We’re Moving Into Your Flat — Olivia’s got a great city-centre flat. Newly refurbished, nothing to complain about! — It’s perfect for a single girl, — Rusty smiled at Anna, the way you might humour a child. — But we’re planning for two, maybe even three kids. One after another! It’s noisy in the city centre, the air’s rubbish, and you can never park. And it’s only two rooms. Whereas you’ve got three here. Plus, it’s quiet, and there’s a nursery in the courtyard. — It really is a nice area, — agreed Simon, still not grasping where his future son-in-law was going with this. — That’s why we settled here. — Exactly! — Rusty snapped his fingers. — I keep telling Olivia: why squeeze into a tiny flat when we’ve got the perfect solution? There’s only the three of you here: you, your wife, and your little girl. It’s more space than you need. You don’t even use that third room—it’s just a storage dump now! It would suit us perfectly. Anna was trying to shove the carpet cleaner into a cramped cupboard in the hallway. The vacuum seemed to fight back, its hose snagging on the coat rack, refusing to go where it was put. — Simon, help me out here! — she called towards the lounge. — Either this cupboard’s shrunk or I’ve lost my knack for packing things. Simon popped out of the bathroom—he’d just finished tinkering with the tap. Calm, always a bit slow and steady, he was Anna’s opposite in every way. — I’ve got it, Annie. Pass it here. He took the monstrous cleaner with one swoop, tucking it snugly in the corner of the cupboard. Anna exhaled and leaned against the doorframe. — Tell me, why do we never have enough space? It’s a big flat, three rooms, but every time we clean, it feels like we ought to chuck all our stuff on the street. — It’s because you’re a hoarder, — Simon grinned. — Why do we need three dinner sets? We only use one, twice a year! — Let them be, they’re keepsakes. It was Gran’s flat, after all. After the wedding, Simon’s parents divvied up the inheritance fairly: Simon got Gran’s roomy three-bedroom in a quiet area, and his sister Olivia got a central two-bedroom, right in the “golden square”. Moneywise, it balanced out. Five years, everyone got along famously, no jealousy. Anna thought it would always be that way, but… * Cleaning done, chaos tamed, they sat down for a breather. Just as the telly flickered on, the doorbell rang. Simon went to answer. — Sis and her fiancé are here, — he told his wife, peeking through the spyhole. First in, Olivia practically bounced inside. Rusty followed, heavy-footed. Anna had only met him twice before. Olly found him at some gym six months ago. Rusty rubbed Anna the wrong way immediately—pompous, superior. He looked down on both her and Simon. — Hey there! — Olivia kissed her brother’s cheek and hugged Anna. — We were just passing by—had to drop in. We’ve got news! — Come on in, then. News is always nice, — Simon invited them to the kitchen. — Cup of tea? — Water’s fine, — Rusty plodded after the host. — This is a serious chat, mate. Truth is, they weren’t “just passing by”. They had a mission. No faffing, forget the tea. Sit down. Anna suddenly felt uneasy—Rusty’s tone gave her the creeps. What was this about? — Well, out with it, — Simon shrugged. Olivia pretended oblivious, busy with her phone, letting her fiancé do the talking. Rusty cleared his throat. — Here’s the deal. We’ve filed our notice: wedding in three months. Obviously, I have big plans for us. Family, a home, happily ever after. We’ve thought about our living situation… We’ll move in here, and you’ll move into Olivia’s! Anna was gobsmacked. She stared at her husband, then at her sister-in-law—still scrolling through her socials as if she wasn’t involved. — Rusty, I’m not sure I understand, — Simon frowned. — What are you getting at? — No hints, just a practical solution. Let’s swap! We move in here, you take Olly’s flat. Olly’s in full agreement, we both think it’s totally fair. Anna was stunned again. — Fair? — she echoed. — Rusty, are you serious right now? You come into our home and suggest we leave because you want more kids? — No need to be so harsh, Anna, — Rusty winced. — I’m just being rational. You have one child, and I hear you’re not planning more. So why do you need all this extra space? It’s just not sensible. We, on the other hand, have potential. — Oh, we’ve got potential, have we! — Anna jumped up. — Simon, are you hearing this nonsense? Simon raised a hand, signalling Anna to stay quiet. — Rusty, maybe you forgot: my parents gave us this flat, just as they did Olly with hers. We’ve spent five years fixing this place up, choosing every skirting board. Our daughter’s got her own room, friends on this block, her routines. And you want us to uproot and swap flats just because it suits you? — Calm down, mate, — Rusty reclined lazily. — You’re family. Olly’s your own sister. Doesn’t her future mean anything to you? Anyway, I’m offering you a straight swap. You’d get a place in a prime area. I even crunched the numbers—it’s a good deal. — This is rich, — Simon chuckled. — You haven’t even married my sister yet, but you’re already after my flat! At last Olivia glanced up from her phone. — Oh, don’t start! — she whined. — Rusty just wants the best for us. It really