I’ll Find a Better Husband for My Daughter

Author Walton MerrittReading 9 minViews 2

Ill find a better husband for my daughter

This monthll be tougher, muttered Andrew, refreshing his banking app.

He sighed. Money had been draining away like rain down a London gutter these last few months. The reason was clear, but he wasnt yet ready to say it out loud.

Andrew left the lift, new loosened tie trailing behind. Third floor, fourth doorleft side. Three years of repetition had made this route an automatic dance for muscles.

The key spun in the lock. Straight away, the warm aroma of fried potatoes with parsley hit his nosea scent that always meant home. Vera loved parsley, scattering it generously, almost ceremonially. Andrew kicked off his brogues, tossed his briefcase onto the little hallway cabinet.

Im home.
Im in the kitchen! called back Vera.

She stood at the hob, stirring something in a battered pan. Her hair was pulled in a ponytail, and she wore her favourite tartan shirt. Andrew slipped behind her, planting a kiss on the crown of her head.

Smells delicious.
Mushrooms and spuds. Take a seat; Im just plating up.

Vera smiled, but her eyes remained shadowed. Andrew always noticed these things. Three years together had made him a master at reading the veneer of cheerfulness she wrapped around her unease.

He watched her divide the food, noticing her unusually sharp movementschoppy, where theyd usually glide. Something gnawed at her, no doubt a conversation with her mother. Olivia, his mother-in-law, was expert at leaving a bitter aftertaste.

Did your mum ring? Andrew asked, though he already knew.

Vera paused for just a heartbeat, then set a plate before him, sitting down opposite.

Yes. Nothing special.

A lie. Olivia never called without intent. There was always a tiny poisoned needle stitched into every word.

Andrew didnt dig. He could pryforce out the words, unveil the gloomy spell Olivia cast on her daughter. But why? Itd be the usual song: low salary… old car… no prospects. A broken record.

They ate in a snug silence. Their flat was smalla one-bedroom on the edge of the city, but it was theirs, not rented. Andrew had managed to buy it before their wedding, and that fact warmed him reliably. Not quite a manor, but hard-earned.

Vera picked idly at her potatoes, her fork drawing restless circles. She was thinkingabout her mum, Andrew knew. Olivia had a talent for lodging in ones mind like a jingle you couldnt shake.

…Olivia had disliked Andrew from the start. Hed turned up to meet her in his best jeans and only decent jumper. Olivia had given him that look usually reserved for faded lemons in a supermarket, then pursed her lips.

And what is it you do? shed asked.
Im an engineer.
Hmm. The word sounded as if hed admitted to a peculiar hobby. The salary any good?

Vera had flushed, tried to change the subject. But the tone was set. Three years on, Olivia was steadfast in her disdain.

Every visit became a test of patience. “Stephens lads started his second business this year.” “Whenre you buying a new car? That old thingll collapse soon.” “Vera dreamed of a country house as a girl, did you know?”

Andrew learned to let it all drift past with a polite nod and smile, never arguing. No use tryingOlivia wouldnt change her mind, not for anyone.

Vera finished her meal, nudged her plate away.

Mum wants us for dinner Saturday. Dads birthday.

Andrew felt a subtle tension in his shoulders. Saturday nights at Veras parents were special brands of torture: a long table, swarms of relatives, Olivia enthroned at the head like some Victorian matriarch.

What time?
Seven.
Right. Well grab a cake on the way.
Mum said not to. Shell do all the food herself.

Of course. Olivia loved control. Bringing a cake was sacrilege.

Vera gathered the plates and retreated to the sink. Andrew studied her small, fragile frame. Shed always seemed a bird to himone he longed to shelter from harsh winds. But the strongest wind blew from her childhood home, and nobody could block it.

Vera. She turned. You know I love you.
And I love you, she whispered.

But in her eyes flickered somethingdoubt? Fatigue? Guilt? Andrew chose not to ask. Sometimes, it was kinder not to know what seeds someone else had sown in the person you love.

