Emily Taylor

You Were My Teenage Mistake A girl gave birth at sixteen; the father was also sixteen. Skipping the scandalous details, after the baby was born, they quickly went their separate ways. When the girl realised the boy wanted neither her nor their son, she immediately lost all interest in her child, who was then raised by his grandparents. At eighteen, the girl moved with a new boyfriend to a nearby city, cut off all contact, and her parents made no effort to see her. There was blame and disbelief: how could she abandon her own child? The shame and pain of raising such a person. The grandparents raised their grandson. To this day, the boy regards them as his parents and is deeply grateful for his childhood, good education—everything. When he turned eighteen, his cousin was getting married. All the relatives attended, including his biological mother, now on her third marriage and with two daughters: the eldest ten, the youngest a year and a half. The boy was excited to meet his mother and sisters—and naturally, to ask: “Mum, why did you leave me?” Despite recalling how wonderful his grandparents were, he missed and remembered his mother, even saving the only picture of her (his grandfather burnt the rest). The woman chatted with a relative, bragging about her wonderful daughters. “And me, what about me, Mum?” he asked. “You? You were my teenage mistake. Your father was right; I should’ve had an abortion,” she replied indifferently, turning away. Seven years later, now living comfortably with his wife and son (thanks to his grandparents and in-laws), he received a call from an unfamiliar number. “Son, it’s your mother. Listen, your uncle gave me your number. I know you live near the college your sister attends. Can she stay with you for a while? She’s family. She can’t stand the dorms, rent is expensive, my husband left me, life is hard, one daughter a student, another in school, the third starting nursery soon,” she said. “You have the wrong number,” he replied, hanging up. He went and picked up his son: “Let’s get ready to meet Mum, and then we’ll all visit Grandma and Grandpa, ok?” “And at the weekend, we’ll all go to the countryside together, yeah?” asked his little boy. “Of course, we must never break family traditions!” Some relatives criticised the boy for refusing to help his sister, but he believes he should only help his grandparents, not a stranger who called him her mistake.

Youre a mishap of youth. The girl gave birth when she was just sixteen, and the father was also sixteen.

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Living Together with My 86-Year-Old Mum: At 57, I Celebrate Quiet Birthdays Just With Her, Finding Comfort in Our Tea, Knitting, and Weekend Cakes Amid a Simple, Peaceful Life

I remember so clearly those quiet days spent with my mother. We shared a home together for many years.

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A Man Enjoyed a Day Off and Was Sleeping When the Doorbell Suddenly Rang — Who Came So Early? Upon Opening the Door, He Found an Unknown Elderly Woman Who Was Frightened, Claiming to Be His Mother After Years of Separation, Sparking a Heart-Wrenching Reunion Filled with Painful Memories and Unexpected Betrayal

The man is enjoying his day off and is fast asleep, but suddenly the doorbell rings. He wonders who could

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My Husband Has a Job, Yet I’m the One Paying for Everything: How Did I End Up Here? The Story of an Independent British Woman Blinded by Love, Supporting Her Family Alone and Wondering If Anything Will Ever Change

My husband works, but I pay for absolutely everything. You ask how I ended up in this peculiar chapter

