Emily Taylor

Miss, after this old man finishes his cheap soup, please give me his table—I haven’t got time to waste! I’m feeling generous today; put his bill on me. But the humble old man was about to teach the wealthy snob a lesson he’d never forget! In that cosy little restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of England, time seemed to move differently.

Miss, as soon as that old chap finishes slurping up his cheap soup, please clear his table for me.

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An Old Woman Found a Necklace on the Floor of a Village Church and Refused to Hand It Back… Until She Unlocked a Family Secret That Would Change Her Life Forever

Sunday, 3rd September Today, something extraordinary happened, the kind of day that gently unsettles

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An Elderly Gentleman Struggled From His Bed and, Steadying Himself Against the Wall, Made His Way to the Next Room. In the Glow of the Night Lamp, He Squinted at His Slumbering Wife: “She’s Not Moving! Has She Passed Away?”—He Sank to His Knees. “Seems She’s Breathing.” He Stood and Slowly Shuffled Into the Kitchen. Drank Some Kefir, Visited the Loo, Then Headed to His Room. Lying Awake, He Thought: “Lena and I Are Both Ninety. What a Life We’ve Lived! Soon We’ll Be Gone, and There’s No One Left Nearby. Our Daughter Natasha Died Before Sixty. Maxim Died in Prison. There’s a Granddaughter, Oksana, But She’s Been in Germany for Over Twenty Years—She Never Remembers Us. She Probably Has Grown-Up Children of Her Own Now.” He Didn’t Notice When Sleep Overtook Him. He Awoke to a Gentle Touch: “Kostya, Are You Alive?” Came a Barely Audible Voice. He Opened His Eyes. His Wife Was Leaning Over Him. “Lena, What’s the Matter?” “I Saw You Lying So Still, I Was Frightened. Thought You’d Died.” “Still Alive! Go and Sleep!” Shuffling Steps Echoed. The Kitchen Light Flicked On. Elena Ivanovna Drank Some Water, Visited the Loo, and Headed to Her Room. She Lay Down, Thinking: “One Morning I’ll Wake to Find Him Gone. What Will I Do Then? Maybe I’ll Be the First to Go. Kostya’s Even Arranged Our Funerals Already—Who’d Have Thought You Could Organise Your Own? But It’s a Good Thing—Who’d Bury Us Otherwise? Our Granddaughter’s Forgotten Us Completely. Only Polina the Neighbour Pops In Anymore—She’s Got a Key. Granddad Gives Her Part of Our Pension. She Gets Our Shopping and Medicines. Where Else Do We Have to Spend Our Money? We Can’t Even Get Down from the Fourth Floor Alone Anymore.” Konstantin Leonidovich Opened His Eyes. The Sunlight Was Peeking Through the Window. He Stepped Out Onto the Balcony and Saw the Green Tip of the Bird Cherry Tree. He Smiled: “We’ve Lived to See Another Summer!” He Went to Check on His Wife, Who Sat Pensively on Her Bed. “Lena, No More Pouting! Come, I Want to Show You Something.” “Oh, I’ve No Strength Left!” She Struggled from the Bed. “What Are You Up To?” “Come Along Now!” He Supported Her to the Balcony. “Look, the Bird Cherry’s Green! And You Said We’d Never See Another Summer. But We Did!” “It Is—The Sun’s Out Too.” They Sat Together on the Balcony Bench. “Remember When I Invited You to the Cinema Back at School? The Bird Cherry Was Leafing Out That Day, Too.” “How Could I Forget? How Many Years Ago Was That?” “Over Seventy… Seventy-Five.” They Sat for a Long Time, Reminiscing About Their Youth—So Much Slips Away With Old Age, Even What Happened Yesterday, but Your Youth—That Sticks with You Forever. “We’ve Chattered Away! Haven’t Even Had Breakfast Yet.” “Lena, Make Us Some Proper Tea, Will You? I’m Tired of This Herbal Stuff.” “We Shouldn’t Really.” “Just a Weak Brew, and a Spoonful of Sugar Each.” Konstantin Leonidovich Sipped His Weak Tea, Nibbling Cheese on Toast, Remembering How Breakfasts Used to Mean Strong Sweet Tea with Pies or Pasties. Their Neighbour Dropped In and Smiled Fondly: “How Are the Pair of You?” “What Can Possibly Be New When You’re Ninety?”