There Were Women’s Clothes on the Floor and When I Entered the Bedroom, I Found Him with Another Woman… United Kingdom Robert and I had been together for over three years—a happy, trusting relationship. We’d met each other’s parents and were soon planning our wedding. Everything was going perfectly, and I believed I wanted to have children with this man and grow old together… On the day he returned from a business trip, we hadn’t scheduled to meet, but I wanted to surprise him. I took a day off work, baked a cake, and drove over to his flat. Luckily, I had my own key, so while he was still asleep, I even had time to make coffee ready for the cake. Quietly opening the bedroom door, I nearly tripped over something on the floor before I could even take a step. The room was dark, so I used my phone’s torch to see what was there. Scattered on the floor were women’s clothes, and as I stepped farther in, I saw him with another woman. Read more Family games Board games They were sleeping, curled up together, so I didn’t make a scene—I quietly shut the door behind me, left his favourite cake and the keys, and walked out. It was freezing outside and I didn’t want to go back home to my parents, so I sat on a park bench and cried. After a while, a guy came over, crouched beside me, and asked what had happened. I didn’t tell him about the betrayal, but the conversation just flowed naturally. Somehow, I ended up back at his place and we shared a cup of tea. Now we live together and are planning our wedding. I believe fate brought us together in this way, because nothing in life happens without a reason!

Author Walton MerrittReading 2 minViews 1

There were womens clothes scattered on the floor and, when I walked into the bedroom, I saw him with another woman

England

James and I had been together for over three years, in what I thought was a steady and happy relationship. We’d already met each others parents and begun making plans for a wedding in the near future. Everything seemed to be going perfectly, and honestly, I pictured having children together and growing old with him.

One day, after he returned home from a work trip, I decided to surprise him. We hadnt arranged to meet, but I took the day off work, baked his favourite carrot cake, and drove over to his flat. Luckily, I had my own key, so while he was asleep, I even had enough time to put on the kettle for tea to go with the cake.

I quietly opened the bedroom door, but before I could even take a step, I nearly tripped over something on the floor. The room was still dark, so I used my phone to shine some light. There were a bunch of womens clothes across the floor, and as I stepped in further, there he was, cuddled up in bed with another woman.

They were fast asleep, wrapped up around each other. I didnt cause a scene; I just gently closed the door behind me, left his favourite cake and my set of keys on the kitchen table, and slipped out. It was freezing outside and the idea of going home to my parents felt unbearable, so I wandered to a nearby park and burst into tears.

After a while, a bloke came over, crouched next to me and asked if I was alright. I didnt go into detail about the betrayal, but the conversation just flowed naturally from there. One thing led to another and we ended up at his place, sharing a cup of tea and just chatting away into the night.

Now, were living together and planning our own wedding. I truly believe that fate wanted us to meet like that, because nothing in life ever seems to happen without a reason!