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When He Got Home from Work, the Cat Was Gone Oliver was an ordinary young man, free of bad habits. On his 25th birthday, his parents gave him the gift of a flat—helping him with the deposit for his first mortgage. So, Oliver started living on his own. He worked as a software developer, preferred a quiet life, and kept mostly to himself. To beat the loneliness, Oliver decided to adopt a kitten. The kitten, whom he named Charming, was born with a defect in his front paws. The previous owners wanted to have him put down, but Oliver couldn’t bear the thought and took the little one in. They got along splendidly—Oliver always rushed home from work to see Charming, who would be waiting for him at the hallway mat. After a while, Oliver began dating a co-worker, Sophie. Sophie was clever and soon swept Oliver off his feet; less than a month later, she moved in. She immediately disliked Charming and asked Oliver to give the cat away, which he refused, explaining how important Charming was to him. Sophie didn’t give up and kept pressing Oliver to get rid of the cat. Oliver told her Charming was staying. Sophie claimed the cat ruined their image since guests were disgusted by his paws. Torn between Sophie and Charming, Oliver was caught in the middle—he cared for both deeply. Incidentally, Oliver’s parents were uneasy about Sophie, finding her rude and brash. They urged him not to rush into anything serious without taking a closer look first. When Sophie’s parents later visited for the first time, Oliver realised he didn’t want a future with her. Sophie’s father laughed at Charming the moment he stepped in, calling him a freak. Oliver stood up for his cat, but the whole evening, Sophie and her father mocked Charming’s looks and joked about sending him away. Sophie’s mum laughed along with them. The very next day, Oliver came home from work—Charming was gone. When he asked Sophie where the cat was, she said she’d taken Charming to the vets and left him there. Oliver frantically searched for his cat for five hours… and found him at last. Delighted to be reunited, Charming purred softly in Oliver’s arms. When Oliver returned home, he told Sophie to pack up and leave. He never wanted to see her again; she was simply repulsive to him now. The next morning, Sophie quietly packed her things and left, indignant. She never imagined the cat would be chosen over her. Now, Oliver and Charming live happily together, and the little cat greets his owner joyfully every evening when he comes home from work.

When he got home from work, the cat was nowhere to be seen. Oliver was a modest blokeno vices, unless