—Granddad Joked. “Well, If You’re Jokers, You Must Be Fine. Do You Need Anything From the Shops?” “Polina, Could You Get Us Some Meat, Please?” “You’re Not Supposed to Have That.” “Chicken’s Allowed.” “Alright, I’ll Make You Some Noodle Soup!” “Polina, Could You Get Something for My Heart?” the Old Lady Asked. “Elena Ivanovna, I Got You Something Not Long Ago.” “We’ve Run Out Already.” “Maybe I Should Call the Doctor?” “No Need.” Polina Tidied the Table, Did the Washing Up, and Left. “Lena, Let’s Go Back Out on the Balcony—Soak Up Some Sun.” “Let’s Go! Can’t Bear Sitting Cooped Up.” Polina Returned, Bringing Their Porridge onto the Balcony Before Starting Soup for Lunch. “She’s a Good Woman,” He Said as She Went. “Where Would We Be Without Her?” “And You Only Give Her Ten Thousand a Month.” “Lena, We Left Her the Flat in Our Will and Had It Notarised.” “But She Doesn’t Know That.” They Sat on the Balcony Until Lunch. Lunch Was Chicken Soup—Tasty, with Finely Diced Meat and Mashed Potato. “I Always Made It Like This for Natasha and Maxim When They Were Little,” Elena Ivanovna Reminisced. “And Now, in Our Old Age, It’s Strangers Who Cook for Us,” Her Husband Sighed Heavily. “Seems That’s Our Lot, Kostya. We’ll Die and No One Will Even Shed a Tear.” “Enough, Lena—No More Gloom. Let’s Have a Nap!” “They Say ‘Old Folk Are Just Like Children.’ Here We Are—Pureed Soup, Afternoon Naps, Tea Time…” Konstantin Leonidovich Dozed Briefly, Then Woke Unsettled—Perhaps the Weather Changing. He Checked the Kitchen—Polina Had Thoughtfully Poured Two Glasses of Juice. He Took Both to His Wife’s Room. She Sat Gazing Out the Window. “Why So Sad, Lena?” He Smiled. “Here, Have Some Juice!” She Sipped: “You Can’t Sleep Either, Can You?” “It’s the Weather—Must Be My Blood Pressure.” “I Haven’t Felt Right All Morning,” She Shook Her Head Sadly. “I Don’t Think I’ve Long Left. Give Me a Proper Send-Off, Won’t You?” “Lena, Don’t Talk Nonsense—What Would I Do Without You?” “One of Us Always Goes First.” “Enough, Now—Let’s Go Onto the Balcony!” They Stayed There Until Evening. Polina Made Cheese Fritters, Which They Ate Before Watching TV—As Always, Soviet-Era Comedies and Cartoons, Since Modern Plots Were Hard to Follow. After One Cartoon, Elena Ivanovna Stood: “I’ll Go to Bed—I’m Tired.” “I’ll Join You, Then.” “Let Me Take a Good Look at You,” She Suddenly Asked. “Why?” “No Reason—Just Let Me.” They Looked at Each Other for a Long Time, Perhaps Remembering Their Youth, When Everything Lay Ahead. “Come, I’ll See You to Bed.” She Took Her Husband’s Arm, and They Walked Slowly Together. He Tucked Her In Gently and Left for His Own Room. His Heart Felt Heavy—Sleep Would Not Come. Maybe He Hadn’t Slept at All, but the Clock Showed 2am. He Went to His Wife’s Room. She Lay Staring at the Ceiling, Eyes Wide Open: “Lena!” He Took Her Hand—It Was Cold. “Lena, What’s Happened! Lena!” Suddenly He Himself Struggled for Air. He Barely Reached His Room, Laid Out Their Documents, and Returned to His Wife. He Looked Long at Her Face, Then Lay Down Beside Her and Closed His Eyes. He Saw His Lively, Beautiful Lena, as She Was Seventy-Five Years Ago, Walking Towards a Distant Light. He Ran To Catch Up, Took Her Hand… In the Morning, Polina Entered the Bedroom. They Lay Side By Side, the Same Serene Smile On Both Their Faces. When She Recovered Herself, Polina Called for an Ambulance. The Doctor Who Arrived Looked at Them, Then Shook His Head in Wonder: “Died Together. They Must Have Truly Loved Each Other.” They Were Taken Away. Polina Sank Powerless onto a Chair, Only Then Noticing the Burial Contract and… a Will in Her Name. She Dropped Her Head in Her Hands and Wept.