Back to Her Again — Are you going back to her, again? Helen asked the question, already knowing the answer. David nodded, avoiding her gaze. He tugged on his coat and checked his pockets — keys, phone, wallet. Everything was there. He could leave. Helen waited. For a word. Even just “sorry” or “I’ll be back soon.” But David simply opened the door and walked out. The lock clicked quietly, almost apologetically, as if excusing its owner. Helen moved to the window. The street below was lit by dull street lamps, and she easily spotted the familiar figure. David walked quickly, determinedly, like a man who knew exactly where he was going. To her. To Anna. To their seven-year-old Sophie. Helen pressed her forehead to the cold glass. …She knew. She’d known from the start what she was signing up for. When she met David, he was still married. Technically. A stamp in the passport, a shared flat, a child. But he no longer lived with Anna — he rented a room, only visiting for his daughter. “She cheated on me,” David had said back then. “I couldn’t forgive. I filed for divorce.” And Helen believed him. Oh, how easily she believed him. Because she wanted to. Because she had fallen — foolishly, desperately, as if she were seventeen. Café dates, long phone calls, the first kiss in the rain by her flat. David looked at her like she was the only woman in the world. The divorce. Their wedding. A new flat, joint plans, talks about the future. Then it began. First — the calls. “David, bring medicine for Sophie, it’s urgent, she’s ill.” “David, our tap’s leaking, I don’t know what to do.” “David, Sophie’s crying, she wants to see you, come right now.” David would rush over every time. Helen tried to understand. A child — that’s sacred. The daughter wasn’t at fault for the split. Of course, he should help, be present. Sometimes David listened, tried to set boundaries with his ex-wife. But Anna simply changed tactics. “Don’t come at the weekend. Sophie doesn’t want to see you.” “Don’t call, it upsets her.” “She asked why daddy left us. I didn’t know what to say.” And David broke down. Every time. When he tried to refuse yet another “urgent” request — Anna hit where it hurt. Within a week, Sophie would repeat her mum’s words: “You don’t love us. You chose another lady. I don’t want to see you.” A seven-year-old couldn’t invent that herself. David returned from these talks broken, guilty, eyes dull. And again dashed to his ex’s at the first call — just so his daughter wouldn’t turn away, just so she wouldn’t look at him with cold, distant eyes. Helen understood. She truly did. But she was tired. David’s figure disappeared round the corner. Helen peeled herself from the window, absently rubbing her forehead — a red mark remained from the glass. The empty flat pressed in. The clock read nearly midnight when the key turned in the lock. Helen sat in the kitchen, an untouched cup of cold tea before her. She hadn’t taken a sip — just watched a dark film spread over the surface. Three hours. Three hours she waited, listening for every sound on the landing. David entered quietly, peeled off his coat, hung it up. Moved with caution, like a man hoping to sneak by unnoticed. “What happened this time?” Helen was surprised how calm her voice was. Three hours she’d rehearsed that phrase, and by midnight all emotion had burnt out inside her. David hesitated. “The boiler broke. I had to fix it.” Helen slowly looked up. He stood in the kitchen doorway, unsure whether to come in. He looked somewhere past her, into the dark window. “You can’t fix boilers.” “I called a plumber.” “And you had to wait there?” Helen pushed the cup away. “You couldn’t call from here? From your phone?” David frowned, folded his arms. The silence thickened: heavy and unpleasant. “Do you still love her?” Now he looked. Sharply, angrily, hurt. “What nonsense is this? I do everything for Sophie! For my daughter! What’s Anna got to do with anything?” He stepped into the kitchen, and Helen involuntarily edged back with her chair. “You knew, when you got involved with me, that I’d have to go round. You knew I have a child. So what now? Are you going to throw a fit every time I go to my daughter?” Her throat tightened. Helen wanted to reply sharply, proudly, but instead her eyes stung, and the first tear rolled down her cheek. “I thought…” she choked, fighting a lump. “I thought you’d at least pretend to love me. Make an effort.” “Helen, come on…” “I’m tired!” her voice broke into a shout, and she startled herself with the sound. “Tired of being not even in second place! Third! After your ex, after her whims, after midnight boilers!” David struck his palm on the door frame. “What do you want from me?! To abandon my daughter? Not go see her?!” “I want you to choose me, just once!” Helen jumped up, the cup wobbled, tea spilled across the table. “Just once say ‘no’! Not to me — to her! To Anna!” “I’m sick of your drama!” David spun round, grabbed his coat from the hook. “Where are you going?” The only answer was the door slamming shut. Helen stood in the kitchen, tea dripping onto the linoleum, ringing in her ears. She grabbed her phone, dialled his number. Ring, ring, ring. “The subscriber cannot answer.” Again. And again. Silence. Helen slowly sank onto a chair, clutching her phone to her chest. Where had he gone? To her? Back to her again? Or was he roaming the night streets, angry and hurt? She didn’t know. Not knowing made it worse. The night dragged endlessly. Helen sat on the bed, clutching her phone — the screen would blink, then go dark. Dial the number, hear the rings, hang up. Type a message: “Where are you?” Then another: “Please reply.” And another: “I’m scared.” Send — and watch each one get a single lonely grey tick. Not delivered. Or delivered, but unread. What difference does it make? By four a.m., Helen stopped crying. The tears simply ran out, drying up somewhere inside, leaving only a hollow ring. She got up, switched the bedroom light on, and opened her wardrobe. Enough. She’d had enough. The suitcase was on top of the closet, dusty, with a torn tag from some old trip. Helen dropped it on the bed and started packing. Jumpers, jeans, underwear. Not sorting, not thinking — just stuffing it all in, whatever she could reach. If he didn’t care — neither did she. Let him come home to an empty flat. Let him search, call, send messages she’d never read. Let him know how it feels. By six, Helen stood in the hallway. Two suitcases, a shoulder bag, coat fastened crookedly — one side hanging longer than the other. She looked at the bunch of keys in her hand. Time to remove hers, leave it on the table. Her fingers fumbled. Helen jiggled the ring, tried to prise her key off with a nail, but it wouldn’t come, her hands were trembling, and her eyes stung again, who knew from where, more tears— “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The keys clattered onto the tile. Helen stared at them for a second, then just collapsed onto a suitcase, hugged her arms round herself, and sobbed hard. Loud, ugly, choked, like a child who’d broken mum’s favourite vase and thought the world had ended. She didn’t hear the door open. “Helen…” David knelt before her, right on the cold hall floor. He smelt of smoke and the night city. “Helen, I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.” She looked up. Her face was wet, swollen, mascara streaked black. David gently took her hands in his. “I was at Mum’s. All night. She gave me a real earful… knocked some sense into me.” Helen was silent. She stared at him — uncertain whether to believe or not. “I’m going to take Anna to court. Ask for a proper schedule for seeing Sophie. Official, set by the courts, like it should be. She won’t be able to manipulate things, use Sophie against me.” His fingers squeezed Helen’s hands tighter. “I choose you, Helen. Do you hear me? You. You’re my family.” Something trembled inside her. A little shoot of hope, silly and stubborn, the one she’d tried all night to tear out. “Really?” “Really.” Helen closed her eyes. She would trust David. One last time. After that… whatever happens, happens.

