The Fool Everyone thought Anna was a fool. She’d been married to her husband for fifteen years, with two children: Alice, fourteen, and Sam, seven. Her husband cheated almost openly—starting with the waitress on their second day of marriage and more flings than anyone could count. Friends tried to open Anna’s eyes, but she just smiled sweetly and kept quiet. Anna worked as an accountant at a children’s toy factory for a tiny salary, buried under work, often even on weekends. Quarterly and annual reports meant she’d sometimes not come home at night. Her husband earned plenty, but as a homemaker Anna was also hopeless. However much money she got, there was never enough for groceries, the fridge was always empty, and the best she’d manage was borscht or meatballs with pasta. That’s how things were. Everyone wondered when they saw Derek with a new girlfriend. He’d often come home stone-cold sober, too. “Oh Anna’s such a fool, why does she put up with that womanizer?” they’d mutter. On the day Sam turned ten, Derek came home and told Anna he wanted a divorce—he claimed he’d fallen in love and the family no longer suited him. “Anna, don’t take it badly, but I’m filing for divorce. You’re as cold as a fish. If you were at least a good cook, but even that you’ve not mastered.” “All right, I agree to the divorce.” Derek nearly fell off his chair. He expected scandal, tears, and hysterics—not this calm. “Fine, then start packing your things, I won’t get in your way. Leave your key under the mat tomorrow.” Anna smiled at him a little too pleasantly. Derek thought it all a bit strange, but shrugged it off, picturing his new happy life without kids and a boring wife. Next day, he came home with his new flame. Looked under the mat—no key, which slightly soured his mood. “Oh well, I’ll just change the locks—easy,” he thought, but when he tried his own key, it no longer worked. He rang the bell, and a burly man in slippers and a dressing gown opened the door. “What d’you want, mate?” “This is my flat,” Derek blurted out. “Well, I’d argue with that. Got documents? If so, let’s see them.” Of course, Derek didn’t have any documents on him and wasn’t let in. Suddenly he remembered—his passport should have his residency listed! He hunted for it and finally found it. “Here’s my passport, the address is in there.” The man flicked through the passport, smirked, and handed it back. “When’s the last time you opened this little book?” Feeling uneasy, Derek checked the registration page. Two stamps. One for moving in, another one, dated two years ago, for moving out. How could this have happened? He didn’t dare argue with the giant and called Anna, but she was out of reach. He waited outside her work, only to learn Anna hadn’t worked there for a year. The daughter was studying abroad, but Sam should be at school. Even there, disappointment—Sam had transferred last year and, as Derek obviously didn’t know this, no one would tell him where. Completely defeated, Derek sat on a bench, his head in his hands. How could the quiet, mousey Anna pull this off? And how did she sell the flat? Oh well, he’d sort it in court. At the divorce hearing, Derek was ready to expose the fraud and get everything back. And in court, everything finally came out. Two years earlier, distracted by his affair with the stunner Elise, he’d signed a power of attorney over to Anna for paperwork their daughter needed for university, on a solicitor’s advice. So, by his own hand, Derek had stripped himself of everything. Now he was alone, out on the street, and to make matters worse, when Elise heard he’d lost the flat, she vanished without a trace. “Well, at least she’ll have to sue me for child support—that’s one thing I can deny her,” Derek thought. But instead of a maintenance claim, he received a summons for a paternity dispute. Turns out both children were fathered by another man. Anna had seen her husband’s first betrayal, with the waitress, on their wedding day. Something inside her snapped. She didn’t quite know what drove her, but she chose an unusual path: revenge through infidelity, stashing away the money Derek gave her, and seeing that the children were always well fed and cared for at their grandmother’s. Anna’s mother warned her: “Revenge will destroy you and ruin the children’s lives.” But Anna was determined. She even got DNA tests done—though she already knew the truth about the children’s father. That blow hit Derek harder than losing the flat. Beware the women you’ve wronged—there’s nothing so formidable as a woman scorned.

Author Emily TaylorReading 6 minViews 1

SIMPLETON

Everyone thought Emily was a simpleton. Shed been married to David for fifteen years. They had two childrenCharlotte, who was fourteen, and Thomas, who was seven. David had been unfaithful almost openly. The first time was on the second day of their wedding, with a waitress. After that, who could even keep count? Emilys friends tried again and again to open her eyes, but she would just smile sweetly and keep silent.

