A Promise Denis steered the car calmly and confidently along the highway, his friend Kirill riding shotgun as they headed back home after a two-day business trip to a nearby city. Their boss had sent them to clinch a major deal. “Kir, we really nailed it! Signed a huge contract, the boss will be thrilled,” Denis grinned. “Absolutely, mate, we’re lucky,” Kirill agreed. They were close friends and colleagues from the same London office. “It’s great to head home when someone’s waiting for you,” Denis said thoughtfully. “My Arisha is pregnant and struggling with morning sickness. I feel for her—but we wished for this baby so much, she’s determined to endure it all for our little one.” “Having a child is wonderful. Marinka and I haven’t had much luck, she can’t carry a pregnancy. We’re preparing for our second round of IVF, the first failed,” Kirill confided. He and Marina had been married for seven years, desperately hoping for a child. Denis had married late, at thirty-two. He’d had relationships, but none swept him off his feet—until he met Arina. From then on, no one else existed for him. When Denis introduced Kirill to Arina and later invited him to be his best man at their wedding, Kirill couldn’t help but envy his friend’s luck. Arina was beautiful and gentle—anyone would fall hard for a woman like her. Outside, a fine October rain spattered the windscreen, the wipers flicked occasionally as the friends chatted. Suddenly, Denis’s phone rang—it was Arina. “Hello, Arisha, yes, we’re on our way, should be home in about two hours. How are you? Still the same? Don’t lift anything heavy, I’ll do everything once I’m home. Kisses, see you soon, love.” Kirill listened and pictured Arina waiting anxiously. He thought, “Marina isn’t like that, she never worries about me. She always thinks I’m just devoted—work, home, everything tidy. So different from Arisha.” Suddenly, Denis swerved—their car headed straight toward a delivery van, collision was imminent. At the last second, Denis veered into a lamp post on his side, sending them off the road. Kirill came to, head throbbing, blood on his arm. The car was upright, door open on his side. Denis wasn’t moving. Bystanders rushed over, cars stopped on the shoulder. Kirill found himself lying on wet grass, waiting for an ambulance. Denis was pulled from the wreck and put on a stretcher. Kirill bent over him—Denis whispered weakly: “Look after Arisha…” They were rushed to hospital. Kirill had a fractured arm and concussion, but was conscious, continually asking about Denis. Hours later, a nurse delivered the news: “Denis passed away…” Kirill was devastated, unable to attend the funeral. Marina told him how Arina sobbed, unable to accept her husband was gone, barely able to stand by his coffin. After hospital, Kirill and Marina visited Denis’s grave. Standing silently, Kirill made a promise: “Don’t worry, my friend—I’ll look after your wife, just as you asked…” A few days later, he visited Arina. She broke down in tears. “How can I live without him? I just can’t accept Denis is gone.” “Arisha, I promised Denis I’d help you. We’ll get through this together. Call me whenever you need, and I’ll come by.” Time passed. Arina slowly steadied herself, terrified that her grief would affect her pregnancy. Doctors warned her. Kirill visited twice a week, brought groceries, vitamins, sometimes drove her to the clinic. Arina never took advantage—she reached out only when she really needed help. “Kirill, I hate to take up your time…” “It’s fine, I promised Denis.” Kirill had conflicted feelings. Arina was the type of woman he’d always dreamed of, but felt thrown by the situation. While Arina endured her struggles, Kirill and Marina continued their journey through IVF—more tests, charts, disappointment. Childlessness was their ever-present pain. Marina didn’t know her husband was helping Arina. He kept