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HEART OF ICE… Claudia Vincent returned home. She had been to the hair salon—as she does regularly despite her 68 years—always treating herself to visits with her stylist. Claudia spruced up her hair and nails on a routine basis, and these simple rituals lift her spirits and energy. “Claudia, a relative of yours came by,” her husband George informed her. “I told her you’d be home later. She said she’d pop back in.” “What relative? I’ve got no family left,” Claudia replied gruffly. “Probably some distant cousin, here to ask for something. You should have said I’d moved to the ends of the earth!” “Oh, don’t be like that,” George reassured her. “She looked like she belonged to your side—tall and stately, reminded me a bit of your late mother. I doubt she wants anything. Very well-spoken woman, dressed smartly.” Forty minutes later, the relative rang the bell. Claudia answered the door herself. The woman really did resemble her late mother, and looked very polished—expensive coat, boots, gloves, diamond studs. Claudia knew quality when she saw it. She invited the guest to join her at the already-set table. “Well, let’s make introductions if we’re family. I’m Claudia—no formality needed. We seem close in age. This is my husband George. What’s our connection?” she asked. The guest hesitated, then blushed slightly. “I’m Gail… Gail Watson. There isn’t much difference in age between us. I turned 50 on June 12th. Does that date mean anything to you?” Claudia paled. “I can see you remember. Yes—I am your daughter. Please don’t be upset; I don’t need anything from you. I just wanted to meet my birth mother. My whole life I never understood why my mum didn’t love me—she’s been gone eight years now. Why did only Dad ever love me? He died just two months ago—before he passed, he told me about you and asked you to forgive him, if you’re able,” Gail explained, her voice trembling. “What? You have a daughter?” George exclaimed, stunned. “Apparently I do. I’ll explain later,” Claudia replied. “So you’re my daughter? Wonderful—you’ve met me. But if you think I’ll beg forgiveness or show remorse, I won’t. I have nothing to be sorry for,” Claudia answered coldly. “I hope your father filled you in? If you expect me to show motherly feelings—forget it. Not even a spark. Sorry.” “May I visit again? I live nearby in the suburbs—we’ve got a big two-storey house. Why not come over with George? You’ll get used to the idea that I exist. I brought photos of your grandson and great-granddaughter if you’d like to see?” Gail asked timidly. “No. I’m not interested. Don’t come again. Forget about me. Goodbye,” Claudia cut her off sharply. George hailed Gail a taxi and walked her out. When he returned, Claudia had already cleared the table and was calmly watching TV. “You’re so steely! You could command armies. How is it you have no heart at all? I always suspected you were cold, but not to this extent,” George said sternly. “We met when I was 28, right? Well, my soul was trampled long before that,” Claudia replied. “I grew up in the country, desperate to escape to the city. That’s why I worked so hard, was top of my class, went to university—the only one from my village. At 17, I met Victor. Madly loved him. He was nearly 12 years older, but I didn’t care. City life felt magical after my poor childhood. My scholarship barely covered anything; I was always hungry, so I happily accepted his invitations for coffee or ice cream. He never promised anything, but I believed love would lead to marriage. The night he invited me to his cabin, I said yes. Afterwards, I thought I had him for good. Cabin trips became routine, and soon it was clear I was carrying his child. When I told Victor, he was delighted. Knowing my condition would show, I asked when we’d marry—I was 18, legally able to wed. “Did I ever promise you marriage?” he said. “I didn’t, and I won’t. Besides, I’m already married,” he answered calmly. “What about the baby? What about me?” “You’re healthy, strong—could have been a model student-athlete. You’ll take a break from university, hide it until it’s obvious, and after you give birth, my wife and I will take care of the baby. We can’t have children—maybe because my wife is much older. You’ll deliver, we’ll take the baby, and you’ll return to study. We’ll pay you, too.” Back then, no one had heard of surrogacy—but I guess I was the first surrogate mother. What else could I do—go home and shame my family? I lived at their house until the birth. Victor’s wife never spoke to me—maybe jealous. I delivered the baby girl at home, attended by a midwife. Didn’t nurse her; they took her away immediately. Never saw her again. A week later, they sent me off, Victor gave me cash. I went back to university, got a job at the factory, lived in the family hostel, worked my way up. Made friends, never married—until you came along. By then I was 28. I wasn’t keen, but felt I should. You know the rest—nice life with you, three cars, comfortable house, summer cottage. We holidayed every year. Our factory survived the ‘90s since our tractor equipment was unique. Still have barbed wire and watchtowers around it. We both retired early—life’s been good. No children, and that suited me fine. And looking at kids today…” Claudia finished her confession. “We didn’t have a good life. I loved you. I tried to warm your heart and never succeeded. No kids—and you never even took in a kitten or puppy. My sister asked for help with her daughter; you wouldn’t let her stay a week. Today your own daughter came—and how did you meet her? Your daughter! Your own flesh and blood. Honestly, if we were younger, I’d divorce you. Now it’s too late. It’s cold living next to you—so cold,” George said bitterly. Claudia was startled; he’d never spoken so harshly to her before. Her peaceful life disturbed, all because of this daughter. George moved to the cottage. For years now, he’s lived there—adopted three abandoned dogs, countless stray cats. Rarely comes home. Claudia knows he visits her daughter Gail, has met them all, adores the great-granddaughter. “He’s always been soft—a pushover. Let him live how he wants,” Claudia thinks. She never developed the urge to get to know her daughter, grandson, or great-granddaughter. Claudia travels to the coast alone. She relaxes, recharges, and feels absolutely fine.

