I’m 41, and I live in the house that once belonged to my grandparents. After they passed away, my mum stayed here, and when she too was gone, the home became mine. It’s always been a quiet, orderly, peaceful place. I work all day and come home alone. I never imagined that routine could be shattered by a decision I made “just to help.” Two years ago, a distant cousin called me in tears. She was splitting up, had a young son, and nowhere else to go. She asked if she could stay for “a few months” while she sorted things out. I agreed—she was family, and I didn’t think it would affect me. At first, she took one room, chipped in a little for bills, left early for work. Her son stayed with a neighbour. No trouble. After three months she left her job. She said it was temporary, that she was looking for something better. She started staying home all day. Her son no longer went to the neighbour, he stayed here. The house began to change—there were toys everywhere, noise, unexpected visitors. I’d come home tired to find strangers sitting in my living room. When I asked her to let me know in advance, she told me I was overreacting, that “it’s her home too now.” Gradually she stopped contributing to expenses. First she said she couldn’t, then that she’d catch up. I started paying for everything—utilities, food, repairs. One day I came home and found she’d rearranged the furniture “to make it cosier”—without asking. When I objected, she took offence, calling me cold and saying I don’t understand what family living is. Things got worse when she started inviting over her ex—the very man she said she was escaping. He’d stay overnight, use the shower, eat here. One day I found him coming out of my room because he’d “borrowed a jacket” without asking. That’s when I told her it couldn’t continue, that there had to be boundaries. She cried, shouted, reminded me I’d taken her in when she had nothing. Six months ago, I tried to set a date for her to move out. She said she couldn’t—no money, her child’s school was nearby, how could I kick her out? I feel trapped. My home doesn’t feel like mine. I slip in quietly to avoid waking the child, eat in my room to steer clear of arguments, and spend more time out than in. I still live here, but it no longer feels like home. She acts as if the house is hers. I pay for everything, and am called selfish whenever I ask for order. I’m desperate for advice.

Author Walton MerrittReading 4 min

Im forty-one, and the house I live in has been in my family for generationsit once belonged to my grandparents. After they passed, my mother stayed on, and when she too was gone, the home came to me. It was always a quiet, tidy, and peaceful place. I work long hours and come home to an empty house. Never did I imagine that all this order would be shattered by a decision I made out of kindness.

Two years ago, a distant cousin of mine, Abigail, rang me in tears. She was splitting with her partner, had a young son, and nowhere to turn. She asked if she could stay with me just for a few months, until she got on her feet. Of course, I agreedshe was family, and I thought it would hardly affect me. At first, things seemed fine. Abigail took one of the rooms, chipped in a little with bills, and was out early for work most days. Her boy would be looked after by a neighbour. No trouble at all.

After three months, Abigail left her job. She insisted it was only temporary, that she was looking for something better. She began spending all day at home, her son now staying in instead of going to the neighbour’s. The house changed: toys everywhere, noise, unexpected visitors. I would come back after another exhausting day only to find strangers perched in my living room. When I asked Abigail to give me a bit of notice, she dismissed me, saying I was overreacting and that this is her home now too.

Bit by bit, she stopped helping out financially. First it was because she couldnt afford it, then she promised shed make up for it later. I ended up paying for everythingbills, food, even repairs. Then one day I came home to find the furniture rearranged. I wanted it to feel a bit homier, she said, not having thought to ask me first. When I objected, she took offence and told me I was cold, and that I didnt know what it meant to live as a family.

Things got worse when she began inviting her ex-partner over. The very man she claimed she was running from. Hed show up late at night, spend the night, use the bathroom, eat with us. One day I caught him coming out of my bedroomhed just grabbed a jacket without asking. That was the last straw; I told Abigail I couldnt live like this, that we needed boundaries. She broke down, crying, shouting that I was the only one who took her in when she had nothing.

Six months ago, I tried to set a firm date for her to move out. Abigail told me she couldntno money, her sons school was nearby, how could I possibly throw her out? I feel trapped. This place doesnt feel like mine anymore. I sneak in at night, careful not to wake her boy, eat meals alone in my room to avoid arguments, spending more time outside than in my own house.

I live here still, but it doesnt feel like home. Abigail acts as though it belongs to her. I pay for everything, yet Im branded selfish when I ask for some order. I need advicewhat am I supposed to do?

