Women’s Fates: Marianne After Granny Agnes Passed Away, Marianne Felt Utterly Lost. Her Mother-in-Law Saw Her as a Misfit—Too Thin, Too Feeble, Not Hardworking Enough, and Unlikely to Bear Children. Marianne Endured the Scorn, Finding Solace Only in Her Beloved Granny, Who Had Been Like a Mother and Father in One After Tragedy Struck Her Family. Dan, Strong, Handsome, With a House Full of Plenty, Fell Head Over Heels for This Orphaned Pauper, To His Mother Audrey’s Disgust. No Matter How Hard Marianne Tried—Working Tirelessly, Obeying Every Order—She Could Never Please Her. Things Were Bearable When Dan Was Home, But When He Left for Business, Audrey’s Cruelty Knew No Bounds. “Endure, My Dear,” The Old Granny Had Urged, “In Time, Things Will Soften,” But Now Her Confidante Was Gone, While Dan’s Mother Grew Ever More Hostile, Bitter That Her Son Had Not Chosen the Sturdy, Well-Connected Bride She Preferred. Dan, Inheriting His Father’s Stubbornness, Often Stood Up for His Wife, Fiercely Protective and Deeply in Love, Blinded by Her Gentle Beauty. Marianne Had Heard of Her Mother-in-Law’s Tempers and Greed But Was Soothed by Dan’s Loyalty. She Weathered Every Humiliation, Seeking Comfort at Her Granny’s Knee When She Could Bear No More, The Old Woman’s Fingers Stroking Her Hair and Whispered Prayers Easing Her Heart. But Now There Was No One Left. Marianne Was Utterly Alone. Contrary to What People Say, Time Doesn’t Heal—Instead, The Ache Deepened, Memories Bringing New Tears. In Dan’s House, Tensions Rose: Audrey Called Marianne a Useless Scrounger for Failing to Produce an Heir. The Whole Village Whispered That Dan’s Line Would Die With Him. Still, Dan’s Love Gave Marianne Strength—Until, At Last, Her Prayers Were Answered and She Fell Pregnant. Audrey Turned Even More Vicious, Taunting Her For Resting, For Every Perceived Failure, Even as Marianne Struggled with Exhaustion and Tears. When Her Frail Son, Benjamin, Was Born, Audrey’s Cruel Remarks Cut Deep: She Blamed Mother and Child for Their Weakness, Hardly Believing Marianne’s Protests That This Sickly Boy Was Her Precious Grandson, Dan’s Heir. The Infant’s Struggles Brought Even Greater Despair. Whenever Dan Returned Home, He Tried to Lift Her Spirits—But Soon Work Took Him Far Away. With Dan Gone, Audrey’s Reign Became Unbearable: She Forced Marianne to Labour Day and Night, While The Sick Baby Grew Weaker. At Last, Fearing Audrey’s Poisonous Words Might Be True—That Dan Would Be Better Off Without Her—Marianne Decided She Could Suffer No More. With Nowhere To Go, She Fled, Wrapping Benjamin In Scarves And Setting Out Into The Cold Dark Night. In A Distant Village, A Kindly Woman Named Alice Took Them In And Led Marianne To Her Mother, The Old Healer Grace, Who Lived Deep In The Woods. Grace Explained That Benjamin’s Illness Was The Result Of Grief—Marianne Had Visited Her Grandmother’s Grave Too Often While Pregnant, Picking Up A Clinging Sorrow That Now Threatened Her Son’s Life. Grace Promised Healing, Tending To Benjamin With Ancient Remedies Until He Grew Rosy And Strong. Meanwhile, Back in Dan’s Village, Audrey Spun Tragic Tales: She Claimed The Baby Had Died And That Marianne, Maddened By Grief, Had Vanished. Dan, Returning To An Empty Home, Was Consumed By Grief And Blame. As The Years Passed, He Withdrew Ever Further, Shrouded In Sorrow, While Audrey Wasted Away With Guilt, Dying Without Confessing Her Cruelties. Alone And Lost, Dan Resolved To Join His Family In Death, Wandering Toward The Marshes, Until He Heard Marianne’s Voice Calling Him Back From The Brink. Reunited In The Woods, Dan Discovered His Wife And Son Alive And Well, Healing In A Village Where Kindness Had Replaced Cruelty. Grateful For Second Chances And Determined Never To Return To The House Haunted By Their Sorrows, Marianne, Dan, And Benjamin Began A New Life Together, With Alice And Grace As Their True Family. As The Forgotten Brambles Grew Over Audrey’s Grave, No One Remembered The Woman Whose Jealousy Had Brought Such Misfortune—A Lost Soul, Unmourned And Alone, While Love And Hope Bloomed Anew In The Hearts Of Those She Had Tried To Destroy.

Author Walton MerrittReading 20 minViews 2

Womens Fates. Mary-Anne

When Granny Agnes passed away, a deep sadness consumed Mary-Anne. She never seemed to fit into the household, at least in her mother-in-law Ediths eyes. Too thin, not hard-working enough, and whos to say if such a scatterbrained girl will ever give you grandchildren.

Mary-Anne always bore it in silence, but when things got unbearable, shed run to her dear old granny. Granny Agnes was everything to herher father lost to the war, her mother taken by tuberculosis ten years later.

How George ever took notice of an orphan like her, only God knows. He was handsome and strong, his fathers house the pride of the county, and yethe fell for a penniless girl with neither kith nor kin. For Edith, Georges mother, Mary-Anne would always be that beggar he dragged in.

Mary-Anne tried her best to please her mother-in-law. She bustled about the house, never shied from chores, took anything in her stridestill, she was never good enough.

When George was home, it was bearable, but when he left for business in the neighbouring villages, Mary-Anne wished she could run away herself.

Keep your chin up, love, Granny Agnes would urge. All things passitll be alright sooner or later.