Emily worked at a toy factory as an accountant. By her own words, her pay packet was pitifully small and she was buried under mountains of work. She sometimes had to go in even at the weekends. During quarterly and annual reports, she could spend nights at the office, barely making it home at all.

David earned handsomely. But Emily was far from a domestic goddess. No matter how much money he gave her, it was never enough for groceries. The fridge was nearly always bare, and at best dinner meant reheated stew or mince with pasta. That was their life. Everyone was shocked when they saw David out with a new flameagain. He often came home, as dry as a bone, as they say.

Oh, Emilys a fool for putting up with that philanderer, the neighbours muttered.

On the day Thomas turned ten, David walked in and declared, Im filing for divorce. Ive fallen in love, and this family life just isnt for me anymore.

Dont take it badly, Em, he said. But youre cold as a fish. At least if you were a good wife about the house, but you dont have that either.

All right, she replied calmly. I agree to the divorce.

David nearly fell off his chair. Hed been braced for a rowyelling, tears, a scene. He hadnt expected this steely calm.

Well, then, start packing. I wont get in your way. Leave your key under the doormat when you go, she told him coolly.

Emily gave him an odd, knowing smile. It unsettled David but he soon shook it off, already dreaming of his new, carefree lifechildless, and unburdened by his dull wife.

The next day, he returned with his new girlfriend in tow. He checked under the doormatno key. This grated on his nerves.

Never mindI’ll just change the locks. Simple as that, he thought, and tried his own key. But it wouldnt fit. He rang the bell.

The door creaked open. Standing in the hall was a broad-shouldered man, dressed in a bathrobe and slippers.

Sorry, mate, can I help you? the man asked.

This…this is my flat.

The words came out less certainly than he intended.

Is it now? Got any papers to prove it? If so, lets see em.

David had no documents on him, and the man refused to let him in. Suddenly, he rememberedhis passport had the flats address on it. He rummaged through his pockets frantically and finally produced it.

See, my passport. Its all there, he said, thrusting it forward.

The man took it, flicked through, and smirked. Whens the last time you looked at this?

A chill crept over David. He flipped to the page with his residency stamp, and his eyes widened. There were two stamps: one for moving in, and a second, stamped two years earliershowing hed moved out.

How could this have happened? There was no sense arguing with the burly man. Feeling increasingly desperate, David rang Emily, but her number was out of service.

He decided to wait for her outside the toy factory. But another blow hitEmily hadnt worked there for a year. Charlotte was away studying abroad, but surely Thomas would be at school? At the school, another setbackThomas had transferred last year. The staff couldnt tell him where, since he wasnt listed as the father.

David, beaten and bewildered, sat on a park bench, head in hands. How had it come to this? His meek, mousy Emily had turned the tables so completely. How could she have sold their flat? Ill sort it in court, he muttered. The divorce was in a week.

He turned up at the hearing bitter and determined to expose her for fraud and win everything back. At last the truth spilled out. He had completely forgotten about the power of attorney he had signed two years ago. Hed been besotted with Elise, a stunner hed met then, and had been utterly distracted. Emily had needed his signature for Charlottes school forms, for various permissionsshe wouldnt stop pestering. On advice from a solicitor, hed granted her full authority to handle everything.

With that stroke of the pen, hed written away everything he owned. He was left alone, out in the street, and worst of all, Elise vanished the moment she learned he was homeless.

Well, shell go for maintenance, but Ill see her in court, he told himself. But one last bitterness awaited him. Rather than a summons for child support, he got notice of a paternity challenge. It turned outboth children were not Davids.

On her wedding day, Emily had seen David cheating with the waitress. Something inside her had short-circuited. Shed never really known how or why, but she had chosen revengea different path from screaming rows or fits of tears. First, shed matched every betrayal with one of her own. Then shed started saving every penny David gave her, scrimping and hiding the cash. The house was empty, but the children ate and had clothes, thanks to their grandmother.

Emilys mother tried to reason with her. Vengeance will destroy you, and it will do the children no good.

But Emily was unshakable, determined to see her plan through. She got the DNA tests, though she already knew the truth.

It was a blow below the beltDavid took the loss of the flat on the chin, but this news crushed him.