The old man struggled upright, his bones creaking like crumbling timber, and, clutching the wallpaper

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“Hello, I’m Your Husband’s Mistress.” I paused my magazine layout work and looked up at the glamorous blonde who appeared at my office door. She smirked and added, “I have bad news for you—I’m pregnant. Naturally, by your husband.” Business-like, I asked, “Do you have proof?” She flashed a triumphant smile and produced a medical certificate from her designer handbag. She was well prepared. I inspected the certificate. It was authentic—not that surprising, really. When you bring such news to your lover’s wife, fakes won’t fly. “Alright,” I agreed, “it seems you really are pregnant. Now all that’s left is a paternity test to prove the baby is my husband’s, and then everything can be sorted.” This seemed to shake her a bit. She hesitantly asked, “Sorted—how?” I explained cheerfully, “My husband will pay child support, I’ll find you a good doctor, book you a top hospital—you can have your baby in comfort, no worries for you or the child.” The blonde looked unsettled. “Don’t you understand? I’m having his baby. He needs to be a father.” I answered patiently, “Our three children need a father too, and, thank God, they have one. But don’t worry, my husband will see your baby as well and take him to school when the time comes. Your child could even stay with us for a while—we have excellent nannies, and I adore children. It’ll give you time to get your own life in order. Believe me, it’s hard to date when you have a child.” Now she was upset, twisting her expensive bag. “Don’t you get it? I’m sleeping with your husband. I’m having his child. He doesn’t love you, he loves me!” I felt sorry for this young woman. Real life quickly banishes hopeless romantic dreams, even from girls who think they can snatch a wealthy husband for free. “Honey, you’re the fourth woman to come to me with this story. The first didn’t even have a certificate; the second and third brought forgeries… there was even one with a real pregnancy, but the paternity test failed. Neither I nor my husband have ever refused help, but we won’t tolerate lies—not even a kind man like my husband.” She looked lost. I continued, “As for sleeping with my husband—he sleeps with me, and many other hopefuls. I can’t deny my beloved his little indulgences. It doesn’t affect me or the children at all. Leave your number, I’ll arrange the paternity test, and we’ll be in touch.” She lost her nerve and ran out. I lit a cigarette. I’d been waiting for this visit—I knew about my husband’s latest fancy. I got through the conversation, as I had with the others, though it wasn’t easy. It would have been simpler to snap, make a scene, and let my very rich, successful husband leave for another woman. That’s exactly how I got him from his ex—when I turned up with news of my pregnancy, she made a scene, and he couldn’t stand drama. He married me, and I sealed the deal by having two more children. Deep down, I know a man who cheated on his wife with me won’t be faithful forever. There’ll always be new contenders. But I won’t make his ex-wife’s mistake—I’ll never give them a chance. I will endure. I can do this.

Good afternoon, Im your husbands mistress. I set aside the mock-up of the magazine I had been leafing