will be crowded in my place when there are kids. And your hallway’s big enough for five-a-side football. Mum always said—family comes first. Don’t you remember, Simon? — Mum said help each other, Olly, not evict your brother for your own convenience! — Anna shot back. — Can you hear what Rusty’s saying? — What’s wrong with what he’s saying? — Olivia widened her eyes. — He’s making sense. We need it more. You’ve got a spare room anyway. — It’s not spare! — Anna all but shouted. — It’s my home office! In case you forgot, I work in there! — Work, right — Rusty snorted. — Posting pretty pictures online? Olly says it’s just a hobby. You can work from the kitchen table, no need for a study. Simon stood up slowly. — Right, — he said quietly. — Conversation’s over. Out. Both of you. — Simon, seriously? — Rusty didn’t budge. — We came here to have a proper family talk. — Proper? — Simon stepped closer. — You’re asking for my home and insulting my wife at the same time—telling our daughter where she should live? D’you have any shame? — Shame! — Anna joined her husband. — He’s just after what he can get. He hasn’t even proposed yet and already he’s dividing up our property. Olly, do you even realise who you brought into the family? You’ll be next—he’ll toss you out of your own flat! — Don’t you dare talk about him like that! — Olivia sprang up. — Rusty’s looking after me! Our future! You lot… you’re just greedy. Clinging to your precious rooms like misers. Some brother you are! — The greedy one’s your future husband, — Simon pointed to the door. — For the hard of hearing: get out. And forget about the swap—forever. Try this again and we’re done. Rusty rose, adjusted his shirt collar. Not a flicker of embarrassment—just irritation. — Your loss, Si. I thought we could sort something out. But if you’re that stubborn… Come on Olly, we’re leaving! When the door slammed behind them, Anna collapsed onto the sofa, shaking. — Did you see that? Did you actually see that? — She stared at her husband, wide-eyed. — The nerve! Who does he think he is? Simon was silent, standing at the window, watching Rusty swagger to his car and bark at Olivia outside. — Know what’s really gutting? — he finally said. — Olivia actually believes he’s right. She’s always had her head in the clouds, but this… — He’s brainwashed her! — Anna started pacing. — We have to call your mum—your folks need to know what their new son-in-law’s planning. — Wait, — Simon pulled out his phone. — I’ll ring my sister first. Just her. Without that peacock around. He dialled. It rang for ages. Olivia finally picked up, sniffling. — Hello! — she muttered. — Olivia, listen up, — Simon’s voice was steely. — Are you in the car with him? — What’s it to you? — If he’s there, put it on speaker. I want him to hear. — I’m not in the car, — Olivia sobbed. — He dropped me off outside and drove off. Said he needed to cool down because my family is a bunch of selfish prats. Simon, why are you all like this? He just wanted everything to be perfect for us… — Olivia, wake up! — Simon nearly yelled. — Perfect? He waltzed in and tried to wrangle my flat! Do you even get that it’s your inheritance? And he’s already acting like it’s his. Did he even mention the swap before we all sat in the kitchen? There was silence. — No, — Olivia whispered finally. — He said he had a surprise for everyone. That he’d figured out what would be best. — Nice surprise. Decided both our lives for us. Without asking. Who exactly are you marrying, Liv? He’s just a gold-digger. Today my flat, tomorrow your car isn’t big enough, next your parents’ cottage is too good for you. — Don’t say that… — Olivia’s voice trembled. — He loves me. — If he did, he wouldn’t start drama over nothing! He pit us against each other! Anna still hasn’t recovered. Can’t you see, he wanted to split us up? — I’ll talk to him, — Olivia said, uncertain. — Do that. And think hard before you march down the aisle. Simon hung up and tossed his phone on the sofa. — What did she say? — Anna asked softly. — Didn’t know a thing. Rusty had a “surprise” lined up. Anna gave a bitter laugh. — Picture it: Lord of the Manor, moving people around like chess pieces. Flats this way, families that way. Makes me sick. — Well, — Simon put his arm around her. — He’s not getting our home, that’s for sure. But I feel for Liv. He’ll ruin her. * Simon and Anna’s worst fears didn’t come true—Olivia never made it down the aisle. Rusty dumped her that same evening. A tear-stained Olivia turned up at her brother’s late at night and spilled everything. Rusty had shown up, started packing his things immediately. Olivia panicked and asked what was going on. Rusty declared that he wasn’t joining such a stingy family. — He said he doesn’t need “relatives” like us, — Olivia sobbed. — He can’t rely on you, apparently. Said you’d never babysit our kids at the weekend. Wouldn’t even give us money if we needed it. — Oh Olivia, love, why are you upset? — Anna retorted. — You don’t need a man like that! He’s unreliable, only out for himself. Forget him! Olivia moped for a couple months, then started to recover. Looking back, she finally saw his true colours. If she’d married him, she’d have been miserable for life. Must have been fate she didn’t.

