Emily Taylor

This Is Not Your Home Alena gazed sadly around the house where she’d grown up from childhood. At eighteen, she was already completely disillusioned with life. Why was fate so cruel to her? Her beloved Nan had died, she’d failed to get into university not because she didn’t know the answers, but because a girl at the next desk had cheated from her paper and whispered something to the examiner when she handed it in. He frowned, demanded to see Alena’s answers, and then announced she was disqualified for cheating. She couldn’t prove anything. And it turned out that girl was the daughter of a local bigwig. How could you fight people like that? Now, after so many misfortunes, her mother had resurfaced, together with two brothers and a new husband. Where had they been all these years? Alena had been raised by her grandmother, her mum leaving before she even turned four. She had no pleasant memories of her mum from those few years. While Dad was at work, Mum left her alone and went out for fun. Even married, she never stopped looking for a “real man” and made no secret of it, either then or later, when Alena’s father died suddenly. Her mum, Tamara, didn’t grieve long. She packed her things, dumped her four-year-old on Grandma’s doorstep, sold the flat left by her late husband and left for parts unknown. Grandma Raya’s appeals to her conscience were in vain. Tamara visited now and then, but Alena was of no interest. She showed up again when Alena was twelve, bringing along her son, seven-year-old Svyatoslav, and demanded the old lady sign the house over to her. “No, Toma! You’re getting nothing!” Grandma flatly refused. “Sooner or later you’ll die and then it’ll be mine anyway!” snapped Tamara, glancing irritably at her daughter, packing Svyatoslav and slamming the door on her way out. “Why do you always argue when she turns up?” Alena asked her gran. “Because your mother is a selfish woman! I raised her badly. Didn’t discipline her enough!” Grandma retorted angrily. Grandma Raya fell ill suddenly. She’d never complained of her health, but one day, when Alena came home from school, she found her usually busy grandmother pale, sitting idle on the balcony. Alena had never seen her like that. “What’s wrong?” she asked, worried. “I’m not feeling well… Call an ambulance, darling,” her gran said calmly. The next days were a blur—hospital, drips, and then… death. Grandma Raya spent her last days in intensive care, where visitors weren’t allowed. Desperate with fear for her only real family, Alena dialed her mother. At first Tamara refused to come, but when Alena said Grandma was in ICU, she finally agreed—arriving only in time for the funeral. Three days later, she thrust a will under Alena’s nose. “This house now belongs to me and my sons! Oleg will be arriving soon. I know you don’t get along with him—so why not stay with Auntie Gally for a while?” Not a trace of grief in her voice. She actually seemed glad that Grandma Raya was gone—she was now the heir! Crushed with grief, Alena didn’t resist. The will was clear. For a time, she really did live with Auntie Gally, her father’s sister—a scatterbrained woman, never giving up hope of finding a rich husband, always surrounded by noisy, tipsy guests. Alena couldn’t stand it, especially when some started paying her unwanted attention. Terrified, Alena told her boyfriend, Pasha. “Enough of those sleazy old men eyeing you up!” he said. Then, decisively—remarkable for his nineteen years—he added: “I’ll talk to my dad. We have a flat on the edge of town. He promised I could have it when I started university. I’ve kept my end, now it’s his turn.” “I don’t really see how that helps me…” Alena stammered. “It means you and I will live there. Together!” said Pasha. “Will your parents ever agree to that?” “They have no choice! Consider this a proposal—will you be my wife and live with me?” Alena nearly cried with happiness. “Of course—yes!” Auntie Gally was thrilled, but Alena’s mother nearly ground her teeth to powder—“Getting married, are