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Stole My Father: – Mum, I’ve moved in! Can you believe it—finally! Oksana balanced her phone between shoulder and ear while wrestling with an uncooperative lock. The key turned stiffly, as if testing the new owner. – Oh darling, thank goodness! And the flat—everything okay? Her mother’s voice was anxious but thrilled. – It’s perfect! Bright, spacious. The balcony faces east, just like I wanted. Is Dad there? – I’m here, I’m here! boomed Victor’s deep voice. They’d switched to speakerphone. All settled, little fledgling left the nest? – Dad, I’m twenty-five—hardly a fledgling! – You’ll always be my chick. Checked the locks? No draughty windows? Radiators working— – Victor, let her settle in! Mum interrupted. Oksana, be careful—it’s a new build, who knows who lives next door. Oksana laughed, finally conquering the lock and pushing open the door. – Mum, it’s not a seventies council block. Nice flat, nice neighbours. I’ll be fine. Weeks blurred into a marathon of DIY shops, furniture stores, and her new flat. She fell asleep with wallpaper catalogues next to her pillow, woke up pondering the best grout colour for the bathroom tiles. That Saturday, standing in her living room, Oksana was comparing curtain fabrics when her phone buzzed again. – How’s it going? Dad checked in. – Slowly but surely. Choosing curtains today. Torn between ‘ivory’ and ‘baked milk’—any thoughts? – Same colour, just different sales pitch. – Dad, you know nothing about shades! – But I know electrics. Wired the sockets properly? Renovation devoured time, money, and nerves, but with every new touch, the bare walls began to feel like home. Oksana chose the milky-beige bedroom wallpaper, hired the laminate fitter herself, even reconfigured the furniture to make her tiny kitchen feel bigger. When the last builder cleared away the leftover rubble, Oksana sat down on the gleaming lounge floor, bathed in soft light pouring through brand new curtains, smelling of freshness and a hint of paint. It was hers, her very own home… She met her neighbour three days after moving in—while fiddling with her keys at the door, she heard the flat across the hall unlock. – Oh, the newbie! A woman in her thirties peered out, short hair, bright lipstick, curious eyes. – I’m Alina. Live right opposite—so we’re neighbours now. – Oksana. Nice to meet you. – If you ever need salt, sugar, or a chat, knock anytime. It’s weird at first living alone here—I remember. Alina turned out to be great company. They drank tea in Oksana’s kitchen, swapped stories about the management company, quirks of their floor’s layout. Alina always knew the best broadband, the handiest plumber, and which corner shop had the freshest bread. – Seriously, I’ve got a recipe for apple cake—out of this world! Alina thumbed her phone. It takes half an hour, tastes like you’ve been baking all day. – Yes please! Haven’t tested my oven yet. Days became weeks, and Oksana was glad to have such an open neighbour. They crossed paths on the landing, shared quick coffees, even swapped books. On Saturday, Victor arrived—to wrestle with a bookshelf that stubbornly refused to stay up. – You’ve got the wrong plugs, Dad observed. These are for plasterboard; you’ve got concrete walls. Hang on, real ones in the car. An hour later, the shelf hung perfectly straight. Victor packed his tools, inspected his handiwork, and nodded with satisfaction. – That’ll last a good twenty years. – You’re the best, Dad! Oksana hugged him. Together, they walked downstairs, chatting about work and her scatterbrained new manager who lost track of deadlines and paperwork. At the entrance they met Alina, arms loaded with supermarket bags. – Hi! Oksana waved. Meet my dad, Victor. Dad—this is Alina, the neighbour I told you about. – Lovely to meet you, Victor smiled warmly. Alina froze a second, her eyes flicking between Victor’s face and Oksana’s. Her smile became oddly stiff, almost pasted-on. – Likewise, she said quickly and hurried inside. Everything changed after that. The next morning, Oksana bumped into Alina on the landing and greeted