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 11 minViews 1

Were moving into your flat

Olivia has got such a lovely flat in the centre. The decoration is freshhonestly, you could just move in and be happy!
Its fine if youre a single woman, Rusty gave me that patronising smile, the kind you reserve for children who dont know any better. But were planning on having two, ideally three childrenand straightaway, one after the other.
Its so noisy in the centre, the airs thick with fumes, no parking. And, more importantly, its only two bedrooms. Whereas here, youve got three. And its a quiet neighbourhood, theres a nursery right in the courtyard out back.
It is a nice area, confirmed Simon, still not quite seeing where his future brother-in-law was heading. Thats why we settled here in the first place.
Exactly! Rusty snapped his fingers. As I said to Olivia: why should we crumble up in some box when theres a ready-made solution?
You twove got all this spaceits too much for you and your daughter alone. One of the rooms is barely used, its just a storage dump. And for us, itd be perfect.

I was at that moment trying to shove the hoover into the narrow hall cupboard.
The hoover of course resisted, wrapping its hose around the hangers as if daring me to make it fit.

Simon, give us a hand, will you! I yelled in the direction of the lounge. Either the cupboards shrunk or Ive forgotten how to put stuff away!
Simon poked his head out of the bathroom, having finally sorted the tap.
Hes calm, softly spoken, and a little slow and steadyeverything Im not.
Here, let me, he said.
With a practiced move, he swung the weighty machine right into the corner of the cupboard.
I flopped back against the doorframe, exhaling.
Why does it always feel like we havent got enough room? I asked. Its a big place, three bedrooms, but the minute you start tidying up you feel like dragging half your things outside.
Maybe its because youre such a magpie, Simon grinned. Remind me, how many dinner services do we own? We use the fancy one twice a year.
Its Grans place. Some of its memory. Anyway, whats the harm?
After the wedding, Simons family had split the inheritance neatly: his share was this roomy three-bed in a quiet part of town, previously his grans, and his sister Olivia took the two-bed in the centrethe Golden Square, as they called it.
In terms of value, the two properties worked out roughly the same. For five years, thered never been any bad blood.
I really thought it would stay like that, I did, but

* * *

When we finished tidying and could finally see the floor, we sat down for a rest. Wed only just switched on the telly when the doorbell rang.

Simon went to see who it was.
Its Liv and her fiancé, he called over his shoulder after a quick glance through the spyhole.
First in, like a whirlwind, was Olivia. Trailing behind, heavy-footed, was Rusty.
Id only met Rusty a couple of times before; Olivia had picked him up at some gym less than six months ago.
He didnt win me overpuffed up, slightly condescending, looking down his nose at both of us.
Hello, you two! Olivia planted a kiss on her brothers cheek and hugged me. We were passing by and thought wed pop in. Weve got news!
Well, come in since youre here. News is always good, Simon beckoned them into the kitchen. Tea?
Ill have some water, Rusty followed him in, waving off the offer. Were here on serious business, mate, not just to socialise.
Sonot exactly just passing by. Something was up.
Straight to the point. No beating about the bush.
Instantly, I felt anxious; Rustys tone was one that set my teeth on edge.
Go on then, out with it, said Simon with a shrug.
Olivia made out like she didnt really exist in the room, buried in her phone and leaving all the talking to her fiancé.
Rusty cleared his throat.
Heres the thing. Olivia and I have filed the paperwork. Were getting married in three monthsyou can imagine, its serious. Were planning the next chapter: family, home, forever happiness and all that. So we had a think about our living arrangements…

Rusty paused for drama.

Were moving in hereand youre moving into Livs flat!
I was dumbfounded. First at Simon, then at Oliviawho kept scrolling social media as if it was none of her business.