Saturday came far too swiftly…

Andrew parked his old Ford near Olivias house. The paint had flaked off the bonnet last autumn, but hed never gotten around to fixing it. Vera sat beside him, fiddling with her handbag strap.

Ready?
Not really, she admitted. But we have to go up anyway.

Olivias flat greeted them with roast beef scents and low murmurs. Veras father, Victor, a gentle, quiet man, hugged his daughter and shook Andrews hand. The birthday man seemed embarrassed by all the fuss.

Family crowded round the tableaunts, uncles, cousins. Andrew still didnt know half their names. Olivia presided, dispensing orders to the younger kin.

Andrew chose a seat near Vera, at the edgeclose enough to slip out if things got unbearable.

The first half hour passed peacefully enough. Toasts to Victor, laughter, clinking glasses. Andrew started to relax and reached for the bread.

Andrew, Olivia piped up, and he realised hed let his guard drop too soon. You and Vera still in that little flat?

Yes, Olivia. Its enough for us.
Is it? Olivia echoed. What about children? Wherell you put a baby in that shoebox?

Vera tensed. Andrew slid his hand onto hers under the table.

When its time for children, well sort the flat.
Will you now. Olivia smirked. On *your* wages? Take out a mortgage, Andrew. Thats what sensible people do. Buy somewhere bigger. Move up in the world.

I dont want to be in debt, Andrew replied calmly. Owning our own place is plenty for now.

Plenty, he says! Olivia swept her gaze round the family for support. Hear that? A man decides whats “plenty”. Meanwhile, my daughters stuck in a cupboard while her friends get spacious homes.

Mum, Vera started gently.
Do hush. Im talking to your husband. Olivia turned to Andrew. You remember Stephens boy, Daniel? Took out two loans, now hes got a flat in the centre and a German motor. And you? Still driving that heap, living in a box. Arent you ashamed?

Andrew set his fork down slowly. Three yearsthree years of swallowing these digs, these comparisons, this contempt. For Vera. For peace.

No, Im not ashamed, he said evenly. I earn my keep honestly. I dont cheat, I dont steal. I live within my means.
Means! Olivia slammed her hand down so hard the glasses danced. A fork clattered to the floor. Her face flushed blotchy red.

Youre no man, youre a coward! My daughter deserves a real husband, not you! Ill find her someone better!

Silence crushed the room. Relatives froze, forks mid-air. Victor stared at his plate, afraid to meet his wifes eyes.

Andrew stood up, very calmly. Three long years of silence were done.

Olivia. I wont try to prove myself to someone who despises me. If you dont find me worthythats your right. But I wont tolerate your insults again.

Vera stared at Andrew, eyes wide. She glanced at her motherthe two anchors of her world now stood on either side of an invisible line. And the line demanded a choice.

Vera rose.

Mum. I love you. But if you insult my husband once more, well leave, and not return.

Olivia froze.

What did you say?
You heard me. Andrews my husband. I chose him. I wont let you humiliate him. Ever.

How dare you! Olivia gasped, outraged. Ungrateful girl! I raised you, and this? You choose *him*this useless man!

Mum, thats enough!

Veras shouted rippled through the air. Relatives shrank back into their chairs. Even Aunt Susan, normally commentating on everything, sat wordless.

Youve controlled my every move for years, Vera continued, voice trembling. What I wore, who I befriended, who I loved. Enough. Im a grown woman. I choose for myself whom Im with, and how I live.

Olivia glared at her daughter, face pale and pinched.

Youll regret this day, she hissed. When he leaves you penniless, youll come crawling home. But Ill have to think hard before I let you in.

She stalked past, not meeting either of their eyes, and slammed the bedroom door.

Andrew stepped up and held Vera tightly. She buried her face in his chest, shoulders shivering.

You did exactly right, he whispered into her hair. Im proud of you.