Beware the women you wronga wronged womans anger can raze a mans world to the ground.

When My Mother-in-Law Declared, “I’m in Charge Here,” I Was Already Holding a Small Blue Envelope She never raised her voice. Women like her don’t shout—they simply raise an eyebrow. The first time she did it was the very day we moved into our “new” home—a home I’d decorated down to the last detail, where I chose the curtains and every mug had its place. She marched in like an inspector, surveyed the living room, the kitchen, and then me. “Mmm… it’s very… modern,” she said. “I’m glad you like it,” I replied calmly. She didn’t answer me directly. Instead, she leaned towards my husband and whispered, just loud enough for me to hear, “Son, I just hope it’s at least clean.” He smiled awkwardly. I smiled for real. The problem with mothers-in-law like her isn’t that they attack; they claim territory. Like cats—with pearls around their necks. And when a woman starts marking her ground, you have two choices: stand your ground immediately or eventually become a guest in your own life. Over time, she started coming more often—”Just dropping something off,” “Only five minutes,” or “Let me show you how to make a proper roast.” Those five minutes became dinners, then comments, then rules. One morning, I found her rearranging my cupboards. Mine. When I caught her, I calmly leaned on the counter. “What are you doing?” I asked. Without a hint of guilt she replied, “Helping. This just makes more sense. You don’t seem to understand organisation,” and smiled like a woman who had already placed her crown. That’s when I realised: this wasn’t help. This was conquest. And my husband? He was one of those who believed, “Women will sort it out.” He saw “little domestic issues.” I saw something else: a quiet campaign to edge me out. The tipping point came on my husband’s birthday. I’d prepared a dinner—elegant, homely, understated. Candles. Glasses. Music. Everything just as he loved. She arrived early. And not alone. She brought a “friend”—a distant relative—who immediately sat in the lounge as the audience. I knew what was coming. When a mother-in-law brings a witness, it’s a show. The meal went smoothly—until she raised her glass for a toast. “I have something important to say,” she began, in that verdict-announcing voice. “Tonight, we celebrate my son, and one thing needs to be clear: this house…” She paused. “…is a family home. Not one woman’s.” My husband froze. The relative smiled slyly. I didn’t move. She continued, boldly: “I have a key. I come when I need to. When he needs me. And a wife…” She glanced at me like an unfamiliar piece of furniture, “…should remember her place.” And then came the line that gave her away altogether: “I make the decisions here.” The rooms’ silence was taut as a wire. Everyone waited for me to be humiliated. Most women would cry. Argue. Break. But I just straightened my napkin—and smiled. The week before, I’d visited someone. Not a solicitor, not a notary, but an elderly former neighbour who knew much more than she ever said. She’d invited me for tea and got right to the point: “She’s always wanted control. Even when it wasn’t hers to take. But there’s something you don’t know…” She pulled out a little blue envelope—plain, unmarked. She handed it to me as if it were the key to the whole truth. Inside was a postal receipt—a copy—for a letter sent long ago to my husband’s address, but… retrieved by his mother. The letter was about the house. He’d never seen it. The neighbour whispered, “She opened it. Alone. Not in front of him.” I took that blue envelope without emotion—but my mind flashed cold with understanding. The birthday dinner continued with her toast and satisfaction. And then—just when she expected everyone to nod along—I stood up. Not quickly, not dramatically. I simply stood. Looked at her calmly and said, “Fantastic. Since you’re deciding… let’s settle something tonight, too.” She smiled, ready to crush me: “Finally, you understand.” But I turned to my husband. “Darling… did you know who took a letter addressed to you?” His eyebrows shot up. “What letter…?” That’s when I pulled out the small blue envelope from my bag and placed it on the table, right in front of my mother-in-law. Just like a judge presenting the evidence. Her eyes narrowed. The relative was agape. I said, clearly, firmly, in a voice that allowed no argument, “While you were deciding for us… I found the truth.” She tried to laugh it off: “What nonsense…” But I’d started. I explained to my husband—how the letter was meant for him, how she’d taken it, how she’d hidden house-related information. He picked up the envelope with shaking hands, looking at his mother like he was seeing her true face for the first time. “Mum…why?” he whispered. She tried to turn it into “care”: “Because you’re naive! Women…” I cut her off with the sharpest weapon: silence. I let her words land like mud on her own dress. Then I delivered the finishing line: “While you were telling me my place… I reclaimed my home.” No yelling. Just a symbol. I took her coat from the rack, handed it over with a smile and said, “From now on… when you visit, you’ll ring the bell. And you’ll wait to be invited in.” She looked at me like a woman losing her power. “You can’t…” “I can,” I interrupted gently. “Because you’re not above me anymore.” My heels echoed on the floor like a full-stop to the sentence. I opened the door. I saw her out—not as an enemy, but as someone ending a chapter. She left. The relative followed. My husband stayed—shocked, but awakened. He looked at me and whispered, “I’m sorry…I didn’t see it.” I looked back calmly: “Now you do.” And then I locked the door. Not hard—just final. The last thought in my head was crystal clear: “My home is not a battlefield for someone else’s power.” ❓And you—if your mother-in-law tried to run your life—would you stop her right away, or only after she’d already pushed you aside?