But now Granny was gone, and every year Ediths dislike for her daughter-in-law festered and grew.

Things hadnt gone as Edith planned. George was supposed to marry a sturdy local girl from a prosperous family. Such a match would tie two fortunes together and secure for generations. But George inherited his fathers stubborn streaka real man, a master of his house! And a master he certainly was. When his father died, George ran the estate like clockwork, even grew what his old man had left. George respected his mother but wouldnt entertain any nonsense. My words final! hed say.

Mary-Anne was his darling, his joy. From the moment he met herso delicate, with a pale face, huge blue eyes and an upturned nosehe was lost. He would have given her all the wealth in England. But it wasnt the wealth that won her heart; all she saw in George was a good soul, honest and true. She loved him fiercely.

Shed heard the gossips about his motherher greed, her tonguebut knowing George would stand up for her, Mary-Anne agreed to the match.

She moved into his house and put up with all Ediths barbs. When the pressure got too much and the tears began to fall, Mary-Anne would run to Granny Agnesin that warm kitchen, sitting at Agness feet, laying her head in the old womans lap, shed weep like a scolded pup. Agness fingers would run gently through her hair, her soft palms stroking her head, whispering prayers and pleas for the orphans deliverance.

An hour there, and Mary-Anne felt the cloud lift, hope returning.

Now there was no one to run to. Her only true friend laid to restjust went to sleep and slipped away, quietly, painlessly. Mary-Anne wept until there were no tears left, feeling utterly alone in the world.

They say time heals, but Mary-Anne knew better. Old wounds would ache, and shed remember Agness kind hands and weep all over again.

At home, tensions grew. Edith pestered and tormented her endlesslyThree years living here for nothing, and still no grandchildren! shed mutter. To Mary-Anne, who feared this subject more than hell itself, it was unbearable. She knew Edith whispered to George that she was barren, that hed never have children with her.

Though George ignored it, village tongues wagGeorge and his line will share a grave, doomed to fade away, they said.

At least, when George came home to Mary-Anne, it all melted away. He cherished her, ready to carry her in his arms at the first sign of sorrow.

Perhaps the Lord heard Mary-Annes prayers, or perhaps true love worked its own magic, for at last, she conceived.

Ediths anger knew no bounds, but Georges love for his wife only deepened.

Edith circled the house like a vulture, waiting for Mary-Anne to stop working so she could swoop in. Sat lazing about, have you? Think because youre with child theres nothing you have to do? shed sneer whenever she found Mary-Anne on the bench.

Mary-Anne would stammer, Just here for a moment, Ive been up and about since dawn.

Edith would scowl, Up and about? Weve no servants here! And youre no lady, so theres water to fetch and all the pails empty. If youre that frail, pack up and go! My George needs a proper wife, not an invalid!

Without a word, Mary-Anne would collect the yoke and buckets for the well. Hauling the heavy pails home, old villagers would watch over their fences, shaking their heads, Ediths got worse, poor lassheavy with child and not an ounce of mercy from her.

When her baby arrived, it brought no joylittle Edward was born frail and weak. Hed sometimes go blue and stop breathing, turning as limp as a doll.

Like mother, like sonutterly weak, Edith spat, barely looking at the child.

How can you, Mother? Mary-Anne would plead through tears. Hes your own flesh and blood, Georges heirsurely you cant speak like that?

Lets see if he lives long enough to inherit! Edith would reply, her tone almost gleeful. Best ready the small coffin, just in case.

Mary-Anne sobbed herself hoarse but Edith only stung her more. If the boy dies, maybe George will finally tire of you and I can find him a good, sturdy wife with rosy cheeks!

When George came in from the fields, he let Mary-Anne rest, cradling his tiny sonbarely larger than his great hand. And the babe, as if sensing protection, would snuggle and purse his lips contentedly.

So what if hes sickly? Hell find his strength, just you wait, George thought, hope alive in his heart.

Edward was christened in the village church. Life might have settled quietly, but the baby failed to thrive.

One day, George had to leavebusiness downriver, a good weeks journey.

Its a long road, love. Take care of yourself and Edward. Dont listen to mum, promise me…

But Edith, left unchecked, made Mary-Annes life a misery. No chance for rest or care of the childfetch water, split kindling, tend the cattlenever a moment to herself. At night, young Edward wailed, sleepless and sickly, and Mary-Anne would rise before dawn to tend to chores. She was running herself into the ground, and her child with her.

Autumn settled in with mist and chill. George was due home, but there was no sign of him.

One can hardly blame him, Edith remarked drily. Whod want to come home to the sickly? Hes probably found a livelier, prettier girl elsewhere.

Those words, once out, burrowed deep. What if Edith was right? Mary-Anne began to despair.

Edith sensed shed hit a nerve and twisted the knife daily.

Dont you care about George, Mary-Anne? The boys not long for this world, and youre both wallowing in misery. Maybe its time you let him go.

But where would I go, Mother? Winters nearly here, and Edwards frailhe could sicken and die, Mary-Anne answered softly.

And if he does? Little difference. Hes hardly lived. God will take him, and George can start a real family, with healthy children.

Mary-Anne stared in disbeliefwhat sort of mother could say such things? Surely Edith must know how much that hurt. Didnt she care at all?

As if in answer, Edward started to wail, went blue, and lay still, limp in her arms.

Think about it, Mary-Anne. No one builds happiness on anothers suffering, Edith said coolly, leaving her alone with her grief.

Half a month passed. The first snow dusted the ground; icy winds whipped the heath. Exhausted, Mary-Anne began to talk back at last, finally tired of Ediths constant cruelties. But what good was resistance, when she didnt own the house or feel her husbands warmth? Ediths words haunted her: George has left you, he doesnt need you anymore. There was no word from George, and not even her aching, tired soul could imagine something might have happened to him. Ediths poison worked too wellMary-Anne only blamed herself for his absence.