her, but got only a frosty nod. Two days later, she invited her for a cuppa—Alina said she was busy, didn’t let her finish. Then came the complaints… The first police visit was at nine at night. – Got a report of loud music, said the apologetic officer. – What music? Oksana was baffled. I was reading! – Well, neighbours are complaining… Letters arrived at the management office about ‘deafening footsteps’, ‘constant banging’, ‘music late at night’. The local police began showing up regularly, always sheepish and shrugging. Oksana knew who was stirring the pot, but not why. Every morning was a lottery—eggshells smeared on the door? Coffee grounds stuffed between the frame and door? A bag of potato peelings tucked under the doormat? She started getting up half an hour early to clean before work. Her hands stung from cleaning products; there was always a sick feeling in her throat. – This can’t go on, she muttered one evening, searching for a video door viewer. She installed it in twenty minutes—a tiny camera hidden in a normal door peephole, streaming everything to her phone. And waited. She didn’t have to wait long. At 3 a.m., her phone alerted her to movement. Oksana couldn’t believe her eyes as Alina—in robe and slippers—methodically smeared something dark over her doorway, careful and practiced as if doing a chore. The next night, Oksana stayed awake, listening for every sound. Around half past two, she heard rustling outside. She threw open the door. Alina froze, clutching a squelching bag. – What have I done to you? Oksana couldn’t believe how small her voice sounded. – Why are you doing this to me? Alina slowly dropped the bag. Her face twisted, beautiful features melting into a mask of old anger. – You? You did nothing. But your precious Daddy— – What’s my father got to do with any of this? – Because he’s my father too! Alina’s voice rose, not caring who heard. He raised you, spoiled you, but he left me when I was three! Never gave us a penny, never called! Mum and I scraped by while he played happy families with your mum. So you—well, you stole my father! Oksana backed away to her doorway, stunned. – You’re lying… – Am I? Ask him yourself! Ask if he remembers Marina Soloviev and her daughter Alina—the ones he threw out like rubbish! Shutting the door, Oksana slid down, mind racing. Not true, not true. Dad couldn’t have. He couldn’t. The next morning, she went to her parents. She rehearsed her question all the way, but the words stuck when she saw her father—calm as ever, reading his paper. – Oksana! What a surprise! Victor stood up. Mum’s at the shops, she’ll be back soon. – Dad, I need to ask you… Oksana perched on the sofa, tugging her bag strap. Do you know a woman named Marina Soloviev? Victor went rigid. The newspaper slipped to the floor. – How did you— – Her daughter’s my neighbour. The one I introduced you to. She says you’re her father. Silence lasted forever. – We’re going to see her, Victor said abruptly. Right now. I need to put this right. Forty minutes later, they were outside Alina’s flat, silent throughout the drive. Oksana stared at passing houses, her world broken into pieces. Alina opened the door at once, as if prepared. She glared at them, but stepped aside. – Come to confess? Thirty years late? – Come to explain. Victor pulled a folded sheet from his jacket. Read this. Alina snatched it, distrustful. As she read, her anger slipped into confusion, her confusion into shock. – What…? – DNA results, Victor answered quietly. Your mum tried to sue me for child support. The test showed—I’m not your father. Marina cheated on me. You’re not my daughter. Alina dropped the paper. Oksana and Victor left. Back home, Oksana hugged her dad tightly. – I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry I doubted you. Victor stroked her hair—just like when she’d run to him as a child after a fight with her friends. – You have nothing to apologise for, sweetheart. It’s other people who are to blame. Things with Alina never improved. And after all her spite, Oksana had no desire to mend things—a woman like that could never earn her respect again…