Victor got up heavily from the table.

Go home, kids, he said quietly. Shell cool off. One day.

…Vera was silent all the way home in the car. Andrew said nothingsome wounds should be left undisturbed.

Back in their snug little flat at last, Vera finally spoke:

I wont call her first.
Ill stand by whatever you decide.

She lifted her tired, tear-bright eyes to him. Yet behind the weariness, a spark was kindling.

Well get through this, she said.

Andrew drew her close. Outside, twilight gathered. Their tiny flat no longer felt cramped. It was their fortress. And they both knewthis was only the beginning.

Stay Away from Me! I Never Promised to Marry You—And Honestly, Who Knows if That Child Is Even Mine? Or Maybe She’s Not Mine at All? That’s what Victor—a man on assignment in their small English village—coldly declared to a stunned Valentina. She stood there, unable to believe her eyes or ears. Was this the same Victor who’d once carried her in his arms, confessed his endless love, and called her “Val”? Now he looked confused, angry, and a perfect stranger… Valentina wept for a week, waving goodbye to Victor forever, but at thirty-five—feeling plain and with little hope of finding happiness—she decided to become a mum on her own. In due time, Val gave birth to a wailing baby girl she named Mary. Mary grew up calm and well-behaved, giving her mum no trouble—almost as if she knew there was no use in crying for what she’d never get. Val provided for her daughter, fed her, dressed her, and bought her toys, but rarely offered a cuddle, a walk, or any true maternal affection. “Busy, tired, headaches, so much to do…” The maternal instinct in Val simply never woke up. When Mary turned seven, something unimaginable happened—Val met a man. Not only that, she brought him home! The entire village gossiped: “What sort of woman drags a stranger into her house? What about the child?” they whispered, pointing at the silent, mysterious newcomer, doubting his motives. Val, working at the local store, ignored the scandal and offered the handyman—named Ian—a place to stay. At first the village judged, but soon saw their error: Ian fixed the porch, patched up the roof, and repaired the collapsing fence. Every day, Ian was hard at work, and Val’s house began to shine. People even went to him for help. “If you’re elderly or short on cash,” Ian would say, “I’ll help for free. Otherwise, pay me with money or groceries!” Soon, Val’s kitchen saw homemade cream and fresh milk, things she and Mary never had before. With Ian around, Val transformed—she softened, smiled more, even showed a hint of dimples! She grew kinder to Mary as well, and Mary adored watching “Uncle Ian” work, especially when he surprised her with a garden swing built with his own hands. Ian took over mornings, cooked breakfast and lunch, made pies and casseroles, and taught Mary to cook and set the table as well. He walked her to school in winter, shared stories from his own hard life, taught her to fish at dawn, and even gave her her first bike and skates—bandaging her knees and encouraging her to get back up after every fall. At Christmas, Ian made sure Mary found shiny new white skates under the tree—her tears of joy proof she’d never been so happy. And while Val grumbled, “She’ll hurt herself!” Ian said firmly, “She must learn to fall and rise again.” Years later, when Mary headed off to university and faced life’s challenges, Ian was always by her side—bringing her groceries, celebrating her milestones, walking her down the aisle, welcoming grandchildren as his own. And when his time came, Mary whispered at his grave, “Goodbye, Dad… you were the best father I could ever imagine.” For fatherhood isn’t always about biology—it’s about choosing to love, nurture, and stand by a child no matter what. A moving tale of real parental love—thank you for reading, and don’t forget to follow for more heartwarming stories!