Neither living nor letting her husband live, Edith would mutter under her breath, never missing a chance to twist the dagger.

That was the final straw.

Mary-Anne quietly packed her few belongings, wrapped fragile Edward tightly against the cold, and slipped out the door.

Edith stood frozen at the window, careful not to frighten away what shed wished for. She wasnt worried for her sonshed heard the news from town a month earlier: George had survived a highway robbery but was recovering in hospital. She saw no reason for Mary-Anne to know. And when George returned, Edith would tell him that Edward had died and his wife, driven mad by grief, had left into the night. As luck would have it, Mary-Anne left after dusknone of the neighbours would know what really happened.

The next morning, Edith herself spread word that Mary-Anne had lost her wits when the baby died, taking his body and vanishing into the dark. She wept for all to see, telling everyone shed pleaded with her daughter-in-law to stay, but the poor thing must have lost her mind.

The villagers gossiped for a few days, then the story fadedwinter kept everyone inside, and soon nobody spoke of it.

***

Mary-Anne walked for miles along the edge of the woods and across fields, scared for herself but more so for her son. By dawn, roofs of another village appeared on the horizon.

She had no hope anyone would take her in. Perhaps, she thought, someone would offer a bit of bread, let her warm the child for an hour by the fire.

Chimneys smoked with thick white plumes, but the streets were emptyno summer bustle here, and in the cold, few even fetched water from the well.

Mary-Anne walked the empty lane, too ashamed to knock on a door, and sat on a bench by the well to rest.

A tall, broad woman approached with buckets, cheeks rosy from the wind. She looked down at Mary-Anne, who shrank from her gaze.

The woman filled her buckets, then asked, Whose are you, then? You look frozen bluelost, are you?

Ive got no one, Mary-Anne replied quietly. Im just passing through, headed to the next village. She lied.

Who do you have there? the woman squinted. Family?

My father. Mary-Anne lied again.

In weather like this, theyd give even a dog shelter. And you, with a baby, were sent on your way?

Mary-Anne couldnt contain it any longershe burst into sobs, icy hands covering her face.

Up you get, come with me, the woman commanded, helping Mary-Anne from the bench and abandoning her buckets for now.

They stepped inside a warm cottage, fire crackling in the hearth, the room filled with the smell of herbs. Mary-Anne all but collapsed onto a bench by the oven, suddenly realising just how worn she was.

The woman helped her remove her coat, gently lifting the baby from her arms.

Im Alice, she said, unwrapping the babys worn blankets. Good heavenshes tiny! Is he christened?

Yes, hes christened. Hes Edward, Mary-Anne murmured before fainting.

When she woke, Mary-Anne didnt know how long shed been unconscious. Opening her eyes, she found herself in a strange bed, wrapped in warm blankets. The cottage was quiet. Panic seized her when she realised Edward was not thereshe rushed round the tiny house, but neither woman nor child was to be found. Terror overtook her, and she grabbed a coat, preparing to fleejust as Alice blew in with the icy wind.

Awake now? Alice asked. Where do you think youre going?

Wheres my son? Mary-Anne gasped.

Dont fret, you silly thing. Youve been unconscious three days, babbling nonsense. Tell me how you came here. Edwards fineI took him to my mother in the woods for some old-fashioned care.

Why? Mary-Anne said weakly, fearing the worst.

For his health, replied Alice. Now, lets hear your story. Start at the beginning.

They sat at the kitchen table, Alice pouring her a hot herbal draught.

Mary-Anne told her everythingher love for George, the torment of her mother-in-law, her sickly child, and all the pain shed endured.

Alice listened silently. The Lord works in mysterious ways, she said at last. Dont worry nowEdward will recover, and fortune has brought you to me. Your troubles arent over, but hold onto your lightso long as you keep hope, youll find the path out of any darkness.

I need to see my son, Aunt Alice, Mary-Anne pleaded.

Ill take you, but well return aloneyou cant bring him back just yet, Alice replied.

Why are you frightening mehow could I leave my son behind? Mary-Anne cried.

Get dressed, girl. Youll understand.

They set out into the woods, Alice explaining as they made their way through the trees, It was fate met you at the well. Usually, my mother and I are deep in the woods all winter, and I only return to the village come springbut something called me home that day. Providence!

Mary-Anne listened, confused, heart pounding.

The trees finally opened onto a small clearing with a simple cottage in the middle.

Alice let Mary-Anne inside. It was ordinary enougha narrow hall, two rooms, a tiny kitchen.

A frail old woman appeared in the doorway. Come in, dear, have a look at your little onebut dont wake him, she said warmly.

In the corner, just as the old woman had pointed, a cradle hung. Inside, Edward slept, already looking pinker and plumper than ever he had at home.

He is pinker, isnt he? the old woman chuckled, as if reading Mary-Annes thoughts. Sit down and listen. Names Granny Ada. Folk round here call me a witchso I keep out of sight in the woods.

Mary-Annes eyes widened, but Granny Ada waved her off. Dont worry. Churchgoers can be crueleryour mother-in-laws more witch than me, and shes always in church.

The wise woman seemed to know all about Mary-Annes past. Do you know why your boy is sickly, why he keeps choking?

Mary-Anne shook her head.

Its your own doingdont panic now! You shouldnt wander graveyards while expecting. All those trips to your grannys burialwell, you picked up a restless spirit. When you gave birth, the spirit turned to easier prey. Its sucking the life from Edward.

Mary-Anne blanched and nearly collapsed, but Granny Ada soothed her, All is not lostleave Edward with me a few days, and Ill have him right as rain.

She laid her hands on Mary-Anne, brushing her hair, and suddenly all the sorrow liftedas if she were safe in her own grannys lap again.

Come on, lass, Alice said gently. Lets go back to the house.