Arina in his phone under “Charity”—knowing Marina might check who was calling. A second failed IVF attempt put their marriage under strain. Marina blamed Kirill, while he simply felt lost. She noticed his unusual behaviour—distracted, irritable, leaving often. Infidelity seemed unlikely; their bond, physically at least, hadn’t faded. Work was the only area thriving for Kirill. He took charge of the project he’d started with Denis, securing a successful contract. As Arina’s pregnancy advanced, she grew more vulnerable. Her parents lived far away, up in Newcastle. In London, she had no family. She suffered headaches, swollen ankles—but rarely complained. Once, Kirill arrived to find Arina climbing a step ladder to hang new curtains. “I’ve just cleaned the windows—hanging up fresh curtains,” she said cheerfully. “Get down, Arina,” he said sternly, eyeing her bump. “If you fall, the baby’s at risk!” He helped her down, finding himself trembling with concern. “Thanks, Kir,” but she dashed off to the bathroom, sick again. Kirill wiped sweat from his brow, thinking, “Does Denis see from wherever he is now? Well, this is what he asked for.” Next, Arina asked: “Denis, could you help me set up the nursery? I found some lovely wallpaper for it.” Kirill took charge of the nursery renovations, refusing to let the pregnant Arina exert herself. They worked together—or rather, she encouraged him while he did the heavy lifting. Renovation finished, Kirill felt torn: his wife depressed over infertility, while Arina was nearing her due date. Marina realised she needed to save their marriage, threw herself into her writing. Soon, a prominent magazine asked her to write a column. Delighted, she landed a generous fee, bringing home luxury groceries and wine to celebrate. “Wow, what’s the occasion?” Kirill asked, returning from work. “I got paid well—they finally gave me a contract!” Their favourite film played on TV as they sipped wine and enjoyed the spread. Suddenly, Kirill’s phone rang—Marina peered over his shoulder and saw “Charity” on the screen. He hurried to the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” Kirill asked quietly. “Kir, sorry, I think I’m about to have the baby… I called an ambulance,” Arina said. “But it’s too early?” “Seven months—it’s possible,” she grimaced with pain. “I’ll come to the hospital.” He quickly dressed while Marina looked on anxiously. “Are you leaving?” “Yes,” he muttered, inventing a story as he dashed out. “Who was that?” “The boss called late, needs to discuss charity work—I’ll explain later. Please, trust me.” But Marina wasn’t fooled. “Charity work at this hour? Boss calling? He’s lying to me.” Kirill raced to the hospital. Arina was already admitted. After two tense hours, a nurse informed him: Arina had given birth to a son. Relieved, Kirill returned home exhausted. Marina was wide awake, her eyes sharp. “So, your ‘Charity’ wore you out tonight?” she asked sarcastically. Kirill sank onto the sofa, replying honestly: “Yes, Marina. Arina just gave birth to a son. I promised Denis I’d help her. She’s all alone.” “I see. The puzzle pieces fit,” said Marina quietly. “Next step, you’ll help Arina with her baby, right?” “Yes,” Kirill replied sincerely. “Well, you know me—I won’t tolerate this. Not spending your time on someone else’s child—especially since we can’t have one and likely never will. So I’ll file for divorce. Maybe I’ll still meet a man and have my own.” Kirill looked at her in surprise, realising she blamed him for their childlessness. “That’s your choice, Marina. I won’t make excuses. I have to help Arina and her son.” Time passed. Marina filed for divorce. Kirill moved in with Arina, caring for little Daniel. Eventually, they married—and two years later, welcomed a daughter. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and supporting. Wishing you all the best in life!

