Emily Taylor

Turning Up the Heat on Marriage: When Victor Suggested an Open Relationship to Elena, He Thought It Would Spice Things Up, But Instead It Unraveled 25 Years Together and Forced Them Both to Rethink Love, Freedom, and Self-Worth in Middle Age

Warmed Up the Marriage Lucy, listen… Richard said carefully, fiddling with his mug. What do you

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Hang On Just a Little Longer “Mum, that’s for Anna’s next term.” Maria set the envelope on the battered vinyl tablecloth. A hundred thousand. She’d counted the money three times—at home, on the bus, at the doorstep. Each time, exactly enough. Elena put her knitting aside and peered over her glasses at her daughter. “Maria, you look awfully pale. Shall I make you a cuppa?” “No thank you, Mum. I can only stay a minute—I have to make my second shift.” The kitchen smelled of boiled potatoes and something medicinal—either joint cream or those drops Maria bought her mother every month. Four grand a bottle, which lasted three weeks. Plus blood pressure tablets, plus quarterly check-ups. “Anna was so thrilled when she heard about the work placement at the bank,” Elena took the envelope as carefully as if it were fragile glass. “She says there are good prospects.” Maria said nothing. “Tell her it’s the last money for her studies.” The final term. Maria had kept this up for five years. Every month—an envelope for Mum, a transfer for her sister. Every month—calculator in hand, subtracting bills, medicine, groceries for Mum, Anna’s university costs. What was left? A rented room in a shared house, a winter coat that was six years old, and forgotten dreams of her own flat. Once, Maria had wanted to visit London. Just for a weekend. To see the National Gallery, stroll along the Thames. She’d even begun saving—then Mum had her first serious health scare and all the savings went on doctors. “You ought to take a break, love,” Elena stroked her hand. “You look done in.” “I will, Mum. Soon.” Soon—as in, when Anna found a job. When Mum stabilised. When she could finally breathe and think of herself. Maria had been saying “soon” for five years. Anna graduated as an accountant in June—a first, no less. Maria went to the ceremony, taking leave from work, and watched her little sister cross the stage in her new dress (a present from Maria, naturally) and thought: that’s it. Now everything will change. Anna will get a job, start earning, and Maria would finally stop counting every penny. Four months passed. “You don’t get it, Maria,” Anna sat curled up on the sofa in fluffy socks. “I didn’t spend five years studying to slog for peanuts.” “Fifty thousand a year isn’t peanuts.” “Maybe not for you, but for me it is.” Maria clenched her jaw. She made forty-two on her main job. If she was lucky with extra shifts, another twenty. Sixty-two thousand a year, and lucky if she kept fifteen for herself. “Anna, you’re twenty-two. Time to start working somewhere.” “I will. Just not as some nobody in a dead-end office for fifty grand.” Elena fussed in the kitchen, banging pots—pretending not to hear. She always did when the daughters fought. She’d disappear, hide, and later—before Maria left—she’d whisper, “Don’t be cross with Anna, she’s young, she doesn’t understand.” Doesn’t understand. Twenty-two and still doesn’t understand. “I’m not immortal, Anna.” “Oh stop being dramatic. It’s not like I’m asking you for money, is it? I’m just looking for a proper job.” Not asking. Technically—no. Mum did: “Maria, Anna could do with English lessons.” “Maria, Anna’s phone broke, she needs to job hunt.” “Maria, Anna would like a new coat, winter’s coming.” Maria sent the money, bought the things, paid the bills. Silently. Because that’s always how it was: she shouldered the burden and everyone else treated it as a given. “I’ve got to go,” she stood up. “Night shift tonight.” “Wait, I’ll pack you some pasties!” Mum called from the kitchen. Cabbage pasties. Maria took the bag and stepped out into the cold, musty stairwell, smelling of damp and cats. Ten minutes to the bus. Then an hour’s ride. Then eight hours on her feet. Then, if she caught extra work, four more hours at the computer. Meanwhile Anna would be at home, browsing jobs, waiting for the universe to deliver her an ideal position—one that paid one-fifty a year and let her work from home. Their first big row broke out in November. “Are you doing anything at all?” Maria snapped after seeing Anna in the same position on the sofa as the week before. “Sent off even one application?” “Three. This month.” “Three applications? In a month?” Anna rolled her eyes and retreated into her phone. “You don’t understand the job