I Came to Visit Because I Missed You, But My Grown Children Feel Like Strangers Now

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 5 minViews 1

June 14th

I travelled for a visit, longing to see you, but children are like strangers now.

Parents always worry about their children. Sometimes, we end up disappointed with them once theyre grown. Such are the grown-up daughters in my story.

A Mothers Tale

Margaret raised three children. Theyre all grown up now, living lives of their own. Her eldest, Michael, has a family and a steady job in Australia. During the holidays, he sends pictures and postcards over. Margaret keeps these tucked away in a drawer, returning to them fondly every now and then.

We miss you terribly, son. Perhaps you could come and visit one day? At least we could finally meet our grandchildren and your wife, she always writes to him.

Her middle daughter, Catherine, married a man in the Army. They move about quite a bit, raising a daughter somewhere in the south. Every so often, they stop by for a brief visit. Margarets husband, Edward, holds their son-in-law in high regard. He always says Catherine chose well.

The youngest, Alice, isnt married anymore. She had a husband and a son, but her husband left. Taking her mothers advice, Alice moved to London searching for something better. She found work at a garment factory and took her son with her to start fresh.

Margaret decided to visit Alice this summer.

Will you manage for a week without me? she asked Edward. I want to see Alice and check how they’re faring.

Edward saw her off at the station. It wasnt easy for Margaret to cart her heavy bags, but she was determined to make Alice happy. Hours passed in that second-class compartment, but the thought of her daughter kept her going. Three years had somehow flown by since they last saw one another.

When she rang Alice from the station, her daughter sounded flustered. Mum, why didnt you call ahead? Im at work, and I can only collect you this evening.

Im sorry, love. I wanted it to be a surprise! Margaret replied.

Are you sure youll be all right waiting? Alice asked.

Yes, dont worry, Margaret insisted.

Eventually, though, she decided to make her own way there.

Her grandson answered the door. Tall and reserved, he looked so much like Edward did in his youth.

Hello, my dear boy! Margaret said, hugging him close.

He wriggled free. All right, Gran.

She looked around, a bit taken aback. Why didnt you come for me earlier?

I had to tidy the flat and set the table for you. I came home early from work just to cook. I made beetroot soup and fried some chops.

Margarets phone chimed. It was Edward, fretful as ever, asking if shed arrived safely. She reassured him that she was well, someone had helped her with her luggage, and now she was having dinner at Alices.

When Alice brought out the soup, she asked, Will you have one chop or two? Margaret, tired and absolutely ravenous, could have managed three, but she only said, Just lay them out, love, and Ill see.

Eventually, Alice placed five chops on a dish. That was the extent of the special welcome for her mother. Margaret assumed they were struggling a bit and silently decided to help. Yet as they ate, Alice asked straight out, So, when are you planning to head back?

Margarets heart ached. She answered, a little coolly, that if she was in the way, she could leave tomorrow.

The next day, Margaret found herself alone in the flat. Evening came, and everyone shut themselves off in their rooms. Later, her grandson popped over to a neighbours, while Alice went out with some friends. Margaret sat, unwelcome and bored, the whole evening.

Feeling unneeded, she began packing her things. Then she overheard her grandson whisper, Whens Uncle Mike coming? Werent we going to the match?

As soon as Grans gone, Alice replied plainly.

Crushed, Margaret hurriedly zipped her suitcase and left. She said no farewells. How glad Edward was to have her home; hed missed her every moment she was gone. Despite all the warmth and care wed showered on our children over the years, it turned out they didnt really need us anymore.

Today I learnt that love and effort dont guarantee your children will return that closeness. Sometimes, the nest is empty long before the children ever leave.