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 9 min

A Promise

David steered the car smoothly along the motorway, his friend Chris sitting beside him. They were on their way back from a neighbouring city, having spent two days away for a business trip sent by their boss.

“Chris, mate, we absolutely nailed it everything sorted and a contract signed for a huge sum! The boss will be chuffed,” David beamed, glancing over.

“Couldn’t agree more. We’ve had a stroke of luck, didn’t we?” Chris replied, the pair working together at the same office.

“Its grand coming home when someones waiting for you,” David went on. “My Annas pregnant and suffering with awful morning sickness. I feel for her, but we really wanted this baby. She told me shell put up with anything for our child.”

Chris sighed. “Its brilliant, having a baby. As for me and Emily things just havent worked. She cant seem to carry a pregnancy to term. Were gearing up for the second IVF try; the first one didnt go well,” he shared. Chris and Emily had been married seven years, yearning for a family, but things kept slipping away.

David was a late groom, marrying at thirty-two. Hed had plenty of girlfriends but never lost his head over any of them. Meeting Anna changed that entirely; he fell for her so deeply that no one else existed.

David had introduced Anna to Chris, and Chris was there on their wedding day as the best man. Secretly, Chris envied his mate; Anna was beautiful, gentle, the sort that captures your heart instantly.

A fine autumn drizzle tapped at the windscreen as the wipers swept now and then. The friends chatted cheerfully. Then Davids phone rang. He answered.

“Hello, Anna! Yes, love, were driving. Well be home in a couple of hours. How are you? Still poorly? Dont you dare lift anything; Ill sort it all when I get back. Love you, see you soon.”

Chris listened and imagined Anna waiting anxiously for David. He thought, “Emily never calls, never worries. She thinks Im completely devoted to her. Shes nothing like Anna everything with her is about work and home.”

Suddenly, David jerked the steering wheel a van shot towards them. The crash was inevitable; at the last moment, they hit a lamp post on Davids side and careened off the road. Chris came to, head aching, blood trickling from his hand. The car was upright, but his door had flung open. He looked at David; he was motionless.

Strangers rushed over as cars pulled onto the hard shoulder. Chris lay on the wet grass, dazed, waiting for the ambulance. Medics pulled David from the car and laid him on a stretcher. Chris bent down just as David whispered faintly:

“Help Anna”

They were rushed to hospital; Chris had a broken arm and a bad concussion, but he was conscious. He kept asking the nurses:

“Hows Dave? Hows my friend?”

Eventually, a nurse told him:

“David didnt make it”

Grief overwhelmed Chris. He couldnt attend the funeral. Emily visited, later telling him that Davids wife was inconsolable, barely able to stand beside the coffin.

After being discharged, Chris went with Emily to the cemetery, standing for ages by his friends grave, silently promising:

“Dont worry, mate. Ill look after your wife, like you asked.”

A couple of days later, he drove over to Annas flat and rang the bell. Opening the door, she burst into tears.

“How am I supposed to live without him? I just cant believe Daves really gone.”

“Anna, I promised your husband Id help you. Well manage together. Just call anytime, Ill drop by whenever you need help.”

Time passed. Anna gradually pulled herself together, though fears of losing the baby haunted her. The doctor had warned her to be careful. Chris visited twice a week, bringing groceries, buying vitamins, giving her lifts to the surgery and wherever she needed. Anna wasnt one to take advantage, only asking for help when truly needed.

“Chris, I hate bothering you. Youre spending so much time on me.”

“Its no trouble. I made a promise to Dave.”

His feelings towards Anna were tangled. She was the woman hed always dreamed of, but the situation left him unsettled.

Meanwhile, Chris and Emily went through yet another round of tests and appointments, just more charts and pain. Childlessness was a wound theyd grown accustomed to. Emily had no idea about Chris helping Anna; hed never explained. In his mobile, Anna was listed as Charity, knowing his wife might get suspicious.

After their second failed IVF, new tension seeped into Chris and Emilys relationship. She blamed him; Chris, in turn, gave up caring.

Emily noticed changes: Chris was distracted, irritable, often disappearing for errands. The thought of an affair felt unlikely, though; things were still solid in that department.

Chris realised not all was well at home, but work was thriving. He returned to the project he and David had started, saw it through, and their firm landed an excellent contract.

As Annas pregnancy advanced, she became increasingly fragile. Her parents lived far away in northern England, and she had no family nearby. Pains and swelling plagued her, but she soldiered on, rarely complaining to Chris.

One day, Chris came by with groceries and found her on a stepladder, putting up new curtains.

“I just cleaned the window,” she said cheerily, “Im hanging up some fresh curtains.”

“Get down this instant!” he ordered, spotting her swollen belly. “If you fall, its no joke you could hurt the baby.”

He helped her down carefully. They stood close; Chris felt a tremor shoot through him.

“Thank you, Chris,” she said, hurrying to the bathroom as sickness returned.