Mum, Please Smile Arina never liked it when the neighbours came over and asked her mother to sing a song. “Anna, sing us a tune, your voice is lovely and you dance so well,” they’d say. Her mother would begin singing, the neighbours would join in, and sometimes they’d all dance together in the courtyard. Back then, Arina lived with her parents and her younger brother, Tony, in their own house in an English village. Her mother was cheerful and welcoming, and when the neighbours left, she’d say, “Come again sometime, it was lovely to spend time together,” and they’d promise they would. But Arina couldn’t explain why she felt embarrassed when her mother sang and danced. She was in Year 5 at the village school when she finally said, “Mum, please don’t sing and dance… I get embarrassed,” though she didn’t quite understand why herself. Even now, as a grown woman and a mother herself, Arina can’t explain what she felt. But Anna replied, “Arina, darling, don’t be ashamed when I sing—be happy! I won’t always sing and dance, not when I’m older…” But back then, Arina didn’t think about how life isn’t always joyful. When she was in Year 6, and her brother was in Year 2, their father left. He packed his bags and left forever. Arina never knew the reason. As a teenager, she asked, “Mum, why did Dad leave us?” “You’ll know when you’re older,” her mother replied. Anna couldn’t bear to tell her daughter that she’d caught her husband at home with another woman, Vera, who lived nearby. Arina and Tony were at school, but Anna came home early after forgetting her purse. Surprised to find the door unlocked at eleven in the morning, she walked in and saw the devastating scene in their bedroom. Her husband and Vera stared at her, as if she was the intruder. There was a terrible row that evening. Anna packed his things and told him, “Go. I will never forgive your betrayal.” Ivan tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen. “You have my things and my final answer,” she said, and left for the garden. Ivan took his things and left while Anna watched discreetly from around the corner, too hurt to face him again. “We’ll survive somehow,” she thought, as tears streamed down her face. “But I’ll never forgive.” And she didn’t. Anna was left alone to raise two children and soon realised how hard it would be. She took two jobs—cleaning by day and working nights at the local bakery. Exhausted, her smile slowly vanished. Though her father lived only four houses down with Vera, Arina and Tony still saw him. Vera had a son Tony’s age, who was in the same class as him. Anna never forbade her children from seeing their father; they’d play together, but always ate at home as Vera never fed them. Sometimes, even Vera’s son would come to their house, to the neighbours’ surprise. Anna would feed them all; she didn’t resent her ex-husband’s stepson. But from then on, Arina never saw her mother smile. Anna was kind and caring, but closed in on herself. Sometimes, Arina would come home from school wanting her mum to talk to her. She’d offer up stories from her day, like, “Mum, imagine, today Genka brought a kitten to class, it started meowing during lessons, and even the teacher couldn’t work out who it was. We told her it was in his bag, and she sent both Genka and the kitten home, calling his mum to school.” To this, her mum could only reply, “Right… I see…” Her laughter had gone. But Arina often heard her crying softly at night. It was only when she was older that Arina understood her mother’s tiredness. “She worked two jobs, staying up at night; she must’ve been exhausted and probably lacked vitamins. She always made sure Tony and I were well-dressed and our clothes were clean and ironed,” Arina later recalled. Back then, she’d