— You Never Truly Loved Me. You Married Me Without Love, and Now You’ll Leave When I Fall Ill… — I Won’t Leave You! – said Marina, embracing Igor. – You’re the best husband! I’d never, ever leave you… He couldn’t believe it was true. Igor was feeling blue… Marina had been married for twenty-five years, and all that time men continued to find her attractive. Even in her youth, she was the most sought-after girl. And not just in her youth! At school, nearly every boy chased after Marina. Yet, she’d never been considered a beauty. She didn’t divorce her husband, complex character though he was. No, Marina stayed with Vadim right to the end. They raised their daughter, married her off. Her son-in-law whisked Daria off to Italy, now they sent back lovely photos and invites to visit. But Marina and Vadim had never made the trip… Maybe Marina would go someday. Vadim was gone for good. Marina’s husband died in a car accident. Such a senseless loss… Later, Marina was told he likely took ill behind the wheel. His heart faltered, he panicked, lost control. — Maybe he blacked out? – she wondered. — We’ll never know now. – sighed her friend, a doctor. – Cause of death: multiple injuries incompatible with life. Marina was in shock. Her friend Elena helped arrange everything. Elena got all the details through her professional contacts. Vadim was buried and Marina was left alone in the large house she and her husband had built their whole lives. Not too big for two, especially if guests dropped by; but for one person, for a woman – it seemed vast, almost a burden. A house needs a man’s touch… Daria came home to say goodbye to her father. She broached the idea of selling the house, buying a flat, maybe Marina moving to Italy with them. — Not a chance! – declared Marina. – I didn’t spend my life building this house just to sell it. And I’m not off to your Italy either. I’ve seen Italy… — Mum! — Naive girl, Daria! – Marina smiled through her tears. – Only joking. — Well, if you’re joking, maybe things aren’t so bad. It was all ambiguous, just as the late Vadim had been. On one hand, he was a caring, loving husband. On the other – a man of moods. When he was in a bad one, he could drive Marina up the wall. Then he’d repent, apologise, and Marina, an easy-going soul, wouldn’t dwell on it. And so they lived. Twenty-five years! Enough to drive you mad… Daria visited, then returned to her own busy life and marriage. Marina was alone. But, knowing herself, Marina realised this wouldn’t last. She mourned for half a year, then, when her tears dried, found a small crowd of suitors had already gathered about her. Even Marina’s own mother had once been surprised by her daughter’s ongoing popularity. — What do they see in you? They’re falling at your feet! You’re not even a beauty, unless I’m missing something. — You’re so kind, Mum. – Marina would smile, applying her lipstick. – Looks mean nothing, just empty noise. A woman should be charming, charismatic. Unique. — Off you go, enjoy yourself, – her mother would laugh. – Or your suitor will tire of waiting. — Another will come along, – Marina would shrug indifferently. Almost thirty years since that conversation, and nothing had changed. Women still complained that there were no eligible men left after forty, nobody worth marrying. Marina never understood that problem. At forty-six, she found herself with not just one, but two decent suitors. Her heart leaned toward Dmitri. He was her ideal man, handsome and intelligent, a wonderful conversationalist, great company – perfect for social occasions. But if truth be told, Dmitri excelled mostly at talking. Marina felt herself falling for him with her ears, but, given her age and experience, she knew he wasn’t the man for real life. Not for her big house. Her other suitor, Igor, was a solid, practical bloke. One who could drink his fill at a party, but always had hands that got things done and a spirit that endured. A real hands-on man with