And so the days passed, Mary-Anne minding the chores and tending to Alices hearth. After a week, Granny Ada sent wordEdward was healthy as a cherub, arms reaching out for his mother. Mary-Anne wept tears of relief and gratitude.

One evening Mary-Anne asked, Aunt Alice, why does Granny Ada live in the woods? Good healers are rare as gold in these parts.

It goes back years, Alice told her. Mother was young and helped everyone, never asking a penny in return. But peoplethey can turn on you in an instant. One season, several babies diedfolk whispered Mother was to blame. Someone remembered shed visited the mothers. When I was born later, they said it was envy, or the evil eye. The villagers came with torches. It was only Father who calmed them.

It turned out, those women were older, the children weakjust bad luck. The doctor said the same. After that, Mother withdrewshed cure children, but adults werent allowed. They even built her this little house out here. Now, if a childs sick, the parents leave them at her door and wait. Three days later, if Granny brings out the child, it livesif not, well, the sickness was too great.

Mary-Anne nodded, understanding the quiet wisdom in Alices tale.

Time passed, and news reached the old village: George was returning at last. He rushed straight into the room hed shared with his wifeonly to find it cold and empty.

Im sorry, my boy, Edith wailed. I couldnt save your Mary-Anne or your son. The baby died, and she lost her mindran into the night with him. I searched high and low, but she vanished!

George listened numbly, the word vanished echoing in his head.

***

Enough now, George, Edith fussed, entering his room. You cant go on like this! Life must carry on. But George was crushed, barely noticing the world. Winter drifted past in a fog and, though he seemed to wake with the spring, the wound in his heart never healed.

Edith tried all she couldurging him toward marriage, bringing girls to visit. But one day, at the mention of wives and children, George snapped and shouted her from the room.

If I couldnt protect one, dont dare suggest another. Dont mention marriage to me ever again!

And so, days drifted by like stale porridge. George spoke to no one, buried himself in work by day, shut himself in by night. Years passed; Edith grew old and sick with guilt. Try as he might, George couldnt banish his grief.

By late summer, Edith passed away, still unable to confess to her son what had really happened that autumn night.

George was truly alone. By day he busied himself, but as night fell, black thoughts crept in. Eventually, he decidedthere was no reason left to live. When forty days had passed since his mothers death, he would set his house in order, and then follow her into the darkness.

***

In a dusky corner of Granny Adas cottage, a shadow hovereda tormented presence neither quite alive nor truly at rest.

Well, what do you want now? Ada grumbled. You didnt have any conscience in life, so why bother me after death?

The shadow wept softly.

No wish to speak, have you? Ada went on. Youve brewed your own messnow you can stew in it!

Hell never see… the shadow whispered.

Too rightI know he wont. Hes no seerpoor souls suffered enough.

Not for myself… the shadow moaned.

Too late for that now! Ada snorted. Should have thought of that when you had the chance. Show me, then.

The shadow enveloped Granny Ada, images swam before her eyes: George, bleak and blank, standing on the edge of a bog, devilish spirits hovering behind, waiting for another lost soul.

***

One quiet day, Alice said, Mary-Anne, how about we gather cranberries tomorrow? Theyll make a tonic for the children.

Ill go! Anything for the little ones, Mary-Anne smiled, glancing at Edward playing on the floor.

If you could watch him while Im out in the morninghes all the joy I have.

No trouble at all, Alice replied, hugging Edward close. God didnt see fit to give me children, but I feel blessed to have you both here.

If not for you, Auntie Alice, I couldnt have carried on, Mary-Anne said, voice tight with gratitude. Youre like a mother to me.

***

On the fortieth day, after the rituals and a visit to the graveyard, the villager mourners drifted away. As evening drew in, George slipped quietly from his home and walked wordlessly into the ancient woods. He wandered deeper, memories spinning in his mind: his lost Mary-Anne, little Edward, his stern, departed father. No light left, he told himself. Better to end it all.

Reaching the edge of the bog, he let the dank earth seep over his boots and began to sinkthe cold, yielding mud clutching at his legs. George made no effort to fight.

Suddenly, a soft voice began to sing through the trees. Familiar, clear, and growing nearer. A white figure flickered through the bircha shape he knew better than himself.

Mary-Anne, he whispered, Im coming to you, love.

The singing stopped. The figure stilled.

George? A cry from across the bogand there was Mary-Anne, blinking in disbelief, her husband half-submerged in the mire.

He couldnt speak. A ghost, he thought, Come to meet me after death.

But Mary-Anne called out, No, George! Im alivewere both alive!

He froze. Alive, he whispered, before struggling to pull himself from the clinging mud. It wasnt easythe bog wanted to claim him, but with Mary-Annes desperate help, dragging branches and tearing her own hands, he finally scrambled free.

He caught her in his arms, covering her muddy face with kisses. Tears and laughter mixed togetherafter so much darkness, they were together again.

***

Discovering Mary-Anne was alive and their Edward thriving almost drove George mad with joy. He swept into the cottage and gathered his son up, sobbingAlice calmed him with her herbal tea.

Much was saidold woes and new found hopes. George never let go of Mary-Annes hand.

She told him all about her suffering, that cold unliving griefbut with every day, the pain faded. As long as there was love and care, the worst memory couldnt return.

George decided he would never return to his old home. Gradually, he moved his estate and business to the village that had become their real home.

Mary-Anne, George and Edward stayed with Aunt Alice, not blood, but truer family than any.

***

The old grave overgrew with weeds, and its memory faded. No one knows if the restless soul found peace or not, after bringing so much sorrow through greed and spite. But for Mary-Anne and George, life blossomed anew, in a new home, surrounded by kindness, and finally, love.