often beg, “Mum, please smile—I haven’t seen your smile for so long.” Anna loved her children in her own way. She didn’t often hug them, but would praise them for good grades and never causing trouble. She cooked well, and their home was always tidy. Arina felt her mother’s love especially when she braided her hair. Anna would stroke her daughter’s head, always with that sad gentleness. She lost her teeth early, but never replaced them. After school, Arina didn’t even consider going off to university—she didn’t want to leave her mum alone, knowing it would cost money. She got a job in the village shop nearby, helping support her mum as Tony grew up fast and needed new clothes and shoes. One day, a new customer came in—a man named Michael, from a neighbouring village eight miles away. He smiled and said, “What’s your name, beautiful? You’re new here, I haven’t seen you before when I’ve passed through.” “I’m Arina, and I haven’t seen you either.” He introduced himself, and soon started visiting often, picking Arina up after work for long walks or a spin in his car. Once, he even brought her to his own home. He lived with his mother, who was in poor health; his wife had left him and taken their daughter to town, not wanting to care for his mum. He had a big farm and a good house, and always treated Arina to delicious meals—cream, meat, sweets. She liked his home and soon, he asked her to marry him. “I’ll be honest—you’ll need to look after Mum, but I’ll help.” Arina agreed, happy inside, but didn’t show too much. Looking after his sick mother wouldn’t be a problem. Michael was nervous, but delighted when she accepted. After their wedding, Arina moved to Michael’s village. Tony was grown up, away learning to be a mechanic. Arina and Michael soon had two sons in quick succession. She was busy at home—after his mum died, the farm still needed constant work. Michael never let her do the heavy lifting, always saying, “You leave that to me—just milk the cows and feed the chickens; I’ll see to the pigs.” He was a loving husband and great with the children. Though Arina had never lived on a big farm before, she knew how to do everything, and Michael was generous, often saying, “Arina, let’s take some meat and cream and milk to your mum—she has to buy everything, while we’ve got it all fresh and homemade.” Anna would accept with thanks, but never smiled. Even when surrounded by her grandchildren, she remained solemn. Arina often wondered how to help bring her mother back to life. “Arina, maybe you should talk to Father Joseph at church, he might have some advice” Michael suggested, and Arina took the idea to heart. The priest promised to pray for Anna and told Arina to ask God to bring a good person into her mother’s life. One day, Anna asked her daughter, “Could you lend me some money? I want to get my teeth done.” Arina was overjoyed—anything to help her mum smile again. She gave her the money, though Anna insisted she’d repay it. They caught up by phone as Michael was busy helping his Uncle Colin, who’d just bought a nearby house and moved in after things didn’t work out with his wife. Uncle Colin invited Michael and Arina to visit—they were surprised to meet his new partner: Anna, Arina’s mum. Anna blushed but was smiling. She looked younger, happier, completely changed. “Mum! I’m so happy… why didn’t you say anything?” “I didn’t want to tell you in case it didn’t work out.” “Uncle Colin, why didn’t you tell us?” “I was afraid Anna might change her mind. But now we’re happy.” Michael and Arina were thrilled that Anna and Colin had found each other. Anna was transformed—beaming and always smiling now. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and for your support. Wishing you all the best in life.