market. It’s brutal now. You have to choose the right posts.” “What’s right—a job that pays you for lying about on the sofa?” Elena peered out, nervously rubbing her hands with a tea towel. “Girls, shall I make tea? I baked a cake…” “No, Mum,” Maria massaged her temples. Third day running of headaches. “Just tell me, why am I working two jobs and she’s not working at all?” “Maria, she’s young, she’ll find her way…” “When? In a year? Five? I was already working at her age!” Anna bristled. “Well, sorry, I don’t fancy ending up like you! Like a carthorse, always working and nothing else!” Silence. Maria grabbed her bag and left. On the bus home, she stared at the darkness and thought: a carthorse. So that’s how it looks from the outside. Mum called the next day, asking Maria not to be upset. “Anna didn’t mean it like that. She’s just going through a lot. Just hang on a little longer, she’ll get a job soon.” Just hang on. Mum’s favourite phrase. Hang on until Dad sorts himself out. Hang on until Anna grows up. Hang on until things get better. Maria had been hanging on all her life. Rows became routine. Every visit ended the same: Maria tried to get through to Anna, Anna got stroppy, Elena ran between them pleading for peace. Then Maria left, Elena rang to apologise, everything started again. “You have to understand, she’s your sister,” Mum said. “And she needs to understand I’m not a cash machine.” “Maria…” In January, Anna rang first. Her voice was bubbling with excitement. “Maria! I’m getting married!” “What? To who?” “Dima. We’ve been dating three weeks. He’s… he’s perfect!” Three weeks. And getting married. Maria wanted to say it was madness, say at least get to know the guy—but she kept quiet. Maybe it would be a blessing. Anna would have a husband to support her, and Maria could finally exhale. That fragile hope lasted just until the family dinner. “I’ve got it all sorted!” Anna beamed. “Hotel reception for a hundred guests, live band, and I’ve found the perfect dress in Selfridges…” Maria lowered her fork. “And how much is all that?” “Well,” Anna gave a disarming smile, “About five, maybe six grand. But it’s a wedding, once in a lifetime!” “And who’s paying?” “Oh Maria, you know… Dima’s parents can’t help, their mortgage is huge. Mum’s nearly on the pension. You’ll probably need to get a loan.” Maria stared at her sister. Then her mother. Elena looked away. “You’re serious?” “Maria, it’s her wedding,” Mum spoke in that syrupy tone Maria knew from childhood. “Such an event, only once in a lifetime. You can’t skimp…” “You mean I should take a five-grand loan to pay for the wedding of someone who hasn’t even bothered to get a job?” “You’re my sister!” Anna slammed the table. “You have to!” “I have to?” Maria got up. Inside, everything went weirdly quiet and clear. “Five years. I paid for your studies. For Mum’s medicine. For your food, clothes, bills. I work two jobs. I’ve got no flat, no car, no holidays. I’m twenty-eight and haven’t bought new clothes for myself in eighteen months. “Maria, calm down…” began Elena. “No! Enough! I’ve supported you both for years, and you think it’s just my duty? That’s it! From now on, I’m living for myself!” She left, grabbing her coat just in time. It was minus five outside, but Maria didn’t feel the cold. Inside, there was a strange warmth, as if she had finally shrugged off the bag of stones she’d carried all her life. Her phone buzzed with calls. Maria hung up and blocked both numbers. Half a year passed. Maria moved into her own small flat, something she could finally afford. That summer, she visited London—four days, the National Gallery, riverside walks, long white nights. She bought a new dress. And then another. And shoes. She only heard about her family by accident, through a friend who worked near her mum. “So, is it true your sister’s wedding got cancelled?” Maria froze mid-sip of her coffee. “What?” “Oh, rumour is the groom bailed. Found out there was no money and legged it.” Maria drank her coffee. It was bitter, but somehow delicious. “No idea. We’re not in touch anymore.” That evening, sitting by the window in her new flat, Maria realised she felt no malice. Not a hint. Only a quiet, deep contentment—the contentment of someone who had finally stopped being a beaten carthorse…

Hold On a Little Longer Mum, this is for Janes next term. Mary placed the envelope onto the worn oilcloth

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Run From Him: When Your Dream Man Has a Darker Side – A Chilling Modern Tale of Friendship, Obsession, and Escaping a Controlling Relationship

Run From Him Oh, hello, friend! Emily slipped into the chair next to Grace. Long time no see.