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Life, Like the Moon: Sometimes Full, Sometimes Waning… I Thought Our Marriage Was Unbreakable and Eternal, Just Like the Universe—But Alas We Met in Medical School, Married in the Fifth Year, and My Mother-in-Law Gifted Us a Holiday in Spain and the Keys to a Flat for the Wedding—It Was Only the Beginning From a Dream Start in a Spacious Three-Bedroom in London, With My In-Laws’ Support and Annual European Holidays, Our Life as Young Doctors and Parents to Two Sons Seemed Perfect But Everything Collapsed When a Tearful, Expectant Young Woman Knocked at My Door Claiming She and My Husband, Andrew, Were in Love and Having a Baby Soon, My Mother-in-Law Arrived to Collect Her Son’s Things, Promising We’d Always Be Family, As Andrew Moved in With His New Love My Sons Stayed With Their Grandparents, Preferring Their Home, While I Was Left Alone in a Tiny, Shabby Bedsit Years of Loneliness, Visits Only on Big Holidays, and a Broken Bond With My Boys Led to Despair—Until a Serendipitous Trip to a Medical Conference in France Reignited My Spirit Later, A Friend Gave Me Her Jilted Fiancé—Alex—Who Was Charming but Battled Alcoholism, Yet I Refused to Give Up On Love, Dedicating Seven Years to Help Him Recover Now, Against the Odds, I Have a Faithful, Sober Husband, My Sons in Their Thirties Remain Unmarried, and My Ex’s Second Wife Drank Herself Away, While He’s Remarried Yet Again As My Grandmother Used to Say: “Life, Like the Moon, Waxes and Wanes”—And Now, Looking Back, I Know She Was Right

LIFE, LIKE THE MOON: SOMETIMES FULL, SOMETIMES WANING I used to think that our marriage was as unshakable