you? Look at you! Couldn’t get into university, so you found another way! Don’t expect any money from me! And that house is mine. You’re getting nothing!” Her mother’s words hurt deeply. Pasha could barely make sense of her tears, but he took his weeping fiancée home, where his parents tried to comfort her. Andrei Semyonovich listened to all Alena had suffered—more in a few months than many get in a lifetime. “You poor girl! What sort of woman is your mother?” exclaimed Pasha’s mother. “But what puzzles me,” said Andrei, “is why your mum is so desperate for the house if she has a will and keeps using it to threaten you…” “I don’t know…” sniffled Alena. “She always argued with Grandma over that house. First wanted her to sell it and hand over the money, then pushed her to sign it over. Grandma wouldn’t, said then we’d end up out on the street.” “Strange,” Andrei said thoughtfully. “Did you go to the notary after your gran died?” “No, why would I?” Alena asked, confused. “To process inheritance rights.” “But my mother’s the heir—it says so in the will! I’m just the grandchild. And Mum showed me the will.” “It’s not that simple,” said Andrei. “We’ll go to the notary after the weekend. For now, rest up.” Later, her mother tried to make her sign some documents, but Pasha intervened. “She’s not signing anything!” “Who are you to say?” Tamara snapped. “She’s an adult, she decides!” “I’m her future husband, and I think it would harm her. She won’t sign a thing.” Tamara screeched but had to leave empty-handed. Andrei’s suspicions only deepened. A few days later, he accompanied Alena to the notary. “Listen carefully, but check everything before signing!” he advised. The notary was scrupulous. Alena lodged her claim, and the next day they were told that a case had been opened for Alena’s inheritance. There was a savings account, left by Grandma Raya to pay for her education—of which Alena had known nothing. “What about the house?” Andrei enquired. “A deed of gift for the house was signed in the girl’s favour some time ago. No other documents exist.” “A deed of gift?” Alena gasped. “Yes. Your grandmother signed it to you several years back. Now you’re eighteen, you have full rights to the house.” “What about the will?” “It was written long ago and later cancelled. Your mum probably doesn’t know. The house is yours—you can live there as you wish.” Andrei’s suspicions were confirmed. “So what do I do now?” Alena asked, lost. “Tell your mother the house is yours—and she’ll have to leave.” “She’ll never do that! She’s already packed my things to throw them out!” “That’s what the police are for.” When Alena broke the news, Tamara exploded: “You little cow! Chucking your own mother out, are you? You can clear off! Who told you this rubbish? That fiancé of yours? I have a will!” “Exactly! Now get lost, or I’ll break your legs for good measure!” Oleg joined in. Andrei Semyonovich stood firm. “You should know, threatening behaviour is a criminal offence,” he said, polite but firm. “And who are you to tell me what’s what? We’re selling this house. Buyers are coming today!” Oleg sneered. But instead of buyers, the police arrived. Seeing proof of Alena’s ownership, they ordered Tamara and company to vacate, warning of prosecution if they didn’t. Furious, Tamara, her husband and sons had no choice but to leave. Alena returned home, with Pasha moving in too, for her safety. He was right—Tamara and Oleg kept pestering Alena for weeks. When Tamara heard about the bank account, she went after it, managing to secure part of it by law. But she could not get the house, no matter what she tried. Only after consulting every solicitor she could did Tamara finally give up and move away with her family. Alena never saw her again. Alena and Pasha married. The next summer Alena got into her dream university course, and by her third year she gave birth to their first child. Surrounded by her loving husband and his family, who had supported her through the darkest times, she finally found happiness. By Odette