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The Unwanted, Wanted Granddaughter: A Summer’s Day, a Playground Encounter, and the Battle for a Little Princess in the Sand – When Stubborn Family Secrets and Old Grudges Resurface to Threaten a Mother’s Love in Modern England

Look, over there, thats her! Im absolutely sure of it, a well-dressed woman whispered to a rather ordinary-looking man.

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The Unwanted Child — So, have you chosen a name for your little girl? — The elderly doctor smiled his professional smile at his young patient. — We haven’t decided yet, — Natalia, who was sitting by the bed, interjected. — Naming a baby is a serious matter, Dasha needs to think carefully. — I don’t want to. — To everyone’s surprise, the young mother herself spoke up. — I’m not planning on taking her home at all. I’m going to write a refusal. — What are you saying? — The woman shot up, then gave the girl a furious look and turned to the doctor. — She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Of course we’ll take the baby. — I’ll come back later. Try to get some rest, — the doctor said, clearly uninterested in witnessing a family row. As soon as the man left, Natalia turned on the girl with reproaches. — How dare you say something like that? What will people think of us? We had to move to this city as it is, trying to keep everything quiet. That baby is staying in this family. — And whose fault is that? — Dasha stared right at her. — If you’d listened to me back then, none of this would’ve happened. I’d have finished school in peace and gone off to uni. So, if you want this baby so much, you can have her. She turned to the wall, signalling the conversation was over. Natalia tried for a few more minutes to talk sense into her daughter, but then a nurse came and asked her to leave. The patient needed rest. Dasha was finally alone in the ward. She wept quietly into her pillow, praying to every god she knew for it all to end soon. A timid knock at the door forced Dasha to wipe away her tears. She exhaled deeply, then said: — Come in. Expecting a nurse or, at worst, her father, Dasha was surprised to see a complete stranger. — Can I help you? — Who could know how hard it was to keep up her mask of cool composure! — I just overheard… By complete accident! The doctors were talking in the corridor… — The woman fidgeted, clearly not sure how to voice her question. — Yes, I want to give up the baby. It’s true. Is that what you wanted to know? — I saw your mum… — She’s not my mum! — snapped Dasha, the mask cracking in a flash. — Just my stepmother who thinks the world revolves around her. My actual mum works abroad. — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, — the woman stammered. — It’s just… I have three kids of my own, and I can’t understand… I grew up in care, and I’m worried for your little one. She’s blameless in all this! — Babies this little are adopted quickly, that’s what they told me. — Dasha shrugged. — And I can’t even force myself to hold her, let alone more than that. If Natasha hadn’t got involved back then, I wouldn’t even be here right now. — But you’re old enough to decide for yourself — you’re over fifteen, aren’t you? — It’s such a scandal! — Dasha mimicked her stepmother’s tone. — What will people say? — I don’t understand… — I’ll tell you, — Dasha gave a crooked smile. — Maybe then you’ll stop judging me. ***************************************************** Dasha’s last year at school had gone terribly. On top of her beloved Pasha being conscripted into the army, a new boy joined the class. Fresh from London, his wealthy dad had exiled him to the provinces as punishment. His reputation for chasing girls had already gotten him into trouble. Mak was flashy: expensive gifts, club nights, posh dinners. One by one, the girls fell for his act, each thinking she’d be his princess. Dasha was the only one who resisted. She was in love; she wanted no one but Pasha. Eventually, it seemed Mak had accepted she was off-limits and set his sights elsewhere. Or