Strangers in Our Flat When Kate was the first to open the door, she froze on the threshold. From inside drifted the sound of the television, voices talking in the kitchen, and the unfamiliar scent of strangers. Startled, Max nearly dropped his suitcase behind her. “Quiet,” his wife whispered, holding out her arm. “Someone’s in there.” On their favourite beige sofa lounged two complete strangers—a man in sweatpants flipping the TV remote, and a large woman knitting beside him. There were teacups and plates scattered across their coffee table, with unfamiliar medicine bottles set among the crumbs. “Sorry, but who are you?” Kate’s voice shook. The strangers turned around, completely unfazed. “Oh, you’re back,” the knitting woman said, not putting down her needles. “We’re Lidia’s relatives. She gave us the keys, said the owners wouldn’t be home.” Max went pale. “What Lidia?” “Your mum,” the man finally rose. “We’re from Sheffield—here with Michael for his check-ups. She put us up, said you wouldn’t mind.” Kate walked unsteadily through to the kitchen. At the hob, a teenage boy was frying sausages; the fridge was crammed with their groceries, and the table was piled with dirty dishes. “And who are you?” she asked, barely breathing. “Michael,” the boy answered. “Isn’t it okay to eat? Grandma Lidia said it was.” Kate returned to the hallway just as Max was pulling out his phone. “Mum, what are you doing?” His voice was low but angry. From the handset came Lidia’s cheerful voice: “Max, you’re home? How was your trip? I gave Svetlana the keys—they’ve come up to London with Victor, for Michael’s doctor appointments. Thought, since you were away, the flat shouldn’t be empty! Just for a week.” “Mum, did you even ask us?” “Why would I? You weren’t there. Besides, just tell them I’m in charge—make sure they leave the place tidy.” Kate wrenched the phone: “Lidia, are you serious? You let strangers into our home?” “Strangers? That’s my cousin Svetlana! We shared a bed as children.” “I don’t care who you slept with—it’s our flat!” “Oh Kate, don’t be so hot-tempered! They’re family, and they’ll be quiet—nothing broken. The boy’s unwell, they need help. Or are you that greedy?” Her husband reclaimed the phone: “Mum, you’ve got one hour. You come and pick them up—all of them.” “Max, they’re supposed to stay till Friday! Michael has tests, consultations. They paid for a hotel, but I helped save them money.” “Mum, one hour. Or I call the police.” He hung up. Kate sank down onto the pouffe, face in her hands. The suitcases were still unpacked. The TV played in the living room, sausages sizzled in the kitchen. Two hours before, they’d sat on the plane anticipating home; now, they were guests in their own flat. “We’ll just collect our things,” the woman said nervously from the lounge. “Lidia meant well. We’d have asked but didn’t have your number. She suggested it; we just accepted. Thought—just a week here while we visit the hospital.” Max stood at the window, silent, his back taut the way it always was when his mother pushed too far. “Where’s our cat?” Kate suddenly blurted. “What cat?” “Ginger. We left the keys for him.” Svetlana shrugged. “Haven’t seen him.” Kate dashed to hunt, finally finding Ginger cowering under the bed, wild-eyed and bristling. When she tried to coax him out, he hissed and flattened his ears. “It’s all right, Ginger, it’s just me.” Max crouched beside her. “I’m sorry.” “For what? You had no idea.” “For Mum. For the way she is.” “She thinks she’s right.” “She always does,” Max fumed. “Remember when we first moved in—she’d turn up without even calling? I thought I made it clear that wasn’t on. Clearly not.” Voices came from the hall—the mother-in-law had arrived. Kate straightened her hair and went out. Lidia glared, indignant. “Max, have you completely lost your mind?” “Mum, sit down,” he gestured toward the kitchen. “Sit? Svetlana, Victor, pack up—they’re throwing us out. Let’s go to mine.” “Mum, please. Sit down,” he repeated. Lidia fell silent at last and followed them through, where Michael finished the last of his sausages. “Mum, explain