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— “After I’m Gone, You’ll Have to Move Out—I’m Leaving the Flat to My Son…” — “I’m Sorry, Gail, but after I’m gone you’ll need to leave this flat,” said Anthony to his wife. “I’m leaving it to my son. I’ve already sorted out the paperwork. I hope you won’t hold it against me? You have your own children—they’ll look after you.” Life had tossed Gail about. Raised in a children’s home, she had never known her parents. She married young, for love, but happiness eluded her. Thirty-five years ago she was left a widow—a young woman with two small children—when her husband Nicholas died tragically. She lived alone for five years, working tirelessly so her daughter and son wanted for nothing, until she met Anthony. Thankfully, Gail had a place of her own—her late husband’s flat had come to her by inheritance. Her new partner Anthony was thirteen years her senior, owned a three-bedroom flat, and earned well. They moved in together, and Gail’s children soon got along with him. Her older daughter, Vicky, was initially cautious, but Anthony won her trust. Gail’s younger son, Barry, immediately began calling Anthony “Dad.” Anthony raised them as his own—never stingy with time, effort, or money. Both Vicky and Barry were grateful for their happy childhoods. *** Barry and Vicky had long since moved out. Vicky married young. Barry, who dreamed of joining the army, hadn’t lived at home in years. Ten years ago, Gail called her children home. She wanted to discuss an important matter. “I want to sell our two-bedroom flat,” she told them. “We need major renovations here—new furniture, new pipes. No one’s lived in the two-bed for years, it’s just sitting empty. I wanted your blessing to sell it and split the money?” Vicky shrugged, “I don’t mind. I don’t need the flat, but to be honest, Mum, I wouldn’t turn down the money. You know my son needs treatment—we haven’t given up hope of getting him on his feet.” Vicky’s eldest had been born with a disability and needed costly ongoing rehab. Barry agreed, “I’m fine with it. Mum, give my share to Vicky—let her take Grisha to London for treatment. I’m paying my mortgage just fine. My nephew’s health matters more.” Gail sold the two-bed, gave half to Vicky, and put the rest into renovating Anthony’s flat—new wiring, plumbing, and appliances, all paid for from her own pocket. She didn’t know then that her investments would end up benefiting someone else, or that after thirty years her husband would betray her. Anthony’s health deteriorated four years ago. His knees ached so much he sometimes couldn’t get out of bed. Gail insisted he seek treatment. “Tony, stop acting like a child. Get to a doctor! I’ll go with you—someone has to look after your health.” Anthony groaned, “I know how this ends—expensive meds that won’t help. My knees have hurt most of my life—now it’s worse, but I’m almost seventy. No wonder they ache.” Vicky urged Anthony to see a doctor, and Gail went with him. The doctor sighed, “This is serious. Your joints need urgent care. You’ve got to lose weight, or things will get worse.” Gail took his health in hand—changing his diet to healthy foods, cutting out treats. Anthony refused to follow the advice, calling it all nonsense, but eventually agreed to treatment and a diet. But the medicine offered only brief respite. His pain returned, moving around the flat was hard; Gail would help him to the loo and bathroom. His heart and blood pressure gave him trouble too. Vicky and Barry spent as much time with Anthony as possible. *** For years, Anthony battled on, but his condition see-sawed. Gail stayed by his side. Six months ago, during a hospitalisation, she was preparing food for him when a knock came at the door—a young man with familiar features. “Hello! Is Mr Anthony Williams at home?” “I’m afraid he’s not. And you are?” “My name’s Simon. I’m Anthony’s son.” Gail was taken aback—this young man looked just like her husband in his youth. Simon explained, “I haven’t seen Dad in years. May I wait? I’d like to talk to him.” Gail invited him in. Simon soon shared, “Dad’s always been… let’s say, particular. It’s strange seeing him weak—he was always so strong. May I go with you to the hospital?” “Of course,” smiled Gail. “Tony will be glad to see you.” Gail hadn’t known Anthony had a son. He’d never spoken of a previous marriage, always claiming he’d never become a father—despite Gail’s attempts for a third child. Anthony didn’t at first recognise Simon. But as they reconnected, Anthony admitted his past: “Simon’s mum and I were married four years. I left when Simon was three—she cheated on me with my cousin! She later married him and told me to forget I had a son. For years I tried to see Simon, but they shut me out… Nearly thirty years, and now Simon’s found me. I don’t know how to relate to him—he’s blood, but a stranger.” “Tony,” Gail said gently, “he’s your son. Don’t turn him away. Let him in, so you won’t regret it later.” Anthony took her advice. Simon began visiting regularly—even meeting Vicky and Barry, who welcomed him. Gail was glad her husband had reunited with his son. Gail and Anthony had savings, mostly from money Gail set aside after selling her flat. Anthony hadn’t worked in years; it was Gail’s income that kept them going. She checked the account rarely, but was alarmed by a sudden bank notification—£1,500 missing. She confronted Anthony: “Tony, where’s our bank card? Someone’s taken out £1,500!” Anthony was unruffled, “No one robbed us. I gave the card to Simon—he needed the money, so I helped him.” “Why didn’t you tell me? Why not ask first?” “That’s none of your business,” Anthony snapped. “My son needed help, so I helped. What’s the problem?” Gail, shocked at his rudeness, asked for the card back. Anthony refused—“He’s my son, close family! You’re being ridiculous.” Gail, normally calm, lost her temper. “Tony, why should your son use my money? You haven’t put a penny in that account for years! I want the card back!” Anthony shouted, but Gail called the bank and had the card blocked. That evening, Simon appeared, frustrated: “Dad, the card doesn’t work anymore!” Gail replied, “No, because I blocked it. We helped you, but you don’t get free rein. My savings are mine—understood? From now on, all financial matters go through me.” Simon was offended and left. Anthony raged at Gail. After their row, she realised for the first time that she was tired of her husband. *** A few days passed, with no word from Simon. Anthony sulked, ignoring Gail, who retreated to her daughter’s for a break. When she returned, Anthony seemed cheerful. Gail was relieved, hoping he no longer resented her. But Anthony announced, “I was at the solicitor today. I’ve gifted the flat to my son.” Gail narrowed her eyes. “And for what, exactly?” “Simon’s my son, my only heir. I have no other children. When I’m gone, he’ll own this property. By the way, Gail, I’d suggest you start thinking about where you’ll live—the kids will look after you, I’m sure.” Gail was quietly wounded. Legally, perhaps she had no claim to the flat—but she had invested everything here, made it a home. Now it was all lost to her. “Thank you, Tony,” she said softly. “You’re right—I need to sort my own future. Call your son—let him look after you now.” “Why should Simon move in here?” Anthony was confused. Gail shrugged, packing a suitcase. “You don’t like being alone. Now your son can keep you company.” “And where will you go?” Anthony asked, baffled. “I’m leaving you. Getting a divorce, becoming free at last. I’ll call the kids and start making plans.” Gail moved in with her son, Barry, in his spacious flat; Vicky would have had her, but Gail didn’t want to crowd her daughter. At court, Anthony tried to avoid the divorce, but Gail insisted. To Anthony and his son, she was seen as grasping after property that was never hers. After I’m Gone, You’ll Have to Move Out—I’m Leaving the Flat to My Son… The True Story of Gail, Her Husband’s Betrayal, and the Home She Lost After Thirty Years Together