This is Not Your Home I glanced with sadness around the little house where Id grown up. At eighteen

La vida

The Convenient Grannies

Comfortable Grandmas Margaret Smith wakes up to laughter, and not just a quiet giggle or a stifled chuckle

La vida

“While We Sell the Flat, Go Stay in a Care Home, Mum,” Said the Daughter: How Ludmila’s Late Marriage and a Greedy Husband Led to Heartbreak and Regret

While were selling the flat, you can stay in a care home for a while, said her daughter. Margaret had

La vida

014

Putting Dad in a Care Home: Lisa’s Guilt and Heartbreak After a Lifetime with a Difficult Father

What new nonsense is this? What care home? Absolutely not! Im not going anywhere, not from my own home!

La vida

After My Parents’ Divorce, They Abandoned Their Daughter: How My Family Fell Apart, I Was Thrown Out By My Mother, Rejected By My Father, and Left to Survive Alone—But Years Later, Forgiveness Brought Us Together Again and Healed Old Wounds

Dear Diary, I remember that chilly March evening when everything changed. I’d pleaded with Mum

La vida

After Turning Seventy, She Felt Forgotten—Even Her Own Son and Daughter Didn’t Wish Her a Happy Birthday Lydia sat alone on a hospital bench, tears streaming down her face. It was her seventieth birthday, but not a single birthday wish came from her children. Only her roommate congratulated her, offering a humble gift, and Nurse Katie brought her an apple in honour of her special day. The hospital was pleasant enough, but the staff seemed indifferent. It was clear to everyone why so many elderly people ended up here—children bringing their parents when they became “inconvenient.” Lydia’s own son brought her, claiming she needed rest to recover, but she knew deep down she had simply become a burden to his wife. Lydia once owned a flat, but her son pressured her into transferring ownership. Before she signed the documents he promised she would keep living there as she always had. In reality, the whole family moved in, and Lydia clashed constantly with her daughter-in-law. Her daughter-in-law was always finding fault—complaining that her borscht was bland, that there was a puddle in the bathroom, and more. At first, her son stood up for her, but soon enough he stopped, and began raising his voice at her. Lydia noticed her son and his wife whispering conspiratorially. Then the hints began—maybe a rest and some recuperation would do her good. Eventually, Lydia confronted her son: “Have you really decided to send me to a care home?” He blushed, lowered his eyes, and mumbled: “Mum, please don’t start, it’s just a health resort—go for a month, get your strength back, then you can come home.” He brought her here, signed a few forms, promised to visit soon, then left. She’s now been here for two years. She called her son, but a strange man answered, saying her son had sold the flat. She never found out where he’d gone. At first, she spent countless nights crying—the moment they brought her here, she knew she’d never see home again. And worst of all, she deeply regretted the way she’d once hurt her own daughter for her son’s sake. Lydia grew up in the countryside, where her family ran a large house and smallholding. One day, a neighbour convinced her husband city life was better, with good wages and comfortable living. Her husband loved the idea so much that they soon sold everything and moved to the city. Life was easier at first, with a new flat, furniture, even a battered old car—until her husband was killed in a crash. Lydia was left alone with two children. To provide for them, she scrubbed the stairwells in the evenings. She hoped that one day, her children would help her—but that day never came. Her son got into trouble, forcing her to borrow large sums to keep him out of jail. Her daughter married, had a son, and seemed happy—until her grandson grew ill. Her daughter quit her job to care for him, while doctors struggled to provide a diagnosis. In time, a rare disease was found, treatable only in a single specialist hospital with a long waiting list. While seeking help, her daughter’s husband left. At the hospital, she met a widower whose daughter suffered the same illness. They moved in together. Four years later, the daughter’s new husband needed an expensive operation and asked Lydia for a loan. Lydia said no—she’d been saving everything for her son’s first mortgage payment. Her daughter was hurt, declared she no longer had a mother, and hasn’t spoken to her for eleven years. Back in the present, Lydia got up and slowly made her way inside—when suddenly she heard: “Mum!” Her heart leapt as she turned and saw her daughter. Suddenly her legs nearly gave way, and her daughter caught her. “I’ve been searching for you for so long. My brother refused to give me your address until I threatened legal action for the illegal sale of your flat. Mum, I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to visit. At first, I was furious with you, and then I kept putting it off—but mostly, I was ashamed. A few weeks ago, I had a dream where you were wandering through the woods, crying. I woke up feeling awful and told my husband, who insisted I find you and make amends. When I went to your flat, strangers answered the door, and I had to hunt my brother down. We have a big house by the sea—my husband says you must come and live with us.” Lydia hugged her daughter tightly and broke down in tears—this time, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks.

Margaret sat on a creaky bench under the shabby chestnut trees in the NHS hospitals tiny park, dabbing

La vida

A Friend Betrayed: Granddad’s Tale of the Loyal Puppy, a Foolish Mistake, and the Lesson I Never Forgot

A Sold Friend. Granddads Tale And he understood me! It was a thoroughly daft idea, really, and I grasped

