. We’re not in touch anymore.” That evening, sitting by the window in her new flat, Maria realised she felt no malice. Not a hint. Only a quiet, deep contentment—the contentment of someone who had finally stopped being a beaten carthorse…

“You Never Truly Loved Me. You Married Me Without Love—Now That I’m Ill, Will You Leave Me?” “Never!,” said Marina, wrapping her arms around Igor. “You’re the best husband—I won’t leave you for anything.” He couldn’t quite believe it was true. Igor’s mood was heavy… Marina had been married for twenty-five years, and throughout it all, she’d continued to attract men. In her youth, she was the girl all the boys in school wanted to date, even though she wasn’t considered a classic beauty. She hadn’t divorced her first husband, Vadim, despite his complicated nature. Marina stayed by Vadim’s side until the very end. Together, they raised their daughter, Dasha, who eventually married and moved to Italy with her husband. They even invited Marina to visit, sending cheerful photos. Marina considered going, but Vadim never even had the chance—he died in a tragic car accident after apparently becoming unwell behind the wheel. In shock, Marina leaned on her best friend Elena, a doctor, who helped arrange the funeral. Marina was left alone in their large, lovingly-built family home, wrestling with loneliness and memories. Dasha visited for the farewell to her father and gently suggested selling the house and moving Marina to Italy, but Marina flatly refused. “I didn’t build this house just to sell it. I’m not interested in Italy—I’ve seen plenty of it,” she said with a teary smile. Marina reflected on her marriage: Vadim could be loving and attentive, but he also often wore on her nerves when in a bad mood, only to later apologize. She’d learned, after twenty-five years, not to get stuck on his flaws. After Dasha left, Marina only stayed lonely for a short while: within half a year she discovered a new circle of admirers. Even her mum had marvelled: “What is it about you? The men just fall at your feet! You’re hardly a classic beauty…” Marina shrugged: “A woman should be charming and charismatic—that’s enough.” Years later, approaching fifty herself, Marina’s life repeated this pattern. While others lamented the lack of available men over forty, she found herself with two suitors—Dmitry, charming but impractical, and Igor, quiet, steadfast, and handy with everything around the home. Marina chose Igor, knowing in her heart he was the right man despite their different kind of connection. Igor was overjoyed, though he wondered if Marina had married him for practical reasons, not love—especially when he fell gravely ill. He feared she would leave him now that he wasn’t strong and capable. But Marina never left. Through Igor’s illness and slow recovery, she stayed, organised his birthday party alcohol-free, lifted his spirits, and showed that love is not always about grand speeches or passionate beginnings. Sometimes, it’s about quiet loyalty, gentle care, and growing together through all of life’s seasons. On a starlit evening, as they sat together on the porch, happiness finally settled into Igor’s heart. “Everything’s good,” he told her, and for the first time in months, it was true. Friends, if you enjoy our stories, please leave your comments and don’t forget to like—it inspires us to write more!