Come again? Simon responded, his brow knitted. Is that are you being serious?
I am. Its a practical solution. We can do a swap: well take your flat, and you move into Olivias. Fairs fair, dont you think?
Liv agrees with me entirely, we both feel it makes sense.
Dumbfounded again.
Fair? I spluttered. Rusty, are you actually serious? You just walk in and suggest we up sticks, just because you fancy starting a family?
No need to get touchy, love, Rusty wrinkled his nose at me. Im just being rational. Youve got one childand, from what I hear, thats it for you.
So why waste the space? Its inefficient. Whereas for us, weve got a future to think of.

A future, is it? I jumped to my feet. Simon, are you hearing this madness?
Simon lifted his hand, silently motioning for me to let him do the talking.
Rusty, perhaps youve forgotten that this flat was left to me by my parents. Just as Olivias was left to her.
We spent five years renovating this place with our own handsevery shelf, every corner. Our daughters growing up here; shes got her own room, her friends in the building.
And you think were just going to move at your convenience?
No need to get worked up Rusty lounged back as if he owned the place. Youre family! Olivias your own flesh and blood. Dont you care about her future?
Besides, Ive done the sumsyoull be getting a posh postcode out of it. Might even come out ahead, for all you know.
Thats rich, mate, Simon smirked. Youre not even married yet, and youve already got your eyes on my flat!
Olivia finally looked up from her phone.
Oh, come on, dont be dramatic, she whined. Rustys only trying to do whats best.
Were going to need more space once the kids arrive. And here, your hallways big enough for a five-a-side!
Mum always said family comes firstdid you forget that, Si?
Mum said about helping each other, Livshe never meant chuck your brother out of his house! Do you actually hear what your Rusty is suggesting right now?
Whats wrong with it? Olivia blinked innocently. Its perfectly logical. We need it more. Youre hardly using the extra room and you know it.

Its not extraits my office! I snapped, barely able to keep my temper. I work in there, remember?
Work? Rusty snorted. You put up pictures online, dont you? Liv says its just a hobby. Whats wrong with working on your laptop in the kitchen like everyone else? No need to be so uppity.

Simon stood up slowly.
Thats enough, he said softly. This conversation is over. Both of you, out.
Si, mate, dont overreact! Rusty didnt budge an inch. Were talking like adults. Family to family.
Adults, is it? You come here, ask for my home, insult my wife, and decide where my daughter should live?
Do you even hear yourself?
Simon, honestly! I piped in, unable to hold back. Hes dividing up property before theres even a wedding band on his finger!
Liv, do you realise what kind of person youve brought home? Hell toss you out of your own flat the minute it suits him!
Dont you dare talk about him like that! Olivia jumped up too. Rusty cares about meabout *our* future.
You two are just greedy, clutching at your walls like a pair of old hermits.
Some brother, you are!
If anyones greedy, its your fiancé, Simon pointed firmly at the door. One last time: get out. And forget about your little swap. Say it again and youre dead to me.

Rusty rose, straightened his shirt collar and without the slightest hint of embarrassment, looked only annoyed.
Youre making a mistake, Si. I thought we were family. If thats your attitude
Liv, come on!

When the door slammed behind them, I collapsed onto the sofa, shaking.
Did you see that? Did you*see* that? Where does he get off?
Simon said nothing, staring out the window at Rusty lording it over his car, lecturing Olivia as she followed behind, head down.

You know whats worst? he murmured, still watching. Liv actually believes hes right. Shes always lived in a bit of a dream world, but this…?
Hes brainwashed her! I leapt up. Simon, we need to call your mum. Your parents need to know what their future son-in-laws cooking up.
Wait, Simon said. First, Ill ring Liv. Just her, none of him listening in.

He dialled her number. It rang, and rangthen she answered, voice thick with tears.
What? she croaked.
Liv, listen to me: are you with him in the car?
Why does it matter?
If hes there, put me on speaker. He should hear this as well.
Im notIm at the block. He dropped me off and just drove off. Said my family are all selfish and he needed to clear his head.
Liv, why cant he see you for what you are? He just wanted *everything* to be perfect
Liv, wake up! He showed up to *demand* my flat.
Do you actually understand its *your* flat, too? Has he ever asked what *you* want?
Silence.
No, Olivia finally admitted. He said he had a surprise for everyone.
Oh did he, now. Decided both our futures without saying a word.
Livyou really want a man like that?
Today its my flat. Next week, your cars not good enough for him. Give it a month, and hell be angling for your parents to sign over their cottage because the airs fresher there.
Dont say that hesitated Olivia, her voice trembling. He he loves me.
If he loved you, he wouldnt make you the villain to your family. Dont you see hes trying to set us against each other?
Ill talk to him, she whispered, wounded.

