Poor Innocent Lamb “Hello, Mum and Dad!” Dasha breezed into the house one weekend. “I’m getting married! Romka proposed, and I said yes right away.” “Goodness, Dasha, our little girl is all grown up!” Lidia exclaimed, glancing at her husband. Stepan sat there, looking solemn and silent, clearly digesting his daughter’s news. “Of course, Mum, what did you expect? I finished college, got a job in the city, and Romka’s working too. We just decided it was time to get married.” Dasha’s parents knew Romka, the city lad who lived with his mother, Maya, in a nearby town. He was polite, calm—an ideal son-in-law, as far as they were concerned. Lidia and Stepan took wedding plans into their own hands—after all, they had their farm in the countryside, and although Romas had saved a little, Stepan insisted, “You save those pennies for a flat, son. We’ll pay for the wedding, and maybe your mum will chip in too.” Romka’s mum, Maya, refused right away: “I haven’t got any money. Raised my son on my own, lived off just my wage. Maybe I can get a little present, that’s all.” Lidia didn’t judge her co-mother-in-law, but she felt uneasy about Maya from the start. The wedding was quiet and simple, celebrated at a modest café in the city. Soon after, Dasha and Romka bought a flat on a mortgage, with Dasha’s parents covering the down payment; Maya couldn’t help, claiming debts galore. Now settled in their own place, Dasha and Romka soon welcomed a baby girl, Masha. Lidia and Stepan sent gifts from every pension, brought milk and vegetables from the farm, and delivered hearty country produce to help their daughter’s new family. Sometimes, Lidia would call up Maya and suggest, “Let’s chip in together for a nice present for the granddaughter—kids need so much these days!” But Maya always had the same teary answer: “Oh, Lida, I have no money—just scraping by here on my own.” For Dasha’s birthday, her parents hauled carrots, meat, and potatoes from the village. Maya gave a measly ten pounds, but Lidia and Stepan added fifty to the pot. Lidia never begrudged anything, but couldn’t shake her resentment that Maya didn’t pull her weight. “Stepan, why are we always bending over backwards for our children, while your precious co-mother does nothing but cry and play helpless? Everyone’s struggling these days, but you have to work, not just moan! Look at her—she’s always well-dressed, manicured, neat as a pin. She claims she’s broke, but somehow finds money for all her beauty treatments.” Stepan surprised her: “Well, good for her, that she takes care of herself. That’s why she looks so good for her age.” The remark made Lidia furious. “Of course she has time! No farm work, no animals, no garden like we have. I’m running myself ragged while she sits pretty in town. Maybe I’ll start spending my days in beauty salons and leave you with the chores!” Stepan never argued, knowing his wife’s character after so many years. Life went on as usual: Lidia juggled the farm, Stepan worked as a driver, and Maya went on looking glamorous. When little Masha turned three and fell ill in nursery, it was agreed: Maya would babysit her granddaughter. “I’m retired anyway—why not?” Maya accepted. At last, Lidia felt some satisfaction. “Thank goodness, she’s doing something for the family.” But soon, Stepan started making more frequent trips to the town centre. “Lid, pack up some sour cream, eggs, potatoes. I’ll bring them to Dasha—need to pick up some bits for work, and I’ll check on Masha too.” Lidia packed the food gladly. “It’s so expensive in the city; at least we can help.” Stepan’s trips got longer and more frequent. At first Lidia thought nothing of it, but then suspicion grew. “Dear God, is my Stepan sweet on Maya? Something’s not right…” She decided to test him. Next time he was packing up for town, Lidia announced, “I’ll come with you, Stepan. Miss my granddaughter, and I need to do some shopping.” He looked rattled, but could only nod. On the drive, his mood soured. When they arrived, Maya answered the door in a loosely tied dressing gown, made up and smiling—until she saw both of them. Her smile vanished. “Oh—come in,” she mumbled, tightening her robe. They played with Masha, exchanged gifts, then when Masha drifted off, Maya offered tea and Lidia watched the glances flying between Stepan and Maya. “So that’s how it is,” thought Lidia. “Right in front of me—they aren’t even hiding it anymore.” When Stepan went out for a cigarette, Lidia seized her chance. “Listen, Maya—stop playing the poor, innocent lamb. I see what you’re doing with Stepan. If you want a husband, find your own. But leave mine alone! If you don’t stop, I’ll come babysit Masha myself and you’ll be out. Stop the flirting—have some shame!” Maya flushed bright red; she’d never guessed the “simple” country wife would catch on so fast. As they left, Lidia added, “Don’t ever mistake me for a silly country bumpkin.” On the way home, Lidia told Stepan exactly how things would be: “You’re not going to the city alone anymore. If I have to, I’ll look after Masha myself. You’ll be left here with the livestock and vegetables. Don’t test me—I mean it.” That evening, Dasha called in uproar: “Mum, why did you upset Maya? She’s been a huge help with Masha, and now you’re jealous of Dad visiting! He’s just seeing his granddaughter.” Lidia seethed. “Dasha, you’re too young to understand, but think about how you’d feel if your husband spent hours at your friend’s flat behind your back. Maya’s old enough to know better. Stop befriending a woman who entertains another woman’s husband so brazenly. And remember, your father and I do everything for you—and most of that is thanks to me. If your mother-in-law won’t help with Masha, I’ll come myself.” “Oh Mum, I’m sorry—I only heard her side; she twisted it all, made out it was your fault.” “No surprise there—I told her straight. She thought I wouldn’t catch on? She nearly fainted at the table.” After that, Stepan kept Lidia in the loop about any trip to the city—often taking her along, unprompted. And together, they found time for themselves, for Masha, and even for Lidia’s own self-care. “A man’s less likely to stray if he’s busy and appreciates his wife,” Lidia mused. “And I deserve to look after myself too—why should Maya have all the fun?” Thank you for reading, subscribing, and your support. Wishing you all the best!