After Im gone, youll have to move out. Ill leave the flat to my son… Sorry, Helen, but after I

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The Choice “Turns out, Feddy is very much married…” sighed Susan, perched on a park bench with a referral slip for the hospital tightly gripped in her pocket. Her flatmates back at the halls envied her when they saw her with that dashing, clean-shaven, blue-eyed dark-haired gent, thinking she’d hit the jackpot with such a charming man. But, as it turns out, there was nothing to envy. Susan shivered, recalling the first and only time she met Feddy’s wife – who’d waited for her outside the factory gates to set the record straight. “Hello there! You must be Susan!” the woman began. “And you are?” Susan asked, startled and tense from the tall, slim woman’s piercing, ashy-blonde gaze. “I’m Olivia – Feddy Myles’ wife.” “What?” “You heard me!” “Another naïve girl,” Olivia said calmly. “How many of you are out there, chasing after someone else’s happiness?” “How dare you?” “Listen,” Olivia said, gently gripping Susan’s elbow. “You should be asking yourself the same question. I, his legal wife, have seen you with my husband – and now you’re acting haughty instead of apologising or feeling any shame… But maybe that’s not in your nature. He’s had more of your lot than I can count on my fingers and toes. Getting involved with a married man is shameless.” “He’s a man, a hunter, you see? For him, you’re just a brief fling. He’ll move on soon enough. Keep away from him. By the way, we have two daughters – I can show you a family photo.” Olivia produced a cherished snap, handing it to the stunned Susan. “Here. Proof of true love. This was us in Brighton just two months ago…” “Well, what do you want from me? Sort things with your husband yourself.” “Don’t worry, I will! He only started at this factory recently and, lo and behold, then you turn up. Walk away, won’t you? Don’t fall for his promises – Feddy isn’t about to get divorced. Don’t waste your time. What’s your age – thirty?” “Twenty-five,” Susan retorted, wounded. “Even more reason. There’s still plenty of time for you to get married and have a family. Leave Feddy be.” Susan listened no longer. She walked away on shaky legs, her dreams suddenly eclipsed by the arrival of her lover’s wife. “Betrayer…” she muttered, choking back her tears – she wouldn’t let the world see her pain, not on the street and not in front of her workmates. That evening, Feddy showed up at Susan’s with flowers as if nothing had happened. She kicked him out, swollen-eyed, unswayed by his vows of everlasting love and talk of an impending divorce, after his wife’s revelation changed everything. For two weeks, Susan was left reeling. Feddy didn’t pester her again and acted as though he’d never met her, averting his gaze whenever they crossed paths. Misery never comes alone… At first, Susan blamed her morning sickness and dizzy spells on nerves, but soon reality struck – her all-consuming, naive affair with Feddy had left consequences. “Six weeks,” sounded like a sentence. Susan couldn’t bear the thought of being a single mum. She was terrified, convinced everyone else knew – and now she faced their silent judgement for trusting a man she barely knew, who’d hidden his family all along. What could she have done? Ask for ID on the first date? He wore no ring. Some married men don’t. She should have been suspicious when he insisted they keep their relationship secret at work, but love blinded her until his betrayal became the talk of the office, especially after Olivia’s visit. “I’m pregnant,” she finally confided to her former lover at lunch, desperation pushing her forward. “I’ll give you money, but deal with it,” he grunted. Next day, Feddy resigned, vanishing from her life forever. Susan knew she couldn’t delay forever. Ignoring the doctor’s warnings, she took the referral for the ‘operation’ and found herself gripping that slip on a park bench, terrified to let go. “In a hurry?” said a young man in a sharp suit, plopping down beside her with an enormous bouquet of burgundy chrysanthemums. “Sorry?” she looked up with hollow eyes. “Your watch is fast,” he said, nodding at the gold watch on her wrist. “Oh, it’s always ten minutes ahead,” she replied wearily, turning away. “I keep resetting it, but it’s hopeless.” “The weather’s wonderful today, isn’t it? Real Indian summer. My mum loves this time of year. She always says she made the right choice on a day like this – and never once regretted it. You know,” the stranger chattered on, “My mum’s truly something – I owe her everything.” “What about your dad?” Susan found herself asking. “She never talks about him, and I’ve learnt not to ask. She’s better off without him, I think…” “I just came from a job interview actually. Imagine, they picked me out of ten applicants for a top position – and I’ve barely any experience! It still feels unreal. My mum’s the one who gave me the confidence I needed. My first paycheque will get her a holiday by the sea – she’s never been.” “Have you?” “No.” Susan studied the candid lad, noting his burgundy tie. “Gift from mum,” he said proudly, stroking it. “Sorry – I’m rambling. But you seemed so sad, I just wanted to share my joy.” Susan shook her head – he didn’t annoy her at all. In fact, he’d stopped her downward spiral, and his love for his mother was touching. “What devotion!” she thought. “His mum’s so lucky… I wish I had a son like him…” “Well, I’d better be off – my mum’s waiting and worrying. Don’t rush, though!” “Pardon?” “I meant your watch,” he grinned. “Oh,” she smiled softly in return. A minute later, he was gone. Susan tore up her referral slip in tiny pieces and lingered on the bench, breathing in the crisp autumn air, warmth and light finally returning to her heart. She wasn’t alone after all. Some women raise and nurture wonderful sons single-handedly. A pity she hadn’t asked the lad’s name – but it didn’t matter any more. She’d made her choice. *** Twenty-three years later… “Mum, I’m going to be late,” Stan said, standing at the mirror as his mother carefully knotted the new burgundy tie she’d bought him for an important interview. “Maybe forget about the tie…” “It gives confidence, trust me. You’ll be amazing, they’ll definitely hire you!” Susan finished neatening his collar and stepped back to admire her grown boy. “I’m nervous – what if…?” “This job’s meant for you. Just answer their questions clearly and don’t forget to smile. You’ll be irresistible.” “Okay, Mum,” Stan kissed her cheek and hurried out the door. Susan watched him go, her heart swelling as her dearest strode off to catch the bus. Suddenly, a shock ran through her – she’d seen this before… That young man in the park, more than twenty years ago… Stan in his business suit looked just like him now… How had she forgotten that day for so many years? But now, the memory pulsed with life again. Was it really fate, giving her a glimpse of the future she’d almost thrown away? Showing her – literally – the child she might have lost, steering her onto the right path? She never did learn his mother’s name, nor asked his name, but now – it didn’t matter. Everything turned out just as it should. That afternoon, Stan came home beaming, with a huge bunch of burgundy chrysanthemums to match his tie, announcing he’d got the job. He promised they’d finally go to the seaside, since his mum had never been. Now it was time for him to take care of her, and he’d move mountains to make her happy. No matter what life threw at them, Susan always found comfort in her son’s embrace. They survived it all, and her brave choice had given her a life she’d never regret. Just as it was meant to be!