La vida

I Took a DNA Test and Instantly Regretted It I Had to Marry My Girlfriend After Learning She Was Pregnant. After the Wedding, We Moved In with My Parents Because We Couldn’t Afford Our Own Place. Time Passed and I Became the Proud Dad of a Wonderful Little Boy. Soon, We Decided to Take Out a Mortgage and Start Our Own Home. Some Time Later, My Wife Announced She Was Expecting Again—and That’s How Princess Anna Joined Our Family. The Kids Grew Up Fast. With Every Year, I Noticed More and More That They Didn’t Look Anything Like Me—or My Wife, for That Matter! Two Redheads Covered in Freckles—Where Did That Come From in Our Family? Eventually, I Started Thinking About a Paternity Test. Maybe It Wasn’t a Wise Move, But I Needed to Know for Sure That I Was Raising My Own Children. So, I Did It. I Had to Wait Two Weeks for Results. As Soon as the Lab Called, I Rushed Over—Thank God, I Really Was Their Dad. I Went Home and Stashed the Papers So My Wife Wouldn’t Find Them. But Why Didn’t I Just Throw Them Away? I Paid a Heavy Price for That Mistake! A Few Days Later, My Wife Threw the Documents in My Face. She Made Such a Scene, the Whole House Seemed to Shake. I Get Why She Was Upset, but Things Could Have Been Resolved Calmly. She Never Forgave Me, and Now I’m Alone. It’s Been Five Years Since, and My Wife Still Won’t Let Me See the Kids. So, It Turns Out That Simple Curiosity Ended Up Costing Me the Most Precious Thing I Had—My Family. I Just Hope That, One Day, My Wife Will Be Able to Forgive Me…

I took a DNA test and came to regret it It feels like a lifetime ago, back when I was still just a young

La vida

Don’t Leave, Mum: A Family Story There’s an old saying: people aren’t like nuts—you can’t crack them right away. But Tamara Watson was sure that was nonsense. She prided herself on reading people perfectly! Her daughter, Millie, had married just a year ago. Tamara had dreamed of her daughter finding the right man, starting a family, and welcoming grandchildren. She imagined herself as the proud matriarch of their sprawling, happy brood, just as she had always been. Russell seemed clever and certainly wasn’t short of money—and he was obviously a bit smug about it. But the newlyweds insisted on living independently, as Russ had his own flat, and it seemed they didn’t need Tamara’s advice about anything! She could see he was clearly a bad influence on Millie! This arrangement didn’t fit with Tamara’s plans at all. Russell got right under her skin. “Mum, you just don’t understand—Russell grew up in care. He’s worked for everything, he’s strong and kind,” Millie would protest. But Tamara would just purse her lips and find new faults with Russell. He was not at all the person he pretended to be in front of her daughter! And it was her motherly duty to open Millie’s eyes to this vacant man before it was too late! No degree, difficult to talk to, uninterested in anything! At weekends, he just slumped in front of the telly, claiming he needed to “rest!” And her daughter wanted to spend her life with someone like that? No way! She was sure Millie would thank her in the end. And what about the children, her future grandchildren—what kind of father would teach them anything worthwhile?! All in all, Tamara was bitterly disappointed. Russell, sensing his mother-in-law’s mood, started avoiding the family. They spoke less and less, and Tamara eventually refused to step foot in their flat. Millie’s dad, ever the gentle soul, kept neutral, knowing what his wife could be like. One night, Millie rang Tamara sounding frantic: “Mum, I didn’t tell you, but I’m away for work for two days. Russell caught a chill on site, came home early, and isn’t answering my calls.” “Milly, why are you telling me this?” Tamara exploded. “You two are so independent now, don’t seem to care about us! If something’s wrong with me, nobody notices! And now you wake me up at night to say your husband’s ill? Are you alright in the head?” “Mum, please…” Millie’s voice trembled with worry, “It just hurt that you think Russell’s no good, when he’s not like that at all. How could you think I’d marry someone bad? Don’t you trust me?” Tamara was silent. “Mum, please, you’ve got our spare key. Can you go and check on him? I’m really worried—something’s wrong with Russ. Please, Mum!” “Alright, but only for you,” Tamara said, waking her husband. When they arrived, no one answered the bell, so Tamara let herself in. “It’s probably nothing—maybe he’s not home?” her husband suggested, but Tamara’s anxiety grew. She entered the living room—and froze. Russell was sprawled on the sofa, burning with fever. The paramedic who arrived nodded sympathetically: “Looks like your son’s got complications from a cold—kept working through it, I bet?” “He works hard,” Tamara nodded. “He’ll be okay. Keep an eye on him, ring if anything changes.” Russell slept, and Tamara found herself sitting at his bedside all night—the son-in-law she’d resented for so long. He looked younger, softer, asleep—a far cry from his usual self. “Mum—don’t go, Mum,” Russell murmured in his sleep, gripping her hand. Tamara was stunned. But she didn’t pull away. She sat there beside him until dawn. At sunrise, Millie rang again: “Mum, sorry to put you through this—I’ll be home soon, you don’t need to come around, I think it’ll all work out.” “It will, darling, it already has,” Tamara said gently. “We’re here, and everything’s alright.” ***** When Millie’s first child was born, Tamara was the first to offer her help. Russell kissed her hand in gratitude: “See, Millie? You said your mum wouldn’t want to help us.” Tamara, proudly cradling baby Timothy, paraded around the flat, whispering to the newborn: “Little Tim, you’re a lucky lad! You’ve got the best mum, dad, and grandparents! What a life you’ll have!” Perhaps the old saying is true: people aren’t like nuts—you can’t crack them straight away. It’s only love that helps you truly understand each other.