Please doand think long and hard before you actually walk down that aisle.
Simon hung up, throwing his phone on the sofa.
What did she say? I asked, quietly.
She had no ideahed planned it all as a surprise, bless her.
I snorted.
Some master of the house turning up, placing furniture and family wherever he wants. It makes my skin crawl.
Dont worry, Simon put his arm around me. Were not going anywhere.
Just a shame about Liv. Shes going to get burned.

* * *

The worst never happenedthere was no wedding.
Rusty dumped Olivia that very night. She arrived at Simons, red-eyed, and poured out the story.

Hed come back, instantly set about packing his bags. Olivia panicked, begged him for an explanation.
Rusty declared, rather grandly, that he didnt intend to join a family as stingy as ours.
Says, you lot arent the type I needcant rely on you. Youll never look after our children at the weekends if we ask. And you wont help us out with money when we need it!
Oh, sweetheart, dont waste another tear on him! I was fuming. You cant build a family with someone like thathe only thinks of himself! Forget him, youre better off.
She pined for a few months, but after a while she bounced back.
And, in time, she saw sense. How had she not spotted his true colours before?
If shed married him, hed have made her miserablethere was no doubt about it. Fate was on her side this time.

Oh, girl, you greet him in vain – he’ll never marry you Vera had just turned sixteen when her mum passed away. Her father had left for the city to look for work seven years earlier and was never heard from again—no letters, no money. Nearly everyone in the village attended the funeral and helped as best they could. Aunt Mary, Vera’s godmother, often stopped by, reminding her what needed doing. Vera finished school and got a job at the post office in the neighbouring village. Vera was a strong girl—people said she was the picture of health, with a rosy round face, a button nose, sparkling grey eyes, and a thick honey-coloured braid down to her waist. The most handsome boy in the village was Nick. Two years home from the army, he had girls flocking around him. Even city girls who came for the summer took notice. He should have been acting in Hollywood films, not driving trucks in a village. Nick wasn’t ready to settle down—choosing himself a bride wasn’t on his mind. This summer, Aunt Mary asked Nick to help Vera fix her fence—without a man’s strength, life is tough in the countryside. Vera managed the garden on her own, but not the house. Nick agreed right away, looked over the fence, and started giving orders: ‘Fetch this, run over there, bring, hand me that.’ Vera did as he asked, cheeks growing redder as her braid whipped behind her. When Nick got tired, Vera would feed him hearty soup and strong tea, watching as he bit into black bread with strong white teeth. Three days Nick worked on the fence, but on the fourth, he came by just to visit. Vera fed him supper, and after a chat, he stayed the night. Soon, Nick was dropping by regularly, leaving before sunrise so no one saw. But in a village, nothing stays secret for long. “Oh, girl, you greet him in vain—he’ll never marry you. And if he does, you’ll suffer for it. When summer comes and city beauties appear, what will you do? You’ll burn with jealousy. You need a different sort of boy,” Aunt Mary would say. But when does youth in love ever listen to wisdom? Soon Vera realised she was expecting. At first, she thought she was ill, but then it hit her—she was carrying Nick’s child. She thought of giving it up—it was too soon for a baby. But then she decided she’d manage; better not to be alone. Her mother raised her, and she’d cope too. Her father had hardly helped, always gone or drinking. People would gossip, then quiet down. Come spring, Vera took off her coat, and the whole village saw her round belly. They shook their heads, saying trouble had come to the girl. Nick stopped by to ask what she’d do. “What else? I’ll have the child. Don’t worry—I’ll raise him myself. Carry on,” she said, busying herself at the stove. Only the blush of fire played on her cheeks and eyes. Nick admired Vera, but left. She’d made up her mind. Summer came, and with it, city girls—Nick forgot about Vera. She tended her garden quietly, with Aunt Mary helping out—hard work with a belly so big. Vera hauled buckets from the well, and village women predicted a strong boy. “Whoever God gives,” Vera joked. One September morning, Vera woke in pain. The labour had begun. She rushed to