Chris wiped sweat from his brow, wondering silently, “Does David see us from wherever he is now? Well, he did ask me to help…”

Soon after, Anna asked, “Would you help me set up the nursery? I wont have time later. I saw some nice wallpaper today.”

Chris couldnt let a pregnant woman handle renovations alone. They worked together, or rather, Anna lent a hand and cheered him on. The nursery was soon ready. Chris felt caught between two fires: his depressed wife, brooding over childlessness again, and Anna, nearing her due date.

Emily sensed their marriage needed saving, poured herself into her career. She wrote articles for magazines, and one well-known publication invited her to do a regular column. Thrilled, she threw herself into it, earning a tidy sum. She came home happy, arms loaded with tasty food and a couple of bottles of wine.

“Ooh, whats all this? Are we celebrating?” Chris asked, arriving home from work.

“Yes, I landed a big job! Time for a little party. Ive waited ages for this contract,” Emily announced.

She laid out snacks, popped the wine on the coffee table. Their favourite film played on TV as they sipped their drinks.

Suddenly, Chriss phone rang. Emily peeked at the screen Charity. Chris hurried to the kitchen.

“Whats happened?” he asked quietly.

“Sorry Chris, but I think Im in labour Ive already called the ambulance.”

“But its so early!”

“Seven months. It does happen,” she managed, barely hiding her pain.

“Alright, Ill come to the hospital.”

He threw on his coat. Emily frowned with worry.

“Where are you off to?”

“Boss called me unexpectedly its charity business, urgent talk. Ill explain later Just trust me.”

But Emily was sceptical.

“What charity, what boss? Chris is spinning me a tale,” she thought.

Chris dashed out, jumped into his car, and raced to the hospital. He learned Anna had arrived. Two anxious hours later, a nurse told him Anna had given birth to a baby boy. He breathed in relief, exhausted.

Back home, Emily was still awake, staring critically at her drained husband.

“Your charity has left you wiped out,” she quipped.

Chris slumped onto the sofa, coat still on.

“Yes, Emily Annas just had a baby boy. I promised David Id help her. Shes completely alone,” he said honestly.

Emilys eyes widened, her voice bitterly quiet.

“Now it makes sense The next step is you helping Anna with her newborn, isnt it?”

“Thats right,” Chris replied, candid.

“Well then you know me, I wont stand for this. If youre going to spend your time on someone elses child, especially since we have none and probably never will Ill file for divorce. Maybe Ill meet someone else and finally have a baby.”

Chris looked stunned. He realised Emily still blamed him for their lack of children.

“Your choice, Emily. Im not going to argue. I have to help Anna and her child.”

Time passed. Emily filed for divorce. Chris moved in with Anna, supporting her and baby Daniel. Soon after, they married, and two years later, a daughter joined their family.

Life teaches us that promises made in love and friendship can shape our future in ways we never expect. True kindness may be tested by hardship, yet keeping your word can bring new beginnings reminding us that where one door closes, another can open, filled with hope.