Poor Little Lamb

Saturday morning, Rosie burst into the house with that fierce energy she always had. Mum, Dad, guess what! Im getting married. Tom proposed and I said yes, immediately!

Oh Rosie, darling, youve grown up so quickly, Margaret gasped, hands in the air as she glanced at her husband. David sat there, serious and silent, clearly digesting the news.

Of course I have. I finished college, already have a job in Oxford, and Toms got steady work too. It just makes sense now.

Tom, the city boy, was well known to us. He lived with his mum, Joyce, in the county town. He was always polite and steady, just the sort youd hope your daughter would bring home. We were not opposed to having him as a son-in-law.

Margaret and I offered to arrange the wedding. Living in the countryside, we had our own bit of land and some savings put aside. Tom had managed to save a small sum himself, but I told him straight, Tom, best hang onto your money you both will need it when its time for your own place. The wedding, Margaret and I will take care of. Perhaps your mum can help a little.

Joyce was quick to pipe up, Im afraid I havent much raised Tom on my own, lived off a single wage, you know. Maybe I could get something small for the gifts.

Neither of us judged her for that, but Margaret grew wary of her from that point. We had a modest celebration at a local café, not too grand, but cheerful and full of love.

Soon enough, our young couple wanted to buy a flat, so we all pitched in for the deposit again, mostly from our side. Joyce said she was still buried under debts.

When little Mary was born, Margaret and I would bring bits from the garden with every pension cheque milk, cream, vegetables. We visited often, just to help out.

Every once in a while, Margaret rang Joyce, Shall we club together and get Mary a nice present? The little one grows quickly, always needs something.

Oh, Margaret, Ive no money, Joyce would reply, sometimes even dabbing her eyes, You know what its like, being on your own.

When Rosies birthday arrived, we made the trip with home reared beef, potatoes, carrots. Joyce handed over a crisp twenty pound note; Margaret frowned. We threw in another hundred. Margaret never grumbled about money or what we brought for the family, but something always nagged her about Joyces lack of generosity.

David, why is it always us putting ourselves out, while Joyce does nothing but moan about her lot? Everyone struggles, but you get on with it! Would you have liked a wife who just sat about and wept that the world was unfair, while you did all the work? Ive always pulled my weight, shed say, venting while I nodded quietly, not one for arguments.

Margaret couldnt help but notice Joyce always had her hair just so, flawless nails, her clothes in neat order. Where was the money for that coming from, Margaret would fume, when she swore she was skint?

What truly caught Margaret off guard was my own response. Well, isnt it good when a woman takes care of herself? Joyce looks younger than her years. Fair play.