Aunt Mary, whose eyes told her she understood at once. “Is it time? Sit—I’ll fetch help.” Aunt Mary ran to Nick, who was only just awake after a late night. She roused him, and when he realised, he shouted, “Ten miles to the hospital! If we wait for a doctor, she’ll have the baby before they get here. I’ll drive straight away—get Vera ready!” “But in a truck? You’ll shake her to bits!” Aunt Mary protested. “You’d better come too, just in case,” Nick retorted. They crawled the battered road, Aunt Mary sat on a sack in the back. On the asphalt, the drive went faster. Vera writhed in pain on the passenger seat, clutching her belly to keep from crying out. Nick sobered up quickly, pale-knuckled at the wheel, thinking of his own life. They got Vera to the hospital in time. Aunt Mary scolded Nick the whole way back: “Why did you ruin the girl’s life? Alone, without parents—just a child herself, and you’ve given her more worry. How will she cope with a baby?” Before they reached the village, Vera was already the mother of a healthy, strong baby boy. The next morning, the nurse brought him to her. Vera didn’t know how to hold or feed her baby. She stared fearfully into his wrinkled red face, biting her lip as she did what she was instructed. Yet Vera’s heart trembled with joy. She marvelled at him, blowing on his fine hair and smiling, awkward and happy. “Will anyone come to pick you up?” a stern doctor asked as Vera was about to be discharged. Vera shrugged and shook her head. “Probably not.” The doctor sighed and left. The nurse wrapped Vera’s baby in a hospital blanket for the journey home, instructing she return it. “Fred will drive you and the little one back in the hospital car. You can’t use the regular bus with an infant,” the nurse said, kindly if gruff. Vera thanked her, head down, face reddening with embarrassment as she made her way down the corridor. On the drive home, Vera hugged her son, anxious about life ahead. Maternity payments would barely be enough—she felt sorry for herself and her innocent baby. But gazing at her sleeping son, Vera’s heart filled with tenderness, brushing away her worries. Suddenly, the car stopped. Vera looked anxiously at Fred, a short man in his fifties. “What’s wrong?” “Two days of rain—look at these puddles. I can’t drive through, and if I try, I’ll get stuck. Only a truck or tractor could make it.” “Sorry—you’ll have to walk. It’s only a couple of miles left,” he said, nodding at the flooded road. Her baby slept as she struggled to hold him. The only word for him—strong. But how to walk that road? Vera carefully climbed out, cradled her son, and picked her way along the edge of the puddle, mud clutching at her ankles, each step threatening a slip. Her worn shoes squelched. She wished she’d worn wellies. One shoe was claimed by the mud. Vera stopped, considered, then left it behind, pressing on. By the time she reached her village, dusk had fallen, her feet numb from cold, exhaustion overriding any surprise at seeing light in her windows. She stepped onto the dry porch, shivering yet drenched in sweat. Vera opened the door and froze. By the wall stood a baby cot, a pram filled with smart baby clothes. At the table, Nick lay sleeping, head resting on his arms. Whether he heard her or felt her gaze, Nick looked up. Vera, red-faced and dishevelled, barely stood in the doorway with her baby. Her dress was soaked, her legs muddy up to her knees and minus a shoe. Seeing her like this, Nick rushed over, took the baby and laid him in the cot. He stoked the stove, drawing hot water. He sat her down, helped her undress and wash her feet. While Vera changed behind the stove, Nick set out boiled potatoes and a jug of milk. Then the baby cried. Vera hurried over, picked him up and, unselfconsciously, began to feed him. “What did you name him?” Nick asked, his voice rough. “Sergei. Is that alright?” Vera looked up at him with clear, shining eyes. There was so much longing and love in them, Nick’s heart ached. “A lovely name. Tomorrow we’ll go register our lad and get married too.” “You don’t have to…” Vera began, watching her son nurse. “No—my son should have a father. I’ve had my fill of fun; I don’t know what sort of man I’ll be, but I won’t abandon my boy.” Vera nodded, head bowed. Two years later, they had a daughter, Hope, named for Vera’s mother. It doesn’t matter what mistakes you make at the start of life—what counts is that you can always make them right… That’s how life goes. Tell us in the comments what you think? Give us a like.