to me: how did it even occur to you to let people into our flat without asking?” “I was helping!” Lidia protested. “Svetlana rang in tears—Michael’s unwell and they had nowhere to stay in London. Your flat was sitting empty.” “It’s not your flat.” “How not? I have keys.” “To feed the cat. Not to run a B&B.” “Max, honestly, these are family! Svetlana’s my cousin, Victor’s such a good man, Michael’s just a sick kid who needed help. Would you put them on the street?” Kate’s hands shook as she poured herself a glass of water. “You didn’t ask us, Lidia.” “Why would I? You weren’t home!” “That’s exactly why you had to,” Max raised his voice. “You could have called, texted, checked. We’d have worked it out.” “And what would you have decided? Say no?” “Maybe. Or said yes for a couple of days with boundaries. But at least we’d have known. That’s called *respect*.” Lidia stood up, bristling. “So typical! I try to help, and I get it thrown back in my face. Svetlana, get your things. Let’s go to mine.” “Mum, you’ve got a one-bed. You’re always saying you can’t fit four of you in.” “We’ll manage. Better than being stuck with the ungrateful.” Kate calmly set down her glass. “Lidia, please. You know it was wrong, or you’d have let us know ahead. You knew we’d say no, and now we’re left in this mess. You wanted to have your way, not do what’s right.” For the first time, Lidia seemed lost. “Svetlana was in tears. Michael was in pain. I just…wanted to help.” “And that’s understandable,” Max said gently. “But you can’t make decisions about what isn’t yours, Mum. Imagine if I moved into your flat while you were away and let my friends stay. Would you like that?” “I’d be furious.” “Exactly.” In awkward silence, the visitors packed up. Svetlana wept quietly, Victor shuffled bags. Michael hovered by the kitchen, eyes down. “I’m sorry,” the boy mumbled. “I thought it was okay—Grandma said so.” Kate looked at him—a normal, scared kid. None of this was his fault. “It’s all right, lovely. Go help your parents.” Lidia dabbed her eyes. “I genuinely thought I was doing the right thing. It never crossed my mind to check. You’re my children—I always looked after everything for you. I just… thought you’d be fine.” “We’re not children, Mum. We’re thirty. We have our own lives.” “I get it,” Lidia said, finally. “Do you want your keys back?” “We do,” Kate nodded. “Sorry, but trust is broken now.” “I understand.” Svetlana’s family left quickly, apologising profusely. Lidia bustled them home, promising to manage somehow. Max closed the door and leaned against it, exhausted. They walked silently around their flat—sheets to strip, fridge to clean out, everything bearing traces of strangers: left-behind bits and dirty cups and out-of-place furniture. Ginger still hid under the bed. “Do you think she understood?” Kate asked as she opened the kitchen window. “I hope so.” “What if she didn’t?” “Then I’ll be firmer. This isn’t happening again.” She hugged him. Together, they stood in the middle of chaos in their own home. “You know what’s worst?” Kate stepped back. “The cat. Everything was for him—and he ended up scared and starving.” “Did they even feed him?” “Not from the look of it. Bowl’s empty, water filthy. I don’t think they even remembered him.” Max crouched beside the bed. “Sorry, Ginger. Gran’s not getting the keys again.” Gradually the cat crept out, rubbing against Max’s legs. Kate set down fresh food, and he ate ravenously. They started cleaning. Out went unfamiliar groceries, dirty sheets changed, dishes washed. Ginger ate, then curled up on the windowsill, at last content. The flat slowly became theirs again. That evening, Lidia rang. She sounded subdued, even remorseful: “Max, I’ve been thinking. You were right—I’m sorry.” “Thanks, Mum.” “Is Kate upset with me?” He glanced at his wife, who nodded. “She is,” he said. “But she’ll forgive you. In time.” Afterwards, they sat on the kitchen together for a long, quiet while. Night pressed in outside. Their flat was peaceful at last, theirs once again—yet their holiday had ended, harshly and all too soon.