so she thought. How wrong she was. The trouble started at a friend’s birthday party just before Christmas. The whole class was there, including Mak, but he was clearly up to something. Halfway through the evening, Dasha left the room to take a call. When she returned, Mak was sat in her seat. She didn’t think anything of it… but soon began to feel ill… In the morning, Dasha woke groggy and confused — Mak lying beside her, grinning. — See? You put up such a fight for nothing, — he said as if nothing unusual had happened. — Consider this some compensation. I’m honestly surprised. Your Pasha’s a real mug. Getting home was a nightmare. She could hardly stand, and passersby looked at her with disgust. Too weak to fish out her keys, she rang the doorbell. She was certain her stepmother would answer. — Out all night, not answering your phone, and look at the state of you! Your dad would have a fit if he saw you! — snapped Natasha. — Get a doctor and the police, — Dasha interrupted. — I want to report it. He needs locking up. Natasha hesitated, then, piecing things together, came to her own conclusions. — Who? — Mak, who else? — Even speaking made Dasha queasy. — No one else would dare. Call them, or I’ll do it myself. — Let’s not rush things, — Natasha calculated quickly. — He’ll just get away with it. Let’s do things differently. I’ll contact his father and ask for compensation. — You’re mad! — Dasha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. — What compensation? I’ll go to the police myself! — No you won’t! — Natasha yanked Dasha to her room. She hadn’t the energy to resist. — You’ll just get blamed — everyone will gossip. I’ll handle it. With no phone and the door locked by her stepmother, escape was impossible. Her head spinning, Dasha collapsed onto her bed. A few days later, she was sent to her grandmother’s, a hundred miles away. She pretended nothing was wrong to save the old woman worry. A month on, Dasha got the worst news imaginable. That night had left its mark — she was having a baby. Natasha was ecstatic: this baby would set the family up for life! The grandfather would pay handsomely to protect his son. Keep quiet until the fifth month, was the plan. Dasha’s wishes? Ignored. At word that she might want to terminate, Natasha kicked up a huge fuss and watched her every move. The grandfather was none too happy but coughed up money, promising more to come. **************************************************** — So you see? — Dasha’s voice was bitter. — I’ve been through hell because of this baby. Pasha dumped me. My friends turned their backs. We had to move. I didn’t even get to finish school! — I’m sorry, — the woman replied quietly. — I blamed you without knowing. — Dasha, we need to talk! — Natasha barged into the room, dragging her husband. — Visitors out, this is a family matter! With a sympathetic look, the stranger left, closing the door behind her. — I won’t let you ruin my plans. Leave that baby here, and you’re not coming home. And where will you go? Your beloved gran’s gone, her flat’s gone to your uncle. You’ll be on the streets! — No — she’s coming with me. — A well-dressed woman strode into the ward. Dasha’s eyes lit up with joy. — Mum! You came! — Of course, darling. I couldn’t leave you to struggle. — Albina hugged her tight. — If only you’d told me sooner, I’d have taken you home right away. I thought it would be easier for you to finish school here. — I thought you didn’t want me, — Dasha sobbed, for all the world still a child. — Someone told me you wanted nothing to do with me. My gifts sent back unopened, you never picked up. I thought you couldn’t forgive me. Well, never mind, — she wiped Dasha’s tears. — We’ll go, and you’ll forget all this… *************************************************** Dasha left. Natasha kept the baby, still dreaming of easy money. But when the powerful grandfather learned the truth, he came and took the baby. Mak was made to accept his responsibility, though he fought it. Dasha is happy now. She’s finally living with the one person who’ll never let her down…