After Speaking with the Adopted Girl, I Realised Not Everything Was as It Seemed Beside me on a park bench sat a five-year-old girl, swinging her legs as she told me about her life: “I’ve never seen my dad because he left me and Mum when I was very little. Mum died a year ago. The grown-ups told me she’d passed away. The girl looked at me and continued her story: “After the funeral, Auntie Liz—Mum’s sister—came to live with us. They said she was doing the right thing not sending me to a children’s home. They explained that now Auntie Liz was my guardian and I’d live with her. The girl fell silent, stared under the bench, then continued: “After I moved in, Auntie Liz started tidying the house: she put all my mum’s belongings in a corner and wanted to throw them away. I started crying and begged her not to, so she let me keep them. Now I sleep in that corner. At night I lie on top of Mum’s things and feel warm there—it’s like she’s with me. Every morning, Auntie gives me something to eat. She’s not the best cook—Mum was better—but she always asks me to finish everything on my plate. I don’t want to upset her, so I eat it all. I know she’s made an effort to cook. It’s not her fault if she can’t cook like Mum. Then she sends me out to play, and I’m not allowed back until it starts to get dark. Auntie Liz is very, very nice! She loves to boast about me to her friends. I don’t know these friends but they visit our house often. Auntie sits with them over tea, tells funny stories, says nice things about me, and treats us both to sweets. After these words, the girl sighed and went on: “I can’t just eat sweets all the time. Auntie’s never scolded me for anything. She’s always kind. Once she even gave me a doll—of course, the doll is a bit poorly, her leg is bad and one of her eyes squints a lot. My mum never gave me a poorly doll. The little girl jumped off the bench and started hopping on one foot: “I have to go because Auntie told me her friends are coming today, and I have to dress nicely before they arrive. She promised me a delicious cake afterwards. Goodbye! The girl hopped off the bench and hurried away to do her errands. I sat for a long time thinking, my thoughts circling around “kind” Auntie Liz. I wondered: what was really going on with this well-meaning aunt? Why did she want everyone to believe she was so noble? How could anyone turn a blind eye to a child sleeping on the floor, wrapped in her late mother’s clothes…

“It Doesn’t Look Right That Your Children Will Have Homes While My Son Won’t – Let’s Get Him a Flat With a Mortgage!” Recently, my husband Anthony pointed out that my children have their own homes, yet his son does not—and now he insists we must figure out how to get his son a flat as well. I should explain that my children are both mine and Anthony’s, while Anthony’s son is from his first marriage. Why should it fall to me to worry about providing his son with a place to live? Sure, I knew Anthony was divorced with a child before we met, and that’s partly why I didn’t rush to marry him. We lived together for three years before tying the knot. I took my time observing his feelings for his ex-wife and son. A year into marriage, I had a son of my own, then, after another two years, a second. I’m completely happy with Anthony as both husband and father—he devotes time to me and the kids and has a good job. Of course, we have the occasional row, but that’s normal in any family. We’d been living in the flat I inherited from my dad. My mum divorced him when I was in nursery, and later remarried, but she had no other children. Anthony and his first wife had always rented, trying for years to save for a mortgage, but never managed it. After his divorce, his ex moved back in with her parents, and Anthony found a place to rent for himself. When we married, he moved into my flat. We never quibbled about ownership—we just lived together, renovated, bought new furniture. But then, about eighteen months ago, both my grandmothers passed away in succession (my mum’s and my dad’s mums). Each flat was willed to me. With our children still young, I decided to let those flats. One rental goes to top up my mum’s pension, the other supplements my salary—after all, extra cash is always handy. Anthony never meddled in my property affairs, as they were never his concern. I’d made it clear from the start that, when our sons were older, each would receive a flat from me. He agreed and that was that—the matter seemed settled. Then suddenly, Anthony said, “My son will finish sixth form shortly. He’s nearly grown up and needs to think about his future now! Your children have flats—but my son doesn’t! Let’s buy my son a flat with a mortgage!” I was stunned and full of questions. First off, I asked why our mutual children suddenly became just “my” children. But Anthony asked me not to split hairs. “But my son will never inherit anything. I just want him to have a place of his own!” “That’s very thoughtful,” I replied. “But your son has both a father and a mother—surely it’s up to both of you to see to that. Why isn’t his mum involved?” Anthony told me his ex doesn’t earn much, so her parents always help out. He can’t cover a mortgage on his own—but if I get involved, everything will work out. Apparently, I was just expected to agree to Anthony getting a mortgage to buy his son a flat—in his son’s name—while we would both be responsible for paying it off. “We both earn good salaries and have the rental income—we’ll manage just fine!” Anthony insisted. But this would require scrimping and saving substantially. Anthony still pays child support, and when his son goes to university, he’ll help out again, as his son’s mum can’t afford to. It turned out that, for the sake of Anthony’s son, my kids and I would have to forego holidays and weekends at the seaside, and pinch every penny—all so Anthony can appear to be the perfect dad! I could understand if Anthony had provided the flats for our children and now wanted to do the same for his eldest. But those properties come from me—Anthony had nothing to do with them. Why should I pay a mortgage for his son? I told Anthony right away, if he’s worried about his son’s housing, his ex-wife should get a mortgage—with the repayments coming out of his maintenance payments. I made it clear I wouldn’t be involved. Now, Anthony is furious with me and hasn’t spoken to me for a week. It’s a shame he can’t see my point of view.