010

I Built My Home on My Mother-in-Law’s Land. After My Husband Passed Away, She Decided to Sell It So Her Daughter Could Move In. I Called In the Demolition Crew. When I Met My Husband, We Were Young, in Love, and Penniless. We Married Quickly, Despite All Warnings. Love Made Us Believe Anything Was Possible. His Mother Offered Us a Plot of Her Land. “Build here,” she said. “There’s plenty of space.” We looked at each other, hope shining in our eyes. This was our chance. We saved every penny. He worked on construction sites from dawn till dusk. I cleaned, I sewed, I did whatever I could find. On weekends, we worked side by side — brick by brick, building our home. I remember his hands, cracked from cement, and his smile at the end of a long day. “It’ll be beautiful,” he’d say, kissing my forehead. “We’ll raise our children here.” It took us three years. Three years of sacrifice, bills, sleepless nights. But we made it. We installed an expensive metal roof, aluminium windows, a real bathroom with tiles I picked out one by one. He even built a small pool in the garden. “For the kids, so they can cool off in summer,” he said proudly. The house wasn’t luxurious, but it was ours. Every wall was full of sweat, love, and dreams. My mother-in-law visited often. We’d have coffee in the garden, she’d say how happy she was for us. Her other daughter rarely came. When she did, she looked at the house with a mix of envy and disdain. Then came that damned Tuesday. My husband left for work early, as always. He hugged me at the door. “I’ll see you tonight. I love you.” Those were his last words. They told me it was instant. A beam. He didn’t suffer, but I did. I sank into a pain so deep, sometimes I forgot to breathe. Two weeks after the funeral, I discovered I was pregnant. Four months. A girl. Our dream — without him. At first, my mother-in-law came every day. She brought food, she hugged me. I thought, at least I’m not alone. But a month later, everything changed. It was Sunday. I was sitting in the living room, stroking my stomach, when I heard their car. They came in without knocking. My mother-in-law wouldn’t look me in the eye. “We need to talk,” she said. “What is it?” I asked, feeling my stomach twist. “My daughter is in a tough situation. She’s divorced and needs a place to live.” “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “If she wants to stay here temporarily…” “No,” she cut me off. “She needs this house.” The world stopped. “What?” “The land is mine,” my mother-in-law said coldly. “It always has been. You built, but the land is mine. And now… my son is gone.” “But we built this,” my voice trembled. “Every penny, every brick…” “It’s unfortunate what happened,” her daughter said. “But legally this house is on our land. The land is ours.” “I’m pregnant with his child!” I shouted. “Exactly,” my mother-in-law said. “You can’t manage alone. You’ll get something for the improvements.” She handed me an envelope. Inside, a pitiful sum. Insulting. “This is an insult,” I said. “I won’t accept it.” “Then you leave with nothing,” she replied. “The decision is made.” I was left alone in the house we’d built with love. I wept for my husband, for our child, for our shattered life. That night I didn’t sleep. I walked through every room, touched the walls, and made a decision. If I couldn’t have this house, no one would. The next day, I started making calls. The roof was taken off. The windows removed. The pool, pipes, wiring — everything we’d paid for. “Are you sure?” one of the workers asked. “Absolutely,” I replied. My mother-in-law arrived, furious. “What are you doing?!” “I’m taking what’s mine. You wanted the land — here it is.” There were no contracts. Nothing but our labor. The last day, the demolition crew arrived. “Are you sure?” the operator asked. “This isn’t a home anymore,” I said. “The home died with my husband.” The machine started. The walls came down, one by one. It hurt, but it was freeing. When it was over, only rubble remained. Now I’m staying with my mother. In a small room. I sold the roof, the windows. That money will see us through until my daughter is born. I’ll tell her about her father. How we built a home with our own hands. I’ll teach her that sometimes, when the world takes everything from you, the most important thing is to never let it take your dignity. And what do you think — was I right to tear down the house, or should I have just walked away and left everything behind?

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