a gentle soul, but a strong backbone. To his wife, this sort of man would be quiet and gentle as a puppy – but move mountains for her, if needed. Somehow, Marina fancied Igor less – silly woman’s logic. He never gave her flowery speeches; sober, Igor was a man of few words. After a drink, he could tell a funny story, a joke, join any conversation. Igor could drink, true, but he was up and about the next day anyway, doused himself with cold water, active and focused – if quiet. Marina chose Igor. Dmitri, disgruntled that his eloquence failed, left. Marina married Igor, and he was over the moon. He drank a bit too much at the wedding, sang and danced until dawn. — You’ve done it again, – Elena smiled. – Barely a year since Vadim passed and you’re already re-married! Women can search high and low for a decent bloke, yet all you need is to step outside your door. — You’ll be telling me next, ‘What do they see in you? You’re not even a beauty!’ — Oh, I won’t go there. But you are unusually popular, that’s for sure. — I don’t know what they see in me, Elena. Ask my mum. Marina winked at her friend and waltzed onto the dance floor with her new husband. As they danced, she chased away her last doubts. So what if Igor was a bit simple? He was strong, capable, even good-looking – and if he was quiet, maybe that wasn’t so bad. If she’d chosen Dmitri, what then? You can’t live on honeyed words. Within a few months, Igor had transformed Marina’s garden into a fairy tale. He cleared away old trees, levelled the ground, built flowerbeds, erected a gazebo. His masculine touch was everywhere in the house. No doubt, Marina had picked the right husband. Igor even provided for the household and showered Marina with gifts. Comparing just this short stretch of marriage with her twenty-five years before, she honestly regretted not meeting Igor sooner. He was golden. In the warm months they’d barbecue and dine in the new gazebo, at the table and benches Igor had made by hand. Marina, full of grilled kebabs, would smile contentedly. Igor would look at her and smile too. — What is it, Igor? — Nothing. I’m just happy. His first wife had been a real bore; he’d never imagined he’d meet anyone as wonderful as Marina. Four years of wedded bliss, and then Igor began to feel… poorly. He grew tired easily, started losing weight for no clear reason. When he did have a drink – and Igor liked a tipple – he felt even worse. — Igor, you must see a doctor! – Marina insisted. – What are you waiting for? Something’s not right. — Nonsense, Marina. I’ll be fine! — What sort of caveman thinking is that? And if you’re not fine? Or are you, like so many men, scared of doctors? — No… Igor wouldn’t tell Marina what he was truly afraid of. He feared that if he was really ill, Marina would leave him. She didn’t marry him for love, after all – he knew that. But he loved her, for all that. He’d seen her in a shop one day, struggling to find her purse in her bag, and in that very moment he’d fallen for her. Something about her confusion just touched him deeply. He immediately wanted to step in and protect her forever, even though his own mother, upon first meeting Marina, had said, — Son, it’s your life, but what do you see in her? She’s not a beauty. She’s no spring chicken. You could have anyone, even a younger woman! But Igor needed no one other than Marina. Now, if he were truly ill, would Marina want Igor at all? She never succeeded in getting him to the doctor. It was a Saturday evening, and Elena and her husband Boris were visiting. Igor and Boris were out back, drinking beer and grilling. In the kitchen, where they were making salads, Elena said to Marina, — Has something happened to Igor? He doesn’t look well. — That’s just it! – Marina exclaimed. – I keep begging him to see a doctor, but he won’t! You’re a doctor. What do you think? Is something wrong? — Well… he looks worse nowadays. Lost weight. His skin looks a bit yellow, too. — Oh God! Elena, please