“Dad, please don’t come to visit us anymore! Every time you leave, Mum starts crying and doesn’t stop until morning. I ask her, ‘Mum, are you crying because of Dad?’ but she always says it’s just a sniffle. But I’m old enough to know that sniffles don’t sound like tears. Dad sat with me at a café, stirring his cold coffee while my ice cream—an absolute masterpiece—remained untouched. Any six-year-old girl would be excited, but not me. I had decided, even last Friday, it was time for a serious talk with Dad. He was silent for ages before saying, ‘So what should we do, sweetheart? Not see each other at all? How will I manage?’ I wrinkled my nose—just like Mum’s—and said, ‘No, Dad. I can’t be without you either. Here’s what we’ll do: call Mum and tell her you’ll pick me up from nursery every Friday. We’ll cafe if you want, and you can tell me all about your and Mum’s week. If you ever want to see Mum, I’ll take her picture every week and show you. Deal?’ Dad smiled and nodded. We agreed. I felt relieved and finally had my ice cream, but I wasn’t done yet. With chocolate moustaches, I turned serious and said, ‘I think you need to get married… You’re not that old!’ He chuckled at my generous fib. ‘Not that old, not that old!’ I insisted, ‘Mum’s friend, Uncle Steve, who’s been round twice, is actually quite bald right here.’ I touched my head and suddenly realised I’d let out Mum’s secret. Dad’s reaction was intense—‘Who’s this Steve? Mum’s boss?’ I shrugged. ‘Maybe. He brings sweets. And cake. And flowers for Mum.’ Dad stared at his hands, deciding something important. I waited, realising men need a gentle nudge from a woman—especially one they love. Finally, Dad sighed, raised his head, and spoke with tragedy and love, though I didn’t know about Romeo or Othello, I understood people suffer and find joy over tiny things. ‘Let’s go home. I want to talk to Mum.’ I knew this was important. I quickly finished my ice cream, wiped my lips, sniffled, and looked seriously at Dad: ‘I’m ready. Let’s go.’ We didn’t walk—we half ran. Dad took my hand, and I fluttered behind like a bright little flag. When we reached our building, the lift was just leaving. Dad scooped me up and raced up the stairs. At last, when Mum opened the door after Dad’s anxious ringing, he got right to the point: ‘You can’t do this! Who is Steve? I love you. We have Oly…’ Still holding me, Dad hugged Mum. I wrapped my arms around both their necks and closed my eyes because the grownups were kissing… Sometimes, in life, it only takes a loving little girl to bring two stubborn adults back together—because she loved them both, and they loved her, and each other, but let their pride get in the way… Share your thoughts in the comments below and give us a like if you enjoyed this story!

00

The most heartbreaking thing that happened to me in 2025 was discovering that my husband was having an affair—and that my brother, my cousin, and my father all knew about it the entire time. We had been married for eleven years. The woman my husband was involved with worked as a secretary at the company where my brother works. Their affair began after my brother introduced her to my husband. It wasn’t a coincidence. They encountered each other at various workplaces, meetings, business events, and social gatherings that my husband attended. My cousin met them in the same circles as well. They all knew each other. They all saw each other often. For months, my husband continued to live with me as if nothing was wrong. I attended family gatherings, talked with my brother, my cousin, and my father—never knowing that all three were aware of his affair behind my back. No one warned me. No one said a word. No one even tried to prepare me for what was happening. When I found out about the infidelity in October, I first confronted my husband. He confirmed the affair. Then I talked to my brother. I asked him directly if he knew. He said “yes.” I asked since when. He answered: “for several months.” I asked why he hadn’t told me. He said it wasn’t his problem, that it was an issue between a couple, and that “men don’t talk about things like this to each other.” Next, I talked to my cousin. I asked him the same questions. He knew as well. He said he’d seen the behaviour, the messages, and the signs that made everything clear. When I asked why he hadn’t warned me, he said he didn’t want to cause trouble and didn’t have the right to interfere in someone else’s relationship. Finally, I talked to my father. I asked if he knew too. He said “yes.” I asked since when. He said, for a long time. I asked why he hadn’t said anything. He answered that he didn’t want conflict, that these matters should be resolved between spouses, and that he wouldn’t get involved. In reality, all three gave me the same answer. Afterwards, I moved out of the house, and now it’s listed for sale. There were no public scenes or physical confrontations, because I won’t lower myself for anyone. The woman continued to work at my brother’s company, and both he, my cousin, and my father maintained normal relations with my husband and her. For Christmas and New Year’s, my mother invited me to celebrate at her house, with my brother, cousin, and father in attendance. I told her I couldn’t come. I explained that I couldn’t sit at the table with people who had known about the affair and chosen to keep quiet. They celebrated together. I was absent from both occasions. Since October, I haven’t had contact with any of the three men. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive them.

06

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.

07

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…

05

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.

04

“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.

03

📌 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

I Came to Visit Because I Missed You, But My Grown Children Feel Like Strangers Now