Mum, Please Smile Arina never liked it when the neighbours came round and asked her mum to sing. “Go on, Ann, sing us a song – you’ve such a beautiful voice, and you’re such a good dancer too!” her mum would start singing, the neighbours would join in, and sometimes everyone would be dancing together out in the yard. At the time, Arina lived with her parents and her younger brother Anthony (Antoshka) in their own home in a quiet English village. Her mother was cheerful and friendly, and when the neighbours said goodbye, she’d always say, “Come round again, we had such a lovely time,” and they promised they would. But Arina felt uncomfortable when her mother sang and danced – it embarrassed her, though she couldn’t quite say why, even to herself. She was in Year 6 then, and one day she blurted out: “Mum, please don’t sing or dance… I feel embarrassed.” She didn’t even really understand why. Even now, as an adult and a mum herself, she still couldn’t explain it. But Ann had only smiled and said, “Arina, you shouldn’t be embarrassed when I sing. Be happy! I won’t always be young enough to sing and dance like this…” At the time, Arina didn’t understand. She didn’t realise that not all of life would be full of laughter. The next year, when Arina was in Year 7 and her brother in Year 3, their dad left for good. He packed up and walked out with no explanation. Arina didn’t know why, and when she was a bit older she finally asked her mum, “Mum, why did Dad leave?” Ann could only reply, “You’ll understand when you’re older.” Ann just couldn’t bring herself to tell her daughter that she’d found her husband at home with another woman, Vera, who lived nearby. Arina and Anthony were at school when, running home to fetch her purse, Ann unexpectedly walked in on them. Her husband and Vera just looked at her, surprised and grinning, as if to say, “What are you doing here?” That evening, when her husband returned from work, there was a scene – the children were playing outside and heard nothing. “Pack your things, I’ve already put them in a bag, and go. I’ll never forgive you for betraying me,” Ann told him. Ivan tried to talk his way out, but she wouldn’t listen. He left, and Ann, watching from behind the corner of the house, swore she’d never forgive him. She told herself, “We’ll get by, just me and the children.” But she never smiled again. Raising two children alone was harder than she ever imagined. Ann worked two jobs: cleaning floors by day, baking bread at night. She hardly slept, and the smile faded from her face. Though the children still saw their father – after all, he and Vera lived just a few doors down – they always came home for meals, because Vera never welcomed or fed them. Still, sometimes Vera’s son, Anthony’s classmate, would come home with them, and Ann would feed all the children. She never held a grudge against her husband’s stepson. But Arina never saw her mother smile again. Ann was kind and caring, but so withdrawn. Sometimes Arina would come home from school desperate for her mum’s attention, telling her stories about her day: “Mum, you’ll never believe it! Genny brought a kitten to school and it meowed all through lessons!” But Ann would only reply, “Oh, I see…” Nothing seemed to lift her spirits, and at night Arina would hear her crying by the window, lost in thought. Only years later did Arina understand. “Mum must have been exhausted, working two jobs and never sleeping. And she must have been lacking in vitamins too. But she did everything she could for me and Anthony. We were always well dressed, our clothes ironed and clean.” The daughter would recall. Back then, little Arina just longed for one thing: “Mum, please smile. It’s been such a long time since I saw you happy…” Ann loved her children deeply, though sometimes she showed it in quiet ways – she rarely hugged them, but praised them for doing well at school and never causing trouble. She cooked wonderful meals, the house was always neat and tidy. Arina felt her mother’s love most when she braided her hair. Sitting in silence, Ann would gently stroke her daughter’s head, shoulders slumping with sadness. Her teeth fell out early, and she never had them replaced. After finishing school, Arina never considered going to university – she couldn’t leave her mum alone, knowing they had no money for studies. So she took a job at a nearby shop to help at home, especially as Anthony needed new clothes and shoes as he grew. One day, Mikhail came into the shop. He was from another village, nine years older, and quickly fell for Arina. “What’s your name, beautiful? Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before when I stopped by.” “I’m Arina – I haven’t seen you before, either.” “I’m Mikhail – from the next village over, about five miles away.” They started seeing each other; he picked her up after work, brought her home to meet his mum, and they soon talked about marriage. After all, he had a big house and needed help caring for his ailing mother. Arina agreed – it meant good food and a kind man – and so she said yes. After the wedding, Arina moved in with Mikhail. She felt ready for a new start. Anthony had grown up and was off at college, coming home for weekends and holidays. Time passed, and Arina truly found happiness with Mikhail. They raised two boys, one after the other, and she kept busy at home with the boys and the house (Mikhail’s mother passed away after two years). Mikhail worked hard and forbade her from lifting anything heavy – he took care of the heavy work himself, wanting only for her to take care of the animals and children. Every now and then, Mikhail would load up the car with meat, cream, and milk to bring to Arina’s mum, Ann, who still lived alone in their old village home. Ann accepted the gifts with gratitude, but never smiled. Even around her grandchildren, she remained solemn and thoughtful, and Arina’s heart ached for her mum, wishing she could bring her back to life. Once, prompted by Mikhail, Arina asked the vicar at the village church for help. “Pray to God,” he urged, “that your mum will meet someone kind.” And Arina prayed for just that. One day, Ann called needing to borrow money to fix her teeth. Overjoyed, Arina gave her the money gladly, but Ann insisted it was a loan and promised to repay her. Not long after, when Arina wasn’t able to visit for a while, Mikhail came home and said, “It looks like Uncle Nick wants to remarry! I overheard him on the phone – who do you think with?” Sure enough, soon Uncle Nick invited them both round. “I’ve found my first love – we went to school together. She’s moving in tomorrow – come for dinner the next day!” The next day, Arina and Mikhail arrived with gifts – and Arina nearly fainted with shock. Before her stood her mum, Ann, looking radiant, smiling at last. Ann blushed when she saw her daughter, but her smile never faded. “Mum! I’m so happy… but why didn’t you tell me?” “I didn’t want to say anything in case it didn’t work out.” “Uncle Nick, why didn’t you say anything?” “I was afraid Ann would change her mind. But now we’re both happy!” Arina and Mikhail were overjoyed to see Ann’s happiness. From that day on, Ann glowed with contentment – and smiled all the time. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and all your support. Wishing you happiness always.