“We’re at the train station, you’ve got half an hour to order a business-class taxi for me and my children!” demanded my sister — “Are you really my sister or just a random stranger? Aren’t you ashamed to act like this, especially in front of the kids? Is it really so hard for you to buy your beloved nephews and nieces some new clothes? Why should I have to beg you to buy things for them? You should offer on your own! You ought to help with money! After all, you couldn’t have children, probably never will! But I’m a single mum!” Angela fired words at Nadya like darts, each one aimed to wound and press deeper into her personal space. Nadya had never been the favourite child. Born out of wedlock, her mother only married later, and from then on Nadya felt like she was in the way. Her stepfather resented her, and her mother took her frustration out on her firstborn for having to marry the first man she could find just to avoid single parenthood. It was only after her little sister was born that Nadya began to breathe easier, as now she had a purpose: the family decided the eldest would serve as nanny to the youngest. Nadya was expected to spend all her time caring for her sister, entertaining and teaching her, regardless of schoolwork, hobbies or friendships. If Nadya didn’t feed or change her sister quickly enough, she’d be grounded or forbidden from seeing friends. As Angela grew older, she began treating Nadya just the way their parents did—as little more than a servant. At eighteen, Nadya decided to change her life. She picked the furthest university from home, packed her bags and left, determined never to return. She barely kept in touch; her parents only called to borrow money they never repaid, always citing Angela’s children. Nadya knew Angela had become a mother at seventeen and married at eighteen, thinking a second child would keep her husband out of army service. She gave birth to twins, but soon after, the young father bolted, demanding a divorce. Now the requests for financial help came frequently. Unlike her sister, Nadya had made a life for herself: she’d earned a degree, landed a good job, and managed to buy her own small flat on a mortgage. Once they knew she was managing, her parents called almost weekly, always for money for Angela’s kids—never repaying, never asking how Nadya herself was coping. She still couldn’t shake the guilt drilled into her since childhood. Saying no to her mother was nearly impossible; every call left her struggling to balance her own finances for the month. Her own love life hadn’t flourished—after finding out she couldn’t have children, Nadya’s husband-to-be had left her. When her family discovered she was childless, it became a recurring source of shame in their conversations: “Nadya’s barren… Tough luck! Thank goodness at least our Angela’s given us grandchildren,” her mother would say. After a while, Angela had the brilliant idea to show up on Nadya’s doorstep, unannounced, one of the few weekends Nadya had to herself: “Nadya, where are you? Am I supposed to take the kids on the bus? Order us a taxi, and make sure it’s not the cheap kind! The little ones get carsick in smoky cabs!” “Hi… Where are you, and why should I get you a taxi?” “Mum didn’t tell you? I’ve decided to move in with you. There’s nothing for me in our hometown. I’m at the station; you have half an hour to send a taxi for us.” Angela hung up before Nadya could protest. That evening Angela began issuing orders: “Tomorrow you’ll get me a job at your office—good pay, easy work, and a team with fit young men, please. I’ll need time off whenever I want. Buy the twins a bunk bed—can’t have us all crammed on the same sofa. I’ll sleep in your bed with the boys tonight, you and Polina can take the sofa. Also, it’s nearly winter, so buy the kids proper warm clothes—none of that bargain rubbish. I don’t want people calling me a divorced mum with baggage!” Nadya listened, incredulous that she’d tolerated such treatment for so long; suddenly, she found her courage: “You can spend tonight here, but tomorrow morning I’ll drive you back to the station—you’re going home to Mum and Dad. I’m not supporting you or your children anymore! You chose to have them—raise them yourself. Consider your debts paid in full! And if you’re not gone by morning, I’ll call the police. I don’t care if the kids are with you—they’re your responsibility! You can all sleep on the guest sofa—I’m not giving up my bed!” Angela sputtered her outrage and rang their mother to complain, but Nadya stood firm. In the morning, she didn’t even drive her sister to the station—just handed her a fare for a taxi and the train. “That’s it. Forget the way to my flat. I have my own life, and it doesn’t revolve around your problems,” Nadya said, shutting the door behind her. Afterward, Nadya wept, thought it through, and realised she’d done the right thing—otherwise, her “wonderful” family would have ruined her. Freed from the burden of never-ending obligation, Nadya felt she could finally breathe. She met a man, married, adopted two children and, at last, found happiness.