Stole My Father Mum, Ive finally moved in! Can you believe it? Claire pressed her mobile between shoulder

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She Gave Birth Quietly and Was Ready to Give Up Her Baby: A Midwife’s True Story of a Courageous Young Student, an Unexpected Father, and the Difficult Decision to Keep Her Daughter Despite All Odds

She gave birth quietly and handed over her child For years, Ive worked as a midwife, drifting through

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Five Homes in Our Family, Yet We’re Still Renting: How Our Parents’ Generosity Stops at Property and Why We’re Left Struggling

Five homes in the family, and yet we have to rent I slip through the halls of this strange reality, so

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You Don’t Love Him, But We Were Happy Together—Shall We Try Starting Over, Just This Once?

You never loved him, but we were happy together; shall we try again, just once more? We parted ways three

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A Promise Kept Denis steered calmly and confidently along the motorway; his friend Kirill sat beside him as they returned from a business trip to Manchester, sent by their boss for two days. “Kirill, we really pulled it off! The contract is signed for a huge sum – the boss will be thrilled,” Denis grinned. “Absolutely, we’re lucky,” Kirill agreed. They worked in the same office. “It’s great going home to someone who’s waiting for you,” Denis said. “My Arisha’s pregnant and suffering from morning sickness. I feel for her, but we wanted this baby so badly, she said she’ll endure anything for our child.” “A baby – that’s wonderful. Marina and I haven’t managed it yet… She can’t carry a baby. We’re about to try IVF again; the first round didn’t work,” Kirill confided. He and Marina had been married seven years and desperately wanted a child. Denis had married late, at thirty-two. He’d had other relationships, but none swept him off his feet – until he met Arina. He fell in love so deeply he couldn’t imagine anyone else. When Denis introduced Arina to Kirill and then married her, Kirill, as his best man, had felt a twinge of envy. Arina was beautiful and gentle; he understood Denis’s feelings. A fine autumn drizzle spattered the windshield and the wipers flicked now and then as they chatted cheerfully. Denis’s phone rang and he answered. “Hi, Arisha! Yes, we’re driving home now, should be there in a couple of hours. How are you? Same old, huh? Don’t lift anything heavy; I’ll do everything when I get back. Love you, see you soon.” Kirill listened and pictured Arina waiting, worrying. He thought: “Marina never calls or worries. She thinks I’m bound to her, and she’s nothing like Arisha – everything is tidy, work and home.” Suddenly Denis swerved; a delivery van was careening towards them. The collision was inevitable but they managed to hit a post on Denis’s side and spun off the road. Kirill came to with a throbbing head and blood on his arm. The car sat upright but his door was open. Denis wasn’t moving. Bystanders rushed over; cars stopped. Kirill lay on the wet grass, waiting for an ambulance. Denis was stretchered away; Kirill bent over his friend and heard him whisper, “Help Arisha…” Both were taken to hospital. Kirill had a broken arm and concussion. He anxiously questioned the medics: “How’s Den, my friend?” A nurse finally told him: “Denis passed away…” Kirill was devastated and couldn’t attend the funeral. Marina told him Denis’s widow wept uncontrollably, barely able to stand by his coffin. After discharge, Kirill visited the cemetery with Marina, lingering by Denis’s grave and promising silently: “Don’t worry, mate, I’ll look after your wife, as you asked…” Two days later, he went to Arina’s place. She burst into tears on seeing him. “How do I go on without him? I can’t accept that Den’s gone.” “Arisha, I promised to help you. We’ll manage together. Call me for anything; I’ll visit,” Kirill assured her. Time passed. Arina tried to adjust, fearing her grief might end the pregnancy. The doctor also warned her to stay calm. Kirill visited twice a week, bringing groceries and vitamins, driving her to appointments. Arina didn’t take advantage; she asked for help only as needed. “Kirill, I feel bad that you spend your time on me.” “I don’t mind. I promised Den.” Kirill felt mixed emotions for Arina: she was his dream woman, but the situation overwhelmed him. While Arina endured her sickness, Kirill and Marina pursued more fertility treatments, facing familiar disappointments. Marina was unaware of Kirill’s help for Arina; on his phone, Arina was saved as ‘Charity’ to avoid suspicion from Marina. After another failed IVF attempt, tension grew between Kirill and Marina. She thought he was to blame; he simply stopped caring. Marina became suspicious—her husband seemed distracted, sometimes irritable, off running errands. An affair seemed unlikely; they hadn’t lost that spark. Despite personal troubles, work went well: Kirill returned to the project he’d started with Denis and landed a big contract. Arina’s pregnancy advanced, making her more helpless. Her parents lived far away in Scotland; she had no close friends in London. She suffered headaches and swollen feet but rarely complained. One day, Kirill arrived to find Arina on a stepladder, hanging new curtains. “I just cleaned the window,” she said cheerily, “and I’m putting up new drapes.” “Get down right now,” Kirill barked, eyeing her large belly. “If you fall, it’s no joke.” He helped her down and, standing close, felt a tremor. “Thanks, Kir,” she said, then quickly dashed to the bathroom, morning sickness returning. Kirill wiped his brow, thinking, “Is Denis watching from somewhere? He did ask for my help.” Next, Arina asked, “Kirill, could you help me set up the nursery? I’ve found some wallpaper I like.” Kirill had to tackle the nursery renovation. He couldn’t let Arina strain herself. They worked together; she helped and cheered him on. Between his depressed wife, always upset over infertility, and Arina nearing her due date, Kirill felt torn. Marina sensed their marriage was in jeopardy, threw herself into work, landed a magazine column, and brought home treats and wine to celebrate. “Ooh, what’s this? A party?” Kirill asked, arriving home. “Yes, I landed a big contract—let’s celebrate!” Their favourite movie played on TV; snacks and wine filled the room as they tried to rekindle the old warmth. Kirill’s phone rang. Marina glanced over his shoulder: ‘Charity’ on the screen. He hurried to the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” he whispered. “Kir, sorry, but I think I’m going into labour… Already called an ambulance.” “But it’s early!” “Seven months—it’s possible,” she said, fighting pain. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.” He dressed quickly; Marina eyed him with concern. “You’re leaving?” “Yes,” he improvised. “The boss called about charity work, needs me urgently. I’ll explain later.” But Marina didn’t buy it. “What charity, what boss, what rubbish?” Kirill sped to the hospital; Arina had already arrived. After two hours, the nurse brought news—Arina had a baby boy. Kirill breathed a sigh of relief. At home, Marina eyed him coldly. “That charity work’s worn you out,” she said scornfully. Kirill sat heavily, still dressed. “Yes, Marina, yes… Arina gave birth to a son. I promised Denis I’d help her. She’s completely alone.” “Now I understand… Next, you’ll help Arina with her newborn son, right?” “Yes,” Kirill replied sincerely. “Well, you know me—I won’t tolerate you giving time to someone else’s child, especially when we can’t have one, and probably never will. So I’m filing for divorce. Maybe I’ll meet someone else and have a baby after all.” Kirill looked at her, realising she blamed him for their childlessness. “That’s your choice, Marina, I won’t argue. I need to help Arina and her baby.” In time, Marina filed for divorce. Kirill moved in with Arina to help with baby Danny. Later, they married—and, two years on, welcomed a daughter. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and for your support. Wishing you all the best in life!

Promise David gripped the steering wheel with a sense of calm assurance, guiding the car along a winding