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“I Don’t Want a Paralyzed Daughter…” said the Daughter-in-Law and Walked Away. But She Had No Idea What Would Happen Next… In a small English village lived an ordinary old man, Denis. On weekends, he’d enjoy a little tipple and daydream about finally getting himself a purebred English Mastiff. He longed for a loyal companion and would even travel as far as Surrey just to bring one home. Denis’s beloved wife, Claudia, had passed away years before. Though doctors warned her never to have children, she gave birth to their son and became very ill. Denis doted on Claudia, taking care of everything—he wouldn’t even let her carry the milk from the shop. The village women envied her, and Denis became the talk of the town. Claudia left this world with a gentle smile. After her passing, Denis raised his son alone. When his boy married and settled in another city, Denis found himself completely on his own—except he loved chatting with the local youth outside his cottage. His son eventually had a daughter, but Denis only saw his granddaughter in photographs—the family was always too busy to visit. Then one gloomy day, the villagers noticed Denis wasn’t himself. He’d received a telegram: his family had been in a car crash. The granddaughter was in a coma, and his son had died. No word from the daughter-in-law; she didn’t write, answer calls, or respond to messages. Denis’s heart ached for news—and for his granddaughter, who looked just like Claudia in her youth. Just before he planned to travel to the city, a car pulled into his driveway. Out stepped his daughter-in-law, carrying the paralyzed granddaughter on a stretcher. “She’s paralyzed from head to toe. I don’t want a child like this. I’m still young; I can remarry and have a healthy baby!” she announced, slamming the door behind her. Denis retorted, “But I’m not a carer!” “You don’t need a doctor—she needs a nurse. If you won’t care for her, bury her alive! I’m not going to ruin my life. I’m not her nurse!” With that, she left for good. Now Denis understood why his son never visited—no one could travel comfortably with such a heartless wife. Left alone with his paralyzed granddaughter, Denis dedicated himself to her recovery, using remedies from a distant herbalist. For over a year, the girl lay motionless, unable to speak or move. On somber evenings, Denis would notice tears on her cheeks, thinking she missed her parents. He read to her and talked, but all she could do was moan. One night, a rowdy group of drunk young men burst into the cottage. The door was left unlocked, and they taunted Denis, knowing the girl was helpless. “Oi, old man! Lift off her blanket—let’s have some fun!” barked the ringleader. “Have mercy! She’s only 15!” pleaded Denis. Feigning calm, Denis said, “Let me just brush my teeth,” and dashed to the kitchen, pulled open the cellar hatch, and shouted, “Get ‘em!” From the cellar sprang Denis’s massive English Mastiff—Max—who tore into the gang, nipping trousers and chasing them down the village lane, their bare backsides on display to peals of laughter. Max leapt through the window in hot pursuit, scaring them right out of town. Returning to the bedroom, Denis saw his granddaughter sitting upright for the first time, shouting out the window: “Max! Max! Quick, Grandpa, grab him so he doesn’t run away!” Denis wept with joy. From that night on, the girl started to recover—soon she was walking and chatting non-stop. Was it the herbal remedies or the shock of the night? No one could say. And where did Max come from? He’d been left behind by the cruel daughter-in-law, who abandoned not just her daughter, but also the dog. Denis found him by the garden gate—thin, exhausted, and crying real tears. He took him in without a second thought. From then on, Denis, his granddaughter, and Max lived together in happiness. They never heard from the girl’s mother again.