That sent Margaret into a rage. Of course its easy for her all the time in the world, no chickens to feed, no veg patch to weed! Were up at dawn till dusk me more than you. Maybe I should start looking after myself too, and leave you to milk the cows and mend the fences. But we both know you wouldnt bother much.

I always listened, never fought back. Years together had taught me that Margaret, for all her fire, would soon let it drop. So things stayed the same. I did my bit, but Margaret ran the house, and I drove the lorry for a living.

When Mary turned three and started nursery, she fell ill often. It was decided Joyce would look after her until she got stronger.

Im happy to, Joyce agreed easily, Im retired, after all.

Margaret could finally breathe a sigh of relief. At last Joyce is finally pitching in, she declared.

Time passed, and I began finding reasons to drive up to Oxford more regularly. Margaret, pop some eggs, cream, and potatoes in a bag Ill drop them at Rosies while Im in town for the garage, Id say, pleased to help the kids.

For Margaret, it meant relief shed say, Everythings so dear in the shops, at least what we send is fresh.

Lately, my visits took a bit longer. Margaret didnt clock it at first; Id always fixed the car in the city, picked up bits from the supermarket. But now I lingered more after dropping things off, staying with Rosie, Tom, and little Mary.

Eventually the penny dropped for Margaret: Oh Lord, Davids got his eye on Joyce I just know it! Must see whats going on, time to nip this in the bud

So next trip, I was loading up the car when Margaret announced, Im coming with you this time. I miss Mary. And I need a few things from the city. She looked me square in the eye; I just nodded, at a bit of a loss.

On the road, I grew noticeably glum.

Why so down in the dumps? she asked.

Oh, just a bit of a headache I mumbled.

When we buzzed Rosies flat, Joyce opened still tying her housecoat, her face dolled up, beaming until she spied Margaret by my side. The smile vanished. She hastily wrapped her dressing gown tighter.

We played with Mary, who showed off her new toys. After she nodded off, Joyce offered tea; we brought cake and apples. At the table, Margaret watched as Joyce threw sly glances my way and saw me return them.

Oh, they dont even hide it! Margaret seethed quietly. Carrying on right in front of me! But she played along, keeping her thoughts to herself.

David soon slipped out, Im popping outside for a smoke.

Left with Joyce, Margaret didnt mince words.

Dont play the poor, innocent lamb with me. I know whats going on between you and my David. Its not just about Mary, is it? Stop batting your lashes at my husband. If you want a man, get married yourself and leave mine alone. Have some decency you cant be carrying on with your sons father-in-law!

Joyce flushed scarlet, thrown off by Margarets bluntness. Shed written her off as a daft countrywoman, too busy with cows and carrots to notice a thing. Now shed been well and truly caught out.

As we left, Margaret gave her parting shot, Dont take me for a fool, Joyce.

On the way home, Margaret let me have it: Youre not going there alone anymore. Im on to you, and that poor little lamb wont be pulling the wool over your eyes, not again.

I tried to explain, Margaret, youve got it wrong, theres nothing between us, I swear.

Well, lets keep it that way. From now on, if the little one needs minding, Ill come myself. And you can mind the farm, see how you like it. I mean it.

That evening, Rosie called up, agitated.

Mum, why did you upset Joyce? Shes helping with Mary and Im grateful. Why get jealous over Dad? Hes only visiting his granddaughter.

Margaret was livid. Joyce was clearly twisting things, setting Rosie against her.

Rosie, youre young yet, and there are things you dont see. How would you feel if your husband spent hours at your friends flat behind your back? Joyce knows better its not on. And you remember, your fathers always had his hands full, but everything youve got from us has been my doing as much as his. If Joyce refuses to watch Mary now, Ill come myself.

Mum, I understand now, sorry. Joyce told it her way, she was upset with you

Of course she was, I told her the truth straight to her face. She thought shed fooled me. Not a chance.

Since then, Davids been on his best behaviour. Whenever he goes to Oxford, he tells me, and often suggests I come along. I’m glad to see Mary more frequently. Even David now helps around the house and insists I take time to rest, working the vegetable patch together.

After all, a mans best kept busy gives him no time for mischief, and makes him appreciate his wife. Now, I even find time to look after myself: hair, nails, the lot. Why should Joyce have all the fun?

If lifes taught me one thing, it’s this: never take your loved ones for granted and dont let anyone mistake your kindness for foolishness.