“A Good Woman—What Would We Do Without Her? —And You’re Only Paying Her Two Thousand a Month. —Helen, We Put the Flat in Her Name Nikolai got out of bed and slowly made his way to the next room. In the glow of the night light, he peered at his wife with ageing, blurry eyes. He sat beside her, listened. ‘Seems everything’s fine.’ Standing up, he wandered to the kitchen, opened the milk, popped to the bathroom, and then returned to his own room. He lay down but couldn’t sleep. ‘Helen and I, both ninety years old. How long have we lived? Soon it’ll be our time, and there’s no one left nearby. Our daughters, Natalie passed before sixty. Max as well. He drank… There’s our granddaughter, Oksana, but she’s lived in Poland for twenty years now. She doesn’t remember her grandparents, probably has grown children herself…’ He didn’t notice when he fell asleep. He awoke to the touch of a hand. ‘Nikolai, are you alright?’—a faint voice. He opened his eyes. His wife was leaning over him. ‘Helen?’ ‘Just checking—you’re lying so still.’ ‘Still alive! Go to sleep!’ Shuffling steps echoed. The kitchen switch clicked. Helen went for a glass of water, visited the bathroom, then returned to her own room. Lay on her bed: ‘One morning I’ll wake up, and he’ll be gone. What’ll I do then? Or maybe I’ll go first. Nikolai’s already arranged our funeral. Never thought you could plan such a thing in advance, but maybe it’s for the best. Who else would do it? Our granddaughter’s forgotten us. Only our neighbour, Janet, pops by. She’s the only one with a key to our flat. Grandpa gives her a bit from our pension each month. She buys groceries and the things we need. Where else would we spend our money? And we don’t go out from the fourth floor ourselves any more. Nikolai opened his eyes. Sunlight peeped through the window. He went onto the balcony, saw the fresh green leaves of the bird cherry tree. A smile broke across his face. ‘We’ve made it to summer!’ He went to check on his wife. She was sitting thoughtfully on the bed. ‘Helen, enough sadness! Come, let me show you something.’ ‘Oh, I have no strength left!’ she wearily stood. ‘What are you up to?’ ‘Come on, come on!’ Supporting her carefully, he led her to the balcony. ‘Look—it’s all grown green! And you said we wouldn’t make it to summer. But we did!’ ‘Oh, and the sun’s shining too.’ They sat on the bench on the balcony. ‘Remember how I first took you to the cinema? We were still in school. The bird cherry was green that day too.’ ‘How could I forget? How many years has it been?’ ‘Seventy odd… seventy-five.’ They sat a long while, remembering their youth. So much slips away with age, sometimes even yesterday—but youth you never forget. ‘Oh, we’ve been nattering on!’ she eventually stood. ‘And we haven’t had breakfast.’ ‘Helen, do make a proper tea! Tired of all these herbs.’ ‘But we’re not supposed.’ ‘Just a little, and one spoon of sugar.’ Nikolai sipped the weak tea with a tiny cheese sandwich, remembering the days when breakfast meant strong, sweet tea with pastries or pancakes. Their neighbour came in, smiled warmly. ‘How are you both?’ ‘What business can ninety-year-olds have?’ the old man joked. ‘If you’re still joking, you must be alright. Need me to buy anything?’ ‘Janet, get us some meat!’ asked Nikolai. ‘You’re not meant to have it.’ ‘Chicken will do.’ ‘Alright. I’ll make you noodle soup!’ She tidied the table and went. ‘Helen, shall we sit on the balcony and enjoy the sun?’ her husband suggested. ‘Let’s!’ Janet brought over some porridge, started the soup for lunch. ‘She’s a good woman,’ he said as Janet left. ‘What would we do without her?’ ‘And you only pay her two thousand a month.’ ‘Helen, we’ve left her the flat.’ ‘She doesn’t know that.’ They stayed out on the balcony until lunch. For lunch was chicken noodle soup, tasty with chunks of meat and soft potatoes. ‘I always made this for Natalie and Max when they were young,’ Helen recalled. ‘And now, in our old age, it’s strangers cooking for us,’ sighed her husband. ‘Maybe that’s our fate, Nikolai. Once we’re gone, there’ll be no one to even shed a tear.’ ‘Alright now, Helen, no more gloom. Let’s rest a while!’ ‘They say: “Old folk and children are much the same.” Soft soup, nap time, afternoon snack—the lot.’ Nikolai dozed for a bit, then got up, unable to sleep. Maybe the weather was changing. He went to the kitchen. On the table were two glasses of juice—Janet’s doing. He carried them carefully to his wife’s room. She was looking pensively out the window. ‘What’s wrong, Helen?’ he smiled. ‘Some juice?’ She took a sip. ‘Can’t sleep either?’ ‘Must be the weather.’ ‘Been feeling off since morning,’ she sighed. ‘I can sense there’s not much time left for me. Bury me kindly, won’t you.’ ‘Don’t talk like that, Helen. How would I live without you?’ ‘One of us will go first, no matter what.’ ‘Enough! Let’s go to the balcony!’ They stayed there until evening. Janet made cheese pancakes. They ate, then watched TV. Always before bed. They preferred old comedies and cartoons now—new ones didn’t make much sense. This time, just one cartoon. Helen got up: ‘I’m off to bed. I’m tired.’ ‘I’ll go too.’ ‘Let me have a good look at you!’ she said suddenly. ‘Why?’ ‘Just let me…’ They looked at each other for a long time. Maybe thinking of their youth, when everything was still ahead. ‘I’ll walk you to your bed,’ Helen offered. She took her husband’s arm and together they moved slowly away. He tucked her in, then went to his own room. Something weighed heavy on his heart. He couldn’t sleep for ages. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all, but the clock showed it was 2am. He got up and went to his wife’s room. She was lying there, eyes open. ‘Helen!’ He took her hand. ‘Helen, what’s wrong? He-len!’ Suddenly, he struggled to breathe. He made it to his room, fetched the prepared documents, placed them on the table. Returned to his wife, gazed at her face. Then he lay beside her and closed his eyes. He saw his Helen, young and beautiful, as she was seventy-five years ago. She was walking towards a distant light. He hurried after her, caught her hand. In the morning, Janet entered their bedroom. They were lying side by side, identical happy smiles still on their faces. Finally, Janet called the ambulance. The doctor shook his head in surprise. ‘Gone together. Must have loved each other very much…’ They were taken away. Janet sat down, exhausted, then noticed the documents and the will made out in her name. She lowered her head onto her arms and wept… Leave a like and share your thoughts in the comments!

