Emily Taylor

Why Bring Your Own Food? For Five Years, I Cooked and Hosted Christmas Alone for My Husband’s Sister and Brother and Their Families—Last Year I Divided the Work, But Now They Won’t Help, and My Mother-in-Law Wants Another Celebration at My House. When I Asked Everyone to Share the Cooking—Me Making Two Hot Dishes and Cake, The Rest Bringing Salads, Fish, Meat, Cheese, Fruit, and Drinks—Suddenly No One Had Time, and They Said They’d Rather Celebrate at Home. Now I Don’t Know How to Tell My Mother-in-Law, Who Will Be Very Upset—Should I Host Christmas Alone Again This Year, or Stand My Ground?

Why Should You Bring Your Own Food? For the past five years, my husbands sister and brother, with their

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My Younger Brother Chose to Live with His Mother-in-Law, and We Still Can’t Understand Why He Did This… My younger brother got married far too young, at just 18. It felt like he was desperate to assert his independence. From the moment he was born, I looked after him – my own childhood ended the day he came home from the hospital. As he grew up, got married and moved out, his life changed dramatically, unfortunately not in a good way. His wife, whom he married at a similarly young age, had a strong and rather unpleasant personality. From the first day we met, we never liked her. She lacked tact and basic manners, and we weren’t impressed by her appearance either. I couldn’t understand what my brother saw in her. They moved into a flat just down the road from us, at his mother-in-law’s. His father-in-law was a quiet, slightly odd man – he barely spoke, and when he did, it was mostly a nod. His mother-in-law loved being in control, barking out orders that everyone felt obliged to obey. She was constantly criticising and reprimanding my brother, and his wife was never satisfied with him either. The way they treated my brother infuriated me. I tried to speak to him about it, but he insisted everything was fine, that his wife loved him and they were happy with their life. However, over time, I noticed he changed. He became like his father-in-law, barely voicing his own opinions, just nodding along. In the end, his patience ran out; he simply couldn’t take it anymore. One day, he packed up his things and left without a word. I’d never seen anything like it before – my brother in that state… He bitterly regretted marrying so young. Everyone has their breaking point, and when you reach it, sometimes the only option is to quietly walk away from an intolerable situation.

You know, I still cant quite figure out why my little brother decided to go live with his mother-in-law.

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Richard Was Sure His Wife Would Cheat on Him—So He Hatched a Plan to Catch Her in the Act, Only to Be Shocked by What He Discovered

Richard was convinced his wife would eventually betray him. Determined to catch her out, he put a plan

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“Would You Like My Husband? He’s All Yours!” said the wife with a smile to the strange woman who appeared at her door.

Would you like my husband? He’s all yours! said the wife with a smile, looking directly at the

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“Anna is Still Young, She’ll Have More Children!”—She Promised. In the End, Nobody Wanted the Child. Anna and Robert grew up together in a small English town, attending the same school. After graduation, they moved to London for university, found jobs, and rented a modest flat, living together unmarried. When Anna became pregnant, Robert left her—fatherhood wasn’t in his plans. Heartbroken, Anna returned home to raise the child. Robert’s mother, a prominent figure in their town, spread rumours that Anna’s baby had nothing to do with their family, claiming the father must be someone else. To complicate matters, both families lived in the same neighbourhood. Many friends knew the whole story. Anna gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. She held no grudge against Robert’s family, wishing only to raise her child in peace. But Robert