Unwanted Child So, have you decided on a name for your little girl? The elderly doctor asked, his professional

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Another Woman’s Son — Your husband is the father of my child. With these startling words, a stranger approached Christine as she quietly enjoyed her lunch. Making herself comfortable across from her, the woman seemed to wait for any kind of reaction to her bold claim. “And how old is your little one?” Christine replied, completely unphased, as though such announcements were an everyday occurrence. “Eight,” Marina answered, pursing her lips in frustration. This was not the shock or outrage she had been expecting! No denial, no accusations, not even a hint of disdain? “Wonderful,” Christine smiled slightly and returned to her delicious cherry pie — served only at this particular café. “We’ve only been married for three years, so anything that happened before me isn’t relevant. Just one question — does Arthur know?” “No,” the woman retorted, leaning back in her chair. “But it doesn’t matter! I’m demanding child maintenance! He will pay, do you understand?” “He will, of course,” Christine agreed. “My husband adores children, and if he’d known sooner, he certainly would have wanted to be part of your son’s life. What’s his name, by the way?” “Ethan,” Marina replied automatically, then frowned. “Don’t you care that your darling husband has a child with another woman?” “As I said, anything before our marriage doesn’t concern me,” Christine’s soft smile didn’t leave her lips. “I knew perfectly well I was marrying a grown man, not some innocent lad. Naturally, he had a past, and that doesn’t bother me. What matters is that I’m the only one now.” “Fine. See you in court. You’d better get ready to fork out, because I’ll be demanding everything my son is legally entitled to.” With that, Marina left, leaving behind an overpowering scent of perfume. Christine struggled not to grimace — it was as if the woman had doused herself in half a bottle. “Go ahead, try your luck,” Christine mused philosophically, finishing the last bite of her pie. “I wonder how you’ll react when you find out Arthur’s official salary is only thirty thousand? The business is in his father’s name… Plus, he’s caring for his elderly, ill mum at the moment. You’ll barely see a penny.” Christine even felt a little sorry for the innocent boy. Maybe she should pay them a visit, see how they lived, and perhaps arrange a decent monthly sum for the child — provided Ethan really was Arthur’s son. She’d met women like this before… ********************* The DNA test was done quickly — when you have money, many things are resolved with the snap of a finger. The result was clear: Ethan was indeed Arthur’s son. In fact, Christine found the boy unnervingly quiet and withdrawn. What eight-year-old sits motionless and silent for ninety minutes while paperwork is filled out? He didn’t ask for cartoons, didn’t run about, didn’t make a sound… Nothing like other kids his age forced to wait around. It was odd. Christine was now even more certain she should visit this new “relative.” The flat was in a posh part of town, with a concierge at the entrance, two bedrooms, modern decor, everything top-notch. Christine made note of these things, unable to fathom why a woman living in such comfort could complain of being hard up. “Court’s in a week,” Marina grumbled, letting her in. “You could have waited to talk there.” “I wanted to get to know Ethan a bit better. Arthur is keen to be involved in his life — maybe take him on weekends, once he’s settled.” “As if I’d let him!” Marina bristled. “The court will decide,” Christine replied coolly. “He’s the boy’s father — it’s his right. But… I don’t see a single toy around here?” “I don’t have spare money for that nonsense,” Marina said dismissively. “Can barely afford him clothes, never mind toys.” “Seriously?” Christine glanced pointedly at Marina’s designer handbag, the expensive clothes strewn over the sofa, the premium cosmetics beside the mirror. “You’re short of cash?” “I’m still young. I want a family — that’s not your business,” Marina snapped, bristling at Christine’s tone. “And who looks after your son while you’re out at all hours?” Christine pressed, beginning to understand why Ethan seemed so quiet and detached. “He’s not a baby. Can stay by himself,” Marina muttered. “Is that all? See you in court!” “I’ll insist you’re accountable for every penny given for Ethan’s upkeep,” said Christine, fighting the urge to stay any longer. She was horrified by the woman’s attitude towards her own child. “I doubt you’ll be pleased with what the judge decides…” ********************** “…the court has ruled: Marina Lipova’s claim is granted in part. Arthur Malin is recognised as the father of Ethan Lipov. The register office is to amend the birth certificate accordingly. The claim for maintenance is denied. Arthur Malin’s counterclaim for residence is granted…” Christine smiled contentedly — she had achieved her goal. Ethan would live with them. Some might judge her for “taking a child away from his mother,” but it was the right thing to do. All of Marina’s neighbours agreed the boy was unwanted — she’d scream at him for no reason, hit him openly, heedless of witnesses. The child psychologist insisted Ethan needed to be removed for his own welfare. His teachers and former childminders said the same. Now Ethan would have his own spacious room, stacks of toys, a computer… And, most importantly, the love of parents he’d never felt before, as both Arthur and Christine were now utterly smitten with this wonderful little boy.

Your husband is the father of my son. With those words, a stranger approached Emily as she sat enjoying

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I Don’t Want Your Son Living With Us After the Wedding: A Heartbreaking Ultimatum Forces a Father to Choose Between His Child and His Fiancée

I dont want your son living with us after the wedding. Auntie Helen, could you please help me with my

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“I’ll Make a Proper Man of Him”: When Grandma Insisted My Son Couldn’t Be Left-Handed and Family Traditions Collided Over a Simple Spoon

Ill turn him into a proper lad. My grandson wont be a lefty, Pamela snapped, her cheeks flushed with

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Three Broken Lives: A Family Secret Unveiled During Spring Cleaning Leads a Daughter to Discover Her Mother’s Lost Love, a Bitter Mistake, and the Ripple Effect of One Choice on Three Destinies

Three Broken Fates Well, well, lets see what weve got here! Now this looks promising. It all began with

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The Road to Humanity: A Journey of Triumph, Crisis, and Compassion as Max’s New Car Becomes the Unexpected Setting for a Night He’ll Never Forget

The Road to Compassion Im sitting behind the wheel of my brand-new Ford Focus the very car Ive been dreaming