A Stranger at the Door Ever since school, Alan had been hopelessly in love with Jane. He wrote her secret notes and tried every trick to get her attention. But Jane only had eyes for Daniel—the tall, blonde volleyball star on her team. Awkward Alan, who struggled in class, didn’t even register on her radar. Soon, Daniel started dating Helen, a girl from the next class over. After graduation, Alan made another attempt to win Jane’s heart. He even proposed at the prom… But Jane flatly refused—“No!”—not even considering him as a suitor. After university, Jane took a job as an accountant. Her boss was a handsome, dark-haired man, ten years her senior. Jane admired his professionalism, his striking looks, and his intelligence. Feelings blossomed between them, and Jane didn’t mind that her beloved was married with a young son. Valentine assured her again and again that he would leave his wife, swearing he loved only Jane. Years passed, and Jane became used to spending holidays and weekends alone, always believing that someday, her love would finally be free. But one day, she saw Valentine with his pregnant wife at a shop. He was tenderly holding her hand, carrying the bags, before all three left for their car. Jane watched with tears in her eyes. The very next day, she resigned… New Year’s was approaching, but Jane had no interest in buying groceries, decorating the house, or celebrating. Then, one day she came home to find it freezing—the boiler had stopped working. Jane lived in a detached house. She tried finding a repairman, but everyone wanted extra money to travel out to the suburbs, especially so close to New Year’s. Feeling hopeless, Jane called her friend. Her husband worked in plumbing and might be able to help. Larissa promised to call him straight away. Two hours later, someone rang the doorbell. A stranger stood on the doorstep—but as Jane looked closer, she recognised Alan, her childhood classmate. “Hey Jane, what’s gone wrong here?” “How did you know?” “My boss called—said someone at this address was freezing. Did you drain the water so the pipes didn’t burst?” “No, I have no idea how.” He laughed. “You could lose your heating for good like that. Good thing it’s not a deep freeze outside.” Alan quickly drained the system, fiddled with the boiler, and drove off. Within an hour, he was back with the right parts. Soon Jane’s house was warm again. After cleaning up, Alan asked: “Jane, your tap leaks and the lightbulb’s flickering… can’t your husband fix it?” “I don’t have a husband…” “Really? Still waiting for Mr Right?” “Hardly… there’s no one,” Jane confessed. “Then why’d you say no to me?” Alan grinned. She didn’t answer. After fixing the tap and changing the bulb, Alan left for home. Jane found herself remembering her childhood—the chubby boy who’d loved her all those years ago. Alan had changed a lot, grown tall and lean with warm brown eyes, but his smile was just the same. She hadn’t even thought to ask if he was married. Then, on December 31st, someone rang the door again. Jane was surprised—she wasn’t expecting any guests. Standing there was Alan, wearing a new suit and holding a bouquet of flowers. “Jane! Let me ask you again. Will you marry me, or are you going to wait for Prince Charming till you’re a pensioner?” Jane wept tears of joy and nodded. The second time around, she finally said “yes”…