Folk wisdom says: You cant judge a book by its cover. But Margaret Smith always thought such sayings

La vida

She Was Never Truly Alone: An Ordinary Story It was a late winter morning as daylight crept in. Outside, council workers scraped snow from the close with their sturdy shovels. The heavy front door banged shut again and again, ushering in and out the flood of neighbours hurrying off to work. On the sixth-floor windowsill, Felix the cat observed it all with quiet curiosity. In his previous life, Felix had been a city banker, concerned only with money and numbers—never pausing to consider what else life might hold. But now, he understood that kindness, companionship, and a warm roof overhead far outweighed worldly wealth. Felix glanced back. There, on the old sagging sofa, slept Nan Val, his saviour and best friend. He slinked down from the window and curled up at her pillow, soft fur pressed gently against her silvered head. Felix knew Nan Val’s head ached each morning, and he did what he could to help. “Felix, you’re quite the little healer!” she murmured as she awoke to his gentle warmth. “That pain’s gone, you clever boy—how do you do it?” Felix gave his paw a nonchalant shake as if to say, “It’s nothing—I could do much more if you asked!” But then a low, jealous grumble echoed from the hallway: it was Gav, the terrier. Gav had been Nan Val’s loyal companion for many years. At the first sound of unfamiliar footsteps, he always barked with gusto, protecting his home and the woman he loved. No doubt he fancied himself the true master of the flat. “What was he in a past life?” mused Felix. “A police constable, maybe—or a foreman. Loud and bossy, but perhaps that’s just what a guard dog should be!” “My darlings, what would I do without you?” Nan Val sighed fondly, shuffling to her feet. “Now, time for breakfast—then off for a little walk.” “And if the pension comes in this week, I’ll buy us a chicken!” At the word “chicken,” a wave of excitement swept the room. Felix kneeded the sofa with his paws, purring so loudly it made Nan Val chuckle. He nuzzled her thin arthritic hand with his broad furry head. “Oh, you wise old boy—you understand every word, don’t you?” she sighed in delight. Gav barked in agreement and bumped his cold nose against her knee. “They’re such loving souls,” Nan Val thought, smiling. “Home is warmer and the heart less lonely with them near.” “When I’m gone, who knows what comes next? Everyone’s got an opinion, but who can say for sure? If I had my choice, I’d come back as a cat—so long as a kind person would take me in. As a dog, I don’t think I’d manage—all that barking. I’m too soft-spoken for that. But a cat? I’d make a gentle, affectionate one, I’m sure. Just let me land with good people.” “Goodness gracious, what strange ideas!” she scolded herself. “That’s what old age does to your mind.” She didn’t notice Felix’s sly whiskered smile as he glanced at Gav, silently thinking: “See—she wants to be a cat, not a dog.” After all, Felix had learned to read minds these days—a rather nice bonus, really. And that’s how things stood, in their little flat above the snowy streets of England.

She Was Not Alone. An Ordinary Story A soft, pearly dawn stretched out across a late winter morning.