Oh, Girl, Don’t Waste Your Greetings on Him – He Won’t Marry You When Vera lost her mother just after turning sixteen, her father had vanished years ago chasing city work and never returned, no word or money. The whole village turned out for her mother’s funeral, each offering help as they could. Her godmother, Aunt Maria, checked in often, showing Vera the ropes of daily life. After finishing school, they found Vera work at the post office in the neighboring village. Vera was sturdy, healthy—a true country girl, rosy-cheeked, round-faced, with a bold potato nose but brilliant grey eyes, and a thick blond braid down her back. Hands-down the most handsome fellow in the village was Nicholas. Back from two years in the army, he was swarmed by girls—village and city vacationers alike. He could’ve starred in Hollywood films, not just driven a truck in the countryside, and he certainly wasn’t planning to settle down anytime soon. One day Aunt Maria asked Nicholas to help Vera fix her weaving fence, which was falling over—life was hard for single women in the village. Vera could manage the garden but couldn’t tackle the house alone. Nicholas agreed without fuss, arriving to inspect and quickly issuing orders: “fetch this, bring that.” Vera did as he asked, cheeks growing redder, braid swinging. When he tired, she fed him rich borscht and strong tea, silently watching him bite into dark bread with white, healthy teeth. Nicholas worked on the fence for three days, and on the fourth, he came for a visit. Vera gave him dinner, and as talk spun on, he ended up staying the night. Soon he became a regular, always leaving before sunrise to dodge prying eyes—but in a village, nothing stays secret for long. “Oh, girl, don’t waste your greetings on him—he won’t marry you. If he does, you’ll suffer. When the city beauties return in summer, what’ll you do? Eat your heart out with jealousy. You need a different kind of man,” Aunt Maria warned. But who ever listened to old wisdom when young and in love? Vera soon realized she was expecting. She thought she was ill at first—then the truth hit hard: she was having Nicholas’s child. Despair tempted her to get rid of it; she felt too young. Yet she remembered her mother’s strength and decided she could do it, even alone. At least she wouldn’t be totally by herself. Her own father hadn’t been much help either—always drinking. People would gossip, but they’d eventually move on. Spring came, Vera shed her winter coat, and the whole village noticed her swelling belly. Nicholas came by to check what she planned to do. “What else? I’ll have the baby. Don’t worry, I’ll raise him myself. Go on living your life,” she said, tending the fire, her cheeks and eyes aglow with its light. Nicholas admired her but left—she’d made her decision. He was like water off a duck’s back. Summer drew in, city girls arrived, and Nicholas’s attention strayed elsewhere. Vera carried on quietly, minding her garden, Aunt Maria helping when she could—being pregnant made everything harder. They predicted a strong baby. “Whoever God gives me,” Vera joked. One morning in September, fierce pain woke her. She rushed to Aunt Maria, who instantly understood—labour had begun. They scrambled to get Nicholas, who’d been drinking the night before. Realizing the hospital was ten miles away, Nicholas insisted on driving her immediately, even if it meant taking the truck over pothole-ridden roads. Aunt Maria rode in the back. Vera wriggled in pain beside Nicholas, who gripped the steering wheel, face drawn with worry. They made it in time. Nicholas and Aunt Maria left her at the hospital, scolded along the way for leaving a young woman alone and with child. By the next morning, Vera held a healthy baby boy. Unsure how to handle him, she followed every instruction, heart trembling with happiness and fear. “Will someone pick you up before discharge?” the stern doctor asked. “Unlikely,” she shrugged. The nurse bundled up her son in a hospital blanket for the journey home, scolding her for the bare means she had. Fedor, the hospital driver, took them as far as he could—floods had made the last two miles impossible by car. Vera climbed out, cradling her son, trudging through ankle-deep mud, losing a shoe along the way, until she reached the village in near-darkness. Inside, she found a cot, a pram, new baby clothes—all ready. At the table, Nicholas slept, his head in his arms. Seeing Vera—disheveled, muddy, holding their baby—he rushed to help, took the child, washed her feet, and set out food. When the baby cried, Vera fed him unashamedly as Nicholas asked, “What did you name him?” “Sergio. Do you mind?” she replied. Nicholas’s heart ached at her sorrow and love. “Good name. Tomorrow we’ll register the boy and get married.” “That’s not necessary…” Vera started. “My son needs a father. I’ve had my fun—done playing the bachelor. I can’t say what sort of husband I’ll be, but I won’t abandon my son.” Vera nodded quietly. Two years later, they welcomed a daughter, Nadia, named after Vera’s mother. It doesn’t matter what mistakes you make at the start of life—what counts is that you can always set things right… That’s how life goes. Share your thoughts in the comments and give us a like!