Ashamed to Take You to the Banquet – Denis Barely Looked Up from His Phone. – Normal People Will Be There. Twelve Years of Marriage, Two Kids, and Now He’s Embarrassed. — I’ll Wear the Black Dress. The One You Bought Me. — It’s Not About the Dress, – He Finally Looked at Her. – It’s You. You’ve Let Yourself Go. Hair, Face… You Just Aren’t the Same. Vadim and His Wife Will Be There – She’s a Stylist. You Get It. — Then I Won’t Go. — Smart Choice. I’ll Say You’ve Got a Temperature. He Headed for the Shower, Leaving Nadia Still Standing in the Kitchen. Kids Sleeping Next Door, Bills, Mortgage, School Meetings. She’d Disappeared Into This Life, and Now Her Husband Was Ashamed of Her. ‘Has He Completely Lost It?’ – Her Friend Helen the Hairdresser Looked at Nadia Like She’d Announced the End of the World. ‘Ashamed to Take His Wife to a Banquet? Who Does He Think He Is?’ ‘Warehouse Manager. Got a Promotion.’ ‘Now His Wife’s Not Good Enough?’ Helen Slammed the Kettle On. – ‘Remember What You Did Before the Kids?’ ‘I Was a Teacher.’ ‘Not Work – I Mean Your Beaded Jewellery. I Still Have the Blue Stone Necklace. People Always Ask About It.’ Nadia Remembered. Jewellery on Evenings, Back When Denis Still Noticed Her. ‘That Was Ages Ago.’ ‘If You Did It Before, You Can Again. When’s the Banquet?’ ‘Saturday.’ ‘Perfect. Tomorrow Come See Me – I’ll Do Your Hair and Makeup. We’ll Call Olivia – She Has Dresses. Get Out Your Jewellery.’ ‘But He Said—’ ‘Forget What He Said. You’re Going. He’ll Be Shaking in His Boots.’ Olivia Brought a Plum Dress with Bare Shoulders. They Spent Ages Fitting It. ‘You’ll Need Special Jewellery with This Colour,’ Olivia Spun Around. ‘No Silver, No Gold.’ Nadia Opened an Old Box. There It Was – a Handmade Necklace and Earrings in Blue Goldstone, Created Years Ago for an Occasion That Never Happened. ‘This Is a Masterpiece,’ Olivia Whispered. ‘You Did This?’ ‘I Did.’ Helen Styled Loose Waves and Simple, Elegant Makeup. Nadia Dressed, Fastened Her Jewellery, and Felt the Stones on Her Neck – Cool and Significant. ‘Go Look,’ Olivia Nudged Her. Nadia Saw Not the Woman of Twelve Years Doing Floors and Soups – But Herself. The Woman She’d Been. At the Riverside Restaurant, Late As Intended, Conversations Fell Silent. Denis by the Bar Laughed—until He Saw Her. His Face Froze. She Walked Past and Sat at the Far Table, Back Straight, Hands Calm in Her Lap. ‘Excuse Me, Is This Seat Taken?’ A Man in His Mid-Forties, Grey Suit, Intelligent Eyes. ‘It’s Free.’ ‘Owen. Partner of Vadim in Bakeries. And You?’ ‘Nadia. Warehouse Manager’s Wife.’ He Looked from Her Face to Her Jewellery. ‘Goldstone? Handmade, Surely. My Mother Collected Stones – Rare Piece.’ ‘I Made It.’ ‘Really?’ Owen Leaned Closer. ‘That’s Quality. Do You Sell Them?’ ‘No. I’m…a Housewife.’ ‘Strange. With Hands Like That, You’re Wasted at Home.’ He Spent the Evening with Her – Talking Stones, Creativity, and Losing Ourselves in Daily Routines. Dancing, Sparkling Drinks, Laughter. Nadia Noticed Denis Watching from Across the Room, Face Darkening. As She Left, Owen Walked Her to the Car. ‘If You Ever Get Back to Jewellery-Making – Call Me,’ Handing Over His Card. ‘I Know People Who Value Work Like Yours.’ At Home, Denis Lasted Five Minutes. ‘What Did You Think You Were Doing? The Whole Evening with Owen! Everyone Noticed. My Wife Throwing Herself at Another Man!’ ‘I Wasn’t Throwing. I Was Talking.’ ‘Talking! You Danced Three Times! Vadim Asked What Was Going On. I Was So Ashamed!’ ‘You’re Always Ashamed,’ Nadia Kicked off Her Shoes. ‘Ashamed to Take Me Out, Ashamed When People Look at Me. What Are You Never Ashamed Of?’ ‘Shut Up! You Think Throwing on a Dress Makes You Someone? You’re Nothing. A Housewife on My Wages, Pretending to Be a Princess.’ Once, She’d Have Cried. Gone to Bed. But Something Snapped, or Slotted Into Place. ‘Weak Men Fear Strong Women,’ She Said Quietly. ‘You’re Insecure, Denis. Scared I’ll See How Small You Are.’ ‘Get Out.’ ‘I’m Filing for Divorce.’ He Was Silent. For the First Time, His Eyes Held Confusion, Not Anger. ‘Where Will You Go with Two Kids? You Can’t Live on Beads.’ ‘I’ll Manage.’ In the Morning, She Rang Owen. He Didn’t Rush. They Met in Cafés, Discussing Business. He Knew a Gallery Owner. People Wanted Real Handcrafted Pieces. ‘You’re Talented, Nadia. Talent and Taste Are Rare.’ She Worked Nights. Goldstone, Jasper, Carnelian. Owen Took Her Pieces to the Gallery – They Sold Out. Orders Kept Coming. ‘Does Denis Know?’ ‘He Barely Speaks to Me.’ ‘And the Divorce?’ ‘Found a Lawyer. It’s Moving Forward.’ Owen Helped Quietly. Gave Contacts. Helped Her Find a Flat. When Nadia Packed Her Bags, Denis Laughed at the Door. ‘You’ll Be Back in a Week – Begging.’ She Closed the Case and Walked Out. Six Months. Two Bedrooms on the Edge of Town, Kids, Work. Gallery Offered Her an Exhibition. Nadia Started a Social Media Page for Her Designs – Followers Grew. Owen Visited, Brought Books for the Kids, Checked In. Gently, Never Pushing. ‘Mum, Do You Like Him?’ Svetlana Asked One Night. ‘I Do.’ ‘We Like Him Too. He Doesn’t Shout.’ A Year Later, Owen Proposed. No Big Kneeling, No Roses – Just over Dinner. ‘I Want the Three of You to Be with Me.’ Nadia Was Ready. Two Years Passed. Denis, Now a Labourer After Vadim Sacked Him for How He’d Treated Nadia, Walked the Shopping Center in a Worn Jacket, Burdened by Debt and Loneliness. He Saw Them Outside a Jewellery Store – Nadia in a Pale Coat, Hair Styled, Blue Goldstone at Her Neck. Owen Held Her Hand. The Kids Laughed. Denis Watched as They Got Into Their Car—Owen Opened Nadia’s Door. She Smiled. Then Denis Looked at His Own Reflection—Grey Face, Empty Eyes. He Had Lost a Queen. And She’d Learned to Live Without Him. That Was His Greatest Punishment: Realising Too Late What He’d Had… Thank you, dear readers, for your thoughtful comments and likes!