The Choice So, turns out Freddies well and truly married sighed Sarah, squeezed onto a park bench and

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031

BACK FROM HIS TIME AWAY, MY HUSBAND DIDN’T COME HOME ALONE: IN HIS ARMS, HE WAS CARRYING A LITTLE BOY… Helen had just pulled a tray of fish pie from the oven, filling the kitchen with the aroma her husband Victor adored. Borscht was simmering on the hob, the compote just needed finishing off. Everything was perfect for Victor’s return after three months working away up North. Helen’s heart raced with anticipation as the bus pulled up—but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Victor, suitcase in one hand and a small, wide-eyed boy in the other. It wasn’t the reunion Helen had dreamed of. Instead of rushing into Victor’s embrace, Helen froze at the doorway, her eyes darting between her husband and the unfamiliar child clinging to his leg. Who was this boy? Why had Victor brought him home? Before she could ask, a torrent of confessions, heartbreak, and impossible choices tumbled out—revealing betrayal, loss, and a son Helen never knew existed. As Helen struggled to forgive and to find her place as a stepmother to a grieving, timid child, she faced the toughest test yet: learning to open her heart and body her own family. But just when peace began to settle, an unexpected twist threatened to tear her world apart once more—forcing Helen to fight for the only family she had left, and to discover a strength she never knew she possessed. A gripping, moving tale of love, forgiveness, betrayal, and the true meaning of motherhood—set in the heart of the English countryside.