make him see a doctor, I beg you. Maybe he’ll listen to you! Elena studied her friend’s face. — Marina… do you love him? I just remember you had doubts… Marina bit her lip and said nothing. Elena never got the chance. Igor collapsed during dinner. They called an ambulance. Marina rode with Igor to the hospital. He never regained consciousness. She held his hand and prayed. He went straight in for surgery. — Liver tumour. — Cancer?! – Marina panicked. — We’ll wait for the test results. The tumour was benign, but it had grown to significant size before Igor reached the operating table. Doctors forbade Igor nearly everything. They warned him recovery would be long, and he might not regain full health. He wasn’t exactly young, after all. Igor became despondent. His mother came to visit him in hospital, while Marina was at work. She brought him food that he was allowed – the list was short. — I hardly recognise you, son! – said Tatyana. – What’s this? You pulled through. No cancer. You should be glad, yet you look so down. Here, eat your steamed cutlets. — Don’t want to eat. — You must! What’s wrong? At least Marina visits, doesn’t she? — She does… for now. – Igor muttered. — What? You think she’ll leave you? Don’t be daft! — I’m finished! Useless! Not even allowed to work. I’m fifty in June and now an invalid. Who wants an invalid? — What’s all this, then? – Marina said, coming in. – You’re shouting down the whole ward. Good afternoon, Tatyana. — I’ll get going then. Hello, Marina. Take care. — What happened? Igor’s mother waved her off and left. Marina washed her hands and approached her miserable husband. — What’s all this grumpiness, ‘invalid’? Arms and legs all there. Not much wrong with you that won’t heal. Do you know what I read about the liver? — What? — Fun fact: the liver’s the only organ that regrows by itself. If you have fifty-one percent left, you’ll recover completely. And you have sixty percent remaining. Just give it time. Everything will mend! — And do I have that time? — What? – asked Marina, confused. — Time. — Igor, what’s going on? Haven’t they told me something? Did you ask the doctors to hide something? — That’s not it… Igor was sent home. Life’s hardest part began. Any physical work left Igor spent almost immediately. The thought of his upcoming milestone birthday only made him gloomier. Can’t eat, can’t drink. Some celebration! Marina seemed oblivious, cheerily sharing his bland health food. — Marina… – he finally spoke out. – What happens to us now? — What do you mean? – she asked. — This… My recovery is slow. Will you leave me? Best to say so now. — Why would I ever leave you? I love being with you. — But that was when I could work, fix things. What’s so good now? Even I don’t like myself like this. — Oh, nonsense. Get a grip! — I’m trying! But it’s tough. Hammer two nails and I’m dog-tired. Marina approached from behind, hugged him, pressed her cheek to his neck. — I love you. And I never, never will leave you. Take your time with your recovery. There’s no rush. — You love me? Truly? — With all my heart. Marina doesn’t leave Igor. He recovers, slowly but surely. For his birthday, Marina threw a party without any booze, so he wouldn’t feel left out. A few friends came; they played board games in the garden gazebo. — You struck gold, Igor, said his friends as they left. — You’ll probably go home and get drunk for me now, won’t you? – Igor quipped. Everyone laughed and went their way. In the evening, Marina and Igor sat on the porch, gazing at the stars. Happy. For the first time in many months, Igor felt better. He believed he would heal. And that his wife truly wouldn’t leave him. He held Marina tighter. — What is it, Igor? — Everything’s perfect! – he replied. — At last, – Marina chuckled, kissing him on the cheek. They were happy. 💬 Friends, if you’d like to read more of our stories – leave your comments and don’t forget to like. Your support inspires us to keep writing!