The Further Apart We Are, the Closer I Feel… “You know what, my dear grandson! If I’m such a burden, there’s only one option: I won’t go stay with my daughters anymore, nor wander from friend to friend, and I’m not going to look for a ‘companion’ at my age. Honestly! Trying to marry me off in my sixties! “Gran, it’s what I keep telling you! Mum says it too — move into a retirement home. Just transfer the house to my name, they’ll give you a room, Mum will sort it out. You’ll have neighbours your age, someone to talk to, and you won’t be in my way.” “I’m not leaving my home, Sasha. If I bother you, there’s the door in every direction. You’re young and clever, go find a flat and live as you please. Didn’t want to study? Go get a job. Bring a new girlfriend over every day if you want. I’m nearly 65; I need my peace and quiet. “I’ve drifted about long enough — it’s time to come home. It’s not right, being forced out of my own house, while you and your parade of fiancées live off my pension. My pension isn’t endless, you know. You have one week. Find a flat or go stay with your friends, or that, what’s-her-name — forgot again — but I want you out by tonight. Imagine it! Trying to send me to a home, or set me up with a suitor at my age! “The grandson tried to argue, but Lydia turned away, went to her room, and shut the door, head pounding. She’d have taken a pill, but didn’t want to cross paths with her grandson in the kitchen, so she sipped the last of the mineral water from her bedside bottle instead. *** Lydia surprised herself with her resolve. Years of frustration had finally boiled over. She’d put up with it for two years — bouncing from one daughter’s house to the other, always shooed home after a hint that her stay had ‘dragged on.’ “Now her twenty-year-old grandson is playing master in her cottage. One week it’s this girlfriend, next week another, and Gran gets in the way, wheezing on the other side of the wall, ruining the romance. “Gran, go visit someone. Then Dasha, Masha, Chloe, Sarah — whomever I’m dating this week — and I could have the place to ourselves.” And so Lydia would traipse to her cousin’s, or her mate’s, or an old colleague’s — overstaying each welcome until, inevitably, she wore out her hosts. *** When there was nowhere left to go, her eldest daughter had a new baby. Life in London, a mortgage, an older child at school — she needed Gran’s help as much as ever. Lydia moved in, and at first, everyone was delighted: hot meals, a spotless flat, looked-after grandchildren. But within a few months, the son-in-law — just ten years younger than Lydia — began to complain: “Lydia, don’t buy those sausages — they’re dreadful for us. You’re home all day, is it really that hard to make proper food? Cutlets, maybe, or roast chicken…” “Cutlets are good, but you’re spending a fortune on groceries!” “Do I look like some grass-munching herbivore? There’s barely any meat!” On and on, always something not quite right. “You’re at home with the kids, surely you could help the older one with her homework — why pay tutors with a grandmother here?” Even her older granddaughter — only in Fourth Year, mind you — was mortified by Gran’s unfashionable clothes and her insistence on studying. “Gran, why are you even here? You’ve got your own cottage in the country, go back there and be bossy!” Lydia stayed silent, making up for her “shameful” granny ways by giving pocket money, buying meat out of her tiny pension, sometimes topping up her grandson Sasha’s energy bills. Telling her daughter was useless — the girl wouldn’t hear a word against her precious husband, never mind she’d poached him from another family. Whenever the little one was in nursery, they’d gently drop hints — Lydia’s help was no longer needed. The moment she realised it, Lydia left without waiting to be pushed. Coming home, she found Sasha, her eldest daughter’s son, installed — and not alone, but with his girlfriend, her little house a mess, bills unpaid. She had no choice but to cover the costs with a loan and tidy up. But apparently, her presence ruined her grandson’s “personal life” in the two-bedroom cottage. Almost before she could settle, her younger daughter called for help with the new baby, and off Lydia went again. Three months later, sensing she was a nuisance once more, she returned home — but Sasha was still dissatisfied. So she might have endured it all again, had one incident not tipped her over the edge. *** “Sasha, I’m off to Shirley’s for her birthday — I’ll be late, just lock up, I’ll sneak in the back so I don’t disturb you.” “Why not stay overnight? Give us a couple days to ourselves, yeah?” “I’m only just home a week — how could you be fed up with me already?” “Well, a week is long enough. Staying over or not?” “No. I’m coming home.” At Shirley’s, they celebrated — memories, laughter, trying not to mention the problems. Then Shirley got a call — Lydia’s daughter, asking Shirley to keep her mum overnight so the young couple could have the house to themselves. “She even rang last week,” Shirley whispered after the call, “asking me if I knew any older fellas with a spare flat for you to move in with. All so Sasha could have the cottage.” *** Lydia poured her heart out — about living with her eldest daughter and then the youngest, about feeling like an intruder in her own home thanks to her good-for-nothing grandson. “I’m not even mistress in my own house anymore. Sasha left for town after school, but his step-granddad made him feel unwelcome, so he came back, no college, not drafted. Now he’s my permanent houseguest.” Lydia refused to stay that night, went home, and finally told Sasha everything she’d kept bottled up. Sasha complained to his mother, but Lydia stood her ground. Sasha moved out in a huff — “Don’t expect help from me, Gran!” he snapped. Lydia was glad to be alone. For once, she could breathe, after a life spent catering to everyone else. Her daughters begged her to move back in for help with the grandchildren. But Lydia refused. “Bring them to me,” she said. “The air’s healthier here. At last, I’m mistress of my own home.” Now, whenever her daughters and grandchildren visit, she welcomes them gladly — but no more moving or putting her life on hold. Lydia says, the further apart we are, the closer we become. And I think she’s right.

The Fool Everyone Always Thought Anna Was Daft. She’d Been Married Fifteen Years, Had Two Kids — Alice, Fourteen, and Tommy, Seven. Her Husband Cheated on Her from the Second Day of Their Marriage, and Never Bothered to Hide It. Friends Tried to Warn Her, But Anna Always Smiled Silently. Anna Worked as an Accountant at a Toy Factory, With a Tiny Paycheck and Mountains of Work, Even on Weekends. Her Husband Made Good Money, But No Matter What, There Was Never Enough for Groceries, and at Best, Dinner Was Borscht and Meatballs with Pasta. People Always Gossiped About Val With His New Girl. He’d Often Come Home Drunk. “Oh, Anna’s a fool, why does she put up with him?” On Their Son Tommy’s Tenth Birthday, Her Husband Declared He Wanted a Divorce — He’d Fallen in Love and Wasn’t Happy at Home. “Don’t Be Upset, Anna, But I’m Filing for Divorce. You’re so Cold and Not Even a Good Housekeeper,” He Said. “Alright, I Agree,” Anna Replied Calmly, Smiling Oddly, Which Rattled Val. The Next Day, Val Came Home with His New Flame, But Found the Locks Changed and a Mountain of Surprises Awaiting Him. No Key Under the Mat, Just a Burly Man Answering the Door. “Have You Got Any Papers to Prove You Live Here?” Confused, Val Searched for His Passport — Only to Discover He’d Been Removed from the Flat’s Deeds Two Years Prior. Anna and the Kids Had Moved On — His Daughter Studying Abroad, His Son in a Different School, and Anna Gone from the Factory. Crushed, Val Prepared for the Divorce Hearing, Sure He’d Expose Anna as a Swindler. But in Court, He Was Reminded: Two Years Back, Buzzing from a New Affair, He’d Signed Power of Attorney Over to Anna for Household Matters. He’d Lost It All By His Own Hand. His Mistress Eliza Disappeared After Hearing He’d Lost the Flat. Determined to Get Revenge, Val Planned to Refuse Child Support — Only to Receive a Court Summons Contesting His Paternity. DNA Tests Proved Both Children Weren’t His. Anna Had Seen Him Cheat on Their Wedding Day, and Vowed Subtle Revenge — Affair for Affair, Saving Every Penny He Gave Her, Living Frugally so She Could Support the Children Elsewhere, Until She Was Ready to Strike. He Took Losing the Flat Better Than Finding Out Both Kids Weren’t His. Beware the Women You’ve Wronged — In Anger, They Can Do Anything.