March 14th Today was the day Id been waiting formy return home after another long rotation up north.

La vida

I’m 47 Years Old. For 15 Years, I Worked as a Personal Chauffeur for a Senior Executive at a Leading UK Tech Firm. He Always Treated Me Well—Great Pay, Bonuses, Full Benefits, Even Extra Perks. I Drove Him Everywhere: Business Meetings, Airport Runs, Formal Dinners, and Family Events. My Family Lived Comfortably; I Gave My Three Children a Good Education and Bought a Modest Home on a Mortgage. Last Tuesday, I Was Driving Him to an Important Meeting at a London Hotel. As Always, Dressed Smartly, Car Immaculate, Arrived Promptly. He Told Me This Meeting Was Crucial, With International Guests, and Asked Me to Wait in the Car. I Agreed, No Problem. The Meeting Began in the Morning. I Waited in the Car. Noon Came and Went, Then the Afternoon, Still No Sign. I Texted to Check In—He Said It Was Going Well, to Give Him Another Hour. By Evening, I Was Hungry But Didn’t Move—Didn’t Want to Miss Him. Finally, Around 8:30pm, He Came Out With His Guests, All Laughing. I Opened the Car Door for Them. He Asked Me to Take Them to Dinner. On the Drive, They Spoke English. Over the Years, I’d Studied the Language in My Evenings, Though I’d Never Mentioned It at Work. I Understood Everything. One Guest Remarked How Dedicated I Was for Waiting All Day. My Boss Laughed and Said, “That’s What I Pay Him For—He’s Just a Driver, He Has Nothing Better to Do.” They All Laughed. A Lump Formed in My Throat, But I Said Nothing and Kept Driving. During Dinner, He Told Me to Grab Something to Eat and Return in Two Hours. Alone, His Words Echoed in My Mind: “Just a Driver.” Fifteen Years of Loyalty, Early Mornings, Hours Waiting—Was That Really All I Was to Him? Next Day, I Arrived as Usual. As He Got in, I Left My Resignation Letter on the Seat Beside Him. He Looked Puzzled and Asked What It Was. I Told Him I Was Resigning—Respectfully but Firmly. He Was Stunned, Offered Me More Money, Asked If Something Happened. I Said It Wasn’t About Money, But Time for a Change. He Pressed for the Real Reason. At a Red Light, I Looked at Him and Said, “Last Night, You Called Me ‘Just a Driver’ With Nothing Better to Do. Maybe That’s True for You, But I Deserve to Work for Someone Who Respects Me.” He Turned Pale, Tried to Explain He Didn’t Mean It, It Was a Thoughtless Remark. I Told Him I Understood, But After 15 Years, It Was Clear Enough. I Deserved to Be Valued. At the Office, He Asked Me to Reconsider and Offered a Significant Raise. I Refused, Promised to Work My Notice, Then Leave. My Last Day Was Difficult. He Tried Harder With Even Better Offers, But My Mind Was Made Up. Now, I’m in a New Job—Not as a Driver, But as a Coordinator, With Higher Pay, My Own Office, Set Hours. My New Boss Said He Values Loyalty and Hard Work. I Didn’t Hesitate to Accept. Later, I Got a Message From My Old Boss—He Said He Was Wrong, I Was More Than a Driver, I Was Someone He Relied On, and Asked for Forgiveness. I Haven’t Replied Yet. Now, I Feel Valued in My New Job, but Sometimes Wonder—Did I Do the Right Thing? Should I Have Given Him a Second Chance? Sometimes, Five Seconds and a Careless Sentence Can Undo 15 Years of Trust. What Do You Think—Did I Do the Right Thing, or Was I Too Harsh?

I’m 47 now, mate. For the past 15 years, I worked as a personal driver for a senior director at

La vida

I Was in This Relationship for Five Years: Two Years Married and Three Years Living Together, Mostly Long Distance with Visits Every Three Months—How Trust, Independence, and a Seemingly Perfect Love Unravelled into Betrayal, Heartbreak, and Choosing My Self-Respect Over Revenge

I found myself five years deep in this relationshipa strange stretch of time, as if years were rivers