Rita Went to Her Best Friend Pauline’s Flat to Water the Plants and Feed Her Pet Turtle While Pauline and Her Husband Were on Holiday—But When Rita Opened the Door with the Spare Key, She Froze in Shock: The Lights Were On, the Christmas Tree Was Glowing, the TV Was Blasting, and Strange Noises Came from the Bathroom. When She Opened the Bathroom Door, She Gasped in Surprise Rita Was Left Alone Over New Year’s, Feeling Sad While Her Best Friend Pauline and Her Husband Went to the Lake District Five Days Before the Holidays—Trusting Rita, Her Most Reliable Friend, to Take Care of the Plants and Turtle Since They Lived in the Same Building, Just Different Entrances. Rita Didn’t Know Fate Had Another Twist in Store for Her. A Week Before New Year’s, Her Boyfriend Nick—Who She’d Thought Was Her Soulmate for Two Years—Dropped a Bombshell Over Dinner: He Was in Love with Someone Else, and His New Partner Was Already Four Months Pregnant! Of Course, He Had to Marry Her; That’s What She, Her Mum, and Grandma Demanded. Nick Didn’t Argue—He Agreed. “And What About Me?” Rita Asked in Disbelief. Nick, Calmly Finishing His Dinner, Wiped His Mouth and Said, “You? Don’t worry about it. Admit it, there’s nothing left between us but the shell. You’re lucky I’m saving you from me. Not a great loss, am I? Might as well help me pack? No? Fine, I’ll do it myself.” And He Just Started Packing… Rita Wept at Home for Four Days, Not Eating—Only Drinking Coffee—Until Their Other Friend, Svetlana, Came By. The Plan Had Been for Rita, Svetlana, and Nick to Celebrate New Year’s Together—Table Booked Months Ago. Now Nick Was Bringing His New Wife. No Way Did Rita Want to Spend New Year’s with Her Parents—They’d Just Pity Her, Especially Since Mum Never Liked Nick… On 31st December, Rita Still Held Out Hope for a Miracle—Old Habits Die Hard. Even Adults Wish for Miracles and Make New Year’s Wishes… The Evening Came. Nothing Happened. She Realised She Hadn’t Given Nick His Christmas Present: a Plush Cornflower-Blue Wool Jumper—Expensive, Bought Just Before He Left. She Tried It On—Too Big, Shoulders Too Wide. “Would’ve Been Big on Nick, Too,” She Thought, Then Put It Back in the Bag. Rita Did Her Makeup, Promised Herself Not to Cry, and Walked Out—Believing the Old Saying: “The Way You Spend New Year’s Eve Is the Way You’ll Spend the Year.” Better to Wander the Festive Streets Than Sit Home Alone. With Just Over an Hour and a Half Until Midnight, She Popped into the Shop and Found Pauline’s List in Her Pocket: After ‘Water the Plants’ Came ‘Feed the Turtle Twice a Week.’ Rita Panicked—With Everything Going On, She’d Forgotten All About the Turtle! If Anything Happened, Pauline Would Never Forgive Her. Forgetting About New Year’s, Rita Rushed to Pauline’s Flat to Feed the Turtle, Unlocked the Door…and Stopped Dead: Every Light Was On, the Christmas Tree Sparkled with Fairy Lights, the TV Blared, and Strange Noises Came from the Bathroom. She Opened the Bathroom Door and Clapped Her Hands in Surprise: There, Shaving and Singing to Himself, Was a Man She Didn’t Know! Her First Thought: Someone Had Broken In—But Who Breaks Into a Flat to Shave? “Who Are You?” Rita Demanded Fiercely. He Quickly Rinsed Off, Smiled, and Said, “Don’t Worry—I’m Not Dangerous. I’m Pauline’s Cousin, I Live and Work Out of Town. I Was Here on Business, Meant to Go Back But Couldn’t. Luckily, I Have My Cousin’s Spare Key, We Called, She Said I Could Stay Here.” “Have You Seen the Turtle?” Rita Asked Out of Nowhere. He Nodded. “Fed It, Too. It Went Over There,” He Pointed Behind the Sofa. Pulling On His Shirt, He Said, “Let’s Introduce Ourselves: I’m Ian.” She Told Him Her Name, and He Held Out His Hand. “Let’s Celebrate Together! Just Ten Minutes Until Midnight.” Suddenly, Rita Ducked Out, Rushed Down the Stairs—Ian, Puzzled, Called After Her, “Wait! Where are you going?” Rita Raced Home, Grabbed the Gift Bag, and Tore Back to Pauline’s Flat—Door Still Open—Just as the Clock Struck Midnight. Ian Handed Her a Glittering Glass of Bubbly, and She Handed Him the Gift Bag. “Happy New Year!” She Said. He Opened It: The Plush Cornflower-Blue Wool Jumper. He Pulled It On—it Fit Perfectly, Even at the Shoulders. “I’ve Had Plenty of New Year Surprises,” Ian Said, “But This Is the Best One Yet.” “I’ve Had Two Surprises—Nick Leaving and Meeting Ian,” Thought Rita, But She Just Smiled. The Next New Year, Rita, Ian, and Their Little Daughter Celebrated Together in Their Own Home…