The Fairy Godmother Everyone could already tell by Year 7 that Lisa Browning was destined to become a brilliant doctor. It all started when the neighbour’s boy fell off the swings and bloodied his knee and head terribly. The sight would have made most people faint, but twelve-year-old Lisa kept her cool. “Yasmin, fetch some water, bandages and antiseptic!” she commanded her best friend, who lived in the flat opposite the playground. Without a word, Yasmin dashed home. By the time the frightened auntie—little Jamie’s mum, Mrs Turner, had found out and rushed over, Lisa had calmly and efficiently cleaned, treated, and dressed the wounds with the professionalism of someone far beyond her years. When Mrs Turner learned who had given her son first aid, she was astonished. Thanking Lisa warmly, she declared: “You’re going to be a doctor. And not just any doctor—an outstanding one. Well done, you didn’t panic! Some real doctors could learn from you, my dear.” On camping trips, Lisa was simply indispensable. No one wanted to get hurt, of course, but with Lisa Browning there, any scrapes seemed less frightening. Then came medical school, internships, hospital foundation years, and a steady stream of training courses. Once, in her role as a junior doctor, Lisa had to fill in for the Head of Functional Diagnostics. It was safe to say that Dr Elizabeth Alexandra, now Mrs Thompson, was both respected and valued by her colleagues. The team was fantastic—apart from the ageing deputy head, Dr Bernard Stephens, notorious for his grumpiness and temper, and something of an energy vampire to boot. He was in his element when there was trouble to be had. Lisa tried not to rise to his provocations, though only she knew how much effort that took! The only consolation for Dr Thompson was that their paths didn’t often cross—just once a week at the admissions panel when they discussed diagnoses for new patients. Even then, those meetings were anything but pleasant. Dr Stephens would frequently clash with Elizabeth, sometimes making sly, biting comments. He seemed to sense that Dr Thompson tried to ignore his barbs, and it only encouraged him. “Impossible man,” she complained to her husband Val after another trying day. “Honestly, I’ve tried to be patient, but it’s as if Stephens deliberately goads me.” “I’m sure you’ll come out on top,” Val grinned. “You’re the best diplomat I know.” “Absolutely, Mum,” agreed their thirteen-year-old, Max. “If you get bored being a doctor, you should be a diplomat. They earn loads more as well.” “I’ll give it some thought,” she laughed. Lisa was always diplomatic—but at the end of the day, only human. And patience, unfortunately, does have its limits. She sensed that sooner or later, she might just snap, and if she did, it would be for a good reason. The very next day at the usual doctors’ meeting everything was routine—until it was Lisa’s turn to present the notes of a woman in her sixties on the examination couch across from them. Normally, after the report, the patient would leave if she was able, and the head of department, the attending physician, and the deputy would discuss the case in private. This time, however, things got out of hand. “Just tell me one thing,” the older lady asked, her voice trembling. “Is it very serious? Will I recover? I have a granddaughter to raise on my own.” There was so much hope in her anxious eyes, it almost brought tears. Lisa had just begun to speak words of comfort when Dr Stephens bulldozed in. “With a diagnosis like yours?! Frankly, dear lady, your condition is so advanced, no sensible doctor would offer any guarantees! What were you thinking all this time?” The patient froze, lips trembling, but Dr Stephens pressed on: “I know your type! You ignore everything, self-medicate, and only come crawling to a doctor when it’s nearly too late! We’re not miracle workers…” The poor woman burst into tears and left the room. Later, Elizabeth berated herself for not reigning Stephens in, but in truth, she had been stunned. To yell at an elderly patient in such distress was simply unthinkable. The head of department shook her head in disapproval, too. Even if, deep down, the doctors acknowledged Stephens wasn’t technically wrong, there was no excuse for not speaking more kindly—at least with respect for the patient’s age. And that was when Lisa’s patience broke. Enough was enough. “Dr Stephens, with all due respect, what exactly do you think you’re doing?” “What’s the problem?” Stephens shrugged. “We’re not magicians. It’s about time patients knew that. Everything is easier to treat in the early stages, and you know that as well as I do.” Seeing Stephens’ self-satisfied smirk, Lisa grimaced in disgust. The head of department, knowing exactly what he was so pleased about, braced as Lisa took up the challenge. “Yes, Dr Stephens, you’re certainly right that early intervention is better. In most cases, it’s the only real chance! But do you realise how hard I worked to persuade that woman to get treatment? She believed me when I said things could be alright. And now—you’ve shattered all of that in a single moment. Well done.” Lisa threw up her hands in frustration. Stephens, recovering from her outburst, tried to assert his authority with the head of department, but soon realised it was no use. He had long ago discovered Mrs Thompson was no pushover—she knew her worth, and it was high. He blustered some more, but Lisa was barely listening. She watched, as if through a veil, as the department head left the office. With only Stephens for company, Elizabeth felt suffocated. Lisa gazed blankly at a corner, silent. How could she be expected to get on with her work after this? She felt like crying, but thought, “No way am I giving him that satisfaction.” She moved to the window, and heard the door slam. Lisa turned to see she was alone. She sat down at her desk and reached for her files. Duty still called. “Dr Thompson?” came a hesitant voice. She barely registered who it was, so unlike Stephens’ usual tone of command. The deputy held a bottle of valerian drops, his face