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📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic

There Were Women’s Clothes on the Floor and When I Entered the Bedroom, I Found Him with Another Woman… United Kingdom Robert and I had been together for over three years—a happy, trusting relationship. We’d met each other’s parents and were soon planning our wedding. Everything was going perfectly, and I believed I wanted to have children with this man and grow old together… On the day he returned from a business trip, we hadn’t scheduled to meet, but I wanted to surprise him. I took a day off work, baked a cake, and drove over to his flat. Luckily, I had my own key, so while he was still asleep, I even had time to make coffee ready for the cake. Quietly opening the bedroom door, I nearly tripped over something on the floor before I could even take a step. The room was dark, so I used my phone’s torch to see what was there. Scattered on the floor were women’s clothes, and as I stepped farther in, I saw him with another woman. Read more Family games Board games They were sleeping, curled up together, so I didn’t make a scene—I quietly shut the door behind me, left his favourite cake and the keys, and walked out. It was freezing outside and I didn’t want to go back home to my parents, so I sat on a park bench and cried. After a while, a guy came over, crouched beside me, and asked what had happened. I didn’t tell him about the betrayal, but the conversation just flowed naturally. Somehow, I ended up back at his place and we shared a cup of tea. Now we live together and are planning our wedding. I believe fate brought us together in this way, because nothing in life happens without a reason!