creased in confusion. Strangely, Lisa felt no triumph—only pity. Rumour had it that Stephens was a lonely man. “Dr Thompson, here,” he muttered, handing her the vial. “And… forgive me. Maybe you’re right….” “And you, Dr Stephens,” she replied, choosing kindness, “have your own point. But our job is to heal people—and to give them at least a glimmer of hope. Sometimes, that hope creates miracles. I’m sure you know that as well as I do.” “Yes, yes, of course,” Stephens nodded absently. Such a transformation was something remarkable, but Lisa didn’t dwell on it. Better to strike while the iron was hot. “Dr Stephens,” she said, taking a steadying breath, “please remember: I’ll never allow anyone—no matter their position—to raise their voice or question my qualifications in front of a patient, whether they’re a porter or the Health Secretary himself.” “Absolutely, Dr Thompson. Understood.” “Let’s hope so,” thought Lisa, looking at the time. There was still so much to do. An hour later, she visited the patient—Veronica Grace, who had a bouquet of tulips on her bedside table. Seeing Lisa, the older woman smiled. “You’ll never guess who just visited me,” she said. “Your boss! Brought me flowers and apologised. Said, ‘We’ll do everything we possibly can to help you recover.’” “That’s wonderful,” Lisa replied, squeezing Veronica’s hand. “We really will do everything. You’re as good as new—practically a young bride-to-be!” “You joker!” laughed the patient. A month on, Veronica was on the mend. On the day she was discharged, Dr Stephens brought her a box of posh chocolates. “For your granddaughter,” he said, a little awkwardly. “And these are for you,” holding out a bouquet of roses. “Such beautiful flowers! Thank you so much. I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers. And my thanks to all of you—doctors, really, you’ve given an old lady her life back.” History was made: “Did Stephens just do that?” thought everyone present, marvelling. The widely disliked deputy, famous for never speaking a kind word, had done the unthinkable. Relations between Lisa and Bernard improved, if not to friendship, then to very cordial understanding. They often shared a coffee after meetings, or sometimes ran into each other in the hospital café. “There’s no such thing as happiness,” Stephens confided once. “Maybe that’s why I’m so cantankerous. Life’s gone by, and I haven’t really lived it.” “What do you mean?” Lisa exclaimed. “You’re senior deputy, that’s no small achievement.” “I suppose so,” he conceded. “But I wish I was happy. I was, once. But it slipped away.” So, Lisa realised, the man had simply been defeated by loneliness. She found herself growing fond of him. Lisa’s new friendship did not go unnoticed by the staff, though nobody stooped to idle gossip—Dr Thompson was above that, and Stephens was hardly a ladies’ man. “What’s your secret?” nurse Abby asked in the middle of a girls’ tea party. “He’s different now—actually smiles. Not often, but it’s something!” Every Friday, all the female staff, from doctors to cleaners, held a tea party in the hospital kitchen, bringing their best cakes and jam. “Honestly, girls, there’s no secret,” Lisa said. “It’s simple really.” “As if!” scoffed Valerie the cloakroom lady. “It’s true! Everything depends on self-confidence and dignity. Anyone—be they doctor or cleaner—deserves both.” “I wish I could,” sighed young orderlie Sarah. “He scares me!” “You shouldn’t think like that,” Lisa replied. “Everyone has the right to self-respect. It’s all about confidence.” Psychiatrist Gillian nodded. “Especially with energy vampires. If they sense confidence, they steer clear—there’s nothing to feed off.” “Maybe Stephens is just an unhappy man,” mused Vera the cook. Everyone agreed—except Lisa, who knew it for a fact. “Did I miss much, girls?” panted Katie the linen lady, bustling in. “Not really—we’re just gossiping about old Bernie,” Gillian grinned. “Oh, then you’re all up to date!” Katie declared. “About what?” everyone clamoured. “Stephens is getting married!” “No way!” “Now that’s a shock!” “More likely the world’s about to freeze over than that!” Hospital staff were agog. “Lisa, don’t tell me you didn’t know,” said the housekeeper slyly. “No, I had no idea!” Lisa replied, surprised. “We talked about a lot, but not hearts and flowers.” “People like him would never let on!” pronounced psychologist Tamara sagely. “Too right,” Lisa thought. “I wonder who the lucky lady is…” “So who is he marrying?” Sarah piped up. “Not sure—apparently it’s a patient,” Katie said as she poured her tea. “Seriously?” Vera exclaimed, while Lisa smiled—she had an inkling. “Well, girls, I think this news deserves something stronger than tea,” Lisa said. “A bottle or two of wine, perhaps?” Cheers! For all they knew, becoming a newlywed might just soften Stephens up a bit. The next day at coffee, Stephens looked the picture of happiness. Lisa didn’t let on that she’d heard—it was obvious he wanted to announce it himself. “You’re looking well, Bernard,” she smiled. “You noticed,” he grinned. “And I’m in a fantastic mood—I’m getting married, Lisa!” “Really?” Lisa feigned surprise. “And who’s the lucky lady?” “Oh, she’s marvellous. The very best in the world for me.” “So—will you tell me who?” “It’s Veronica. You know, the lady you gave me a proper talking-to about. I really liked her, so I decided to act. Got her details from her records, went to see her—ostensibly as follow-up care.” “Well, well, a secret schemer after all,” Lisa laughed. “She’s a wonderful choice.” “I think so, too. And I want you at our wedding. You and your family. Because it’s thanks to you that I found my soulmate. Lisa, you really should have been a diplomat!” “Oh, don’t be silly! Fate would have brought you together regardless.” The wedding was lovely. The groom looked dashing, and the bride radiant—transformed from the anxious patient desperate for her granddaughter’s sake into a stylish, confident woman ten years younger. Veronica’s bob haircut and dark chestnut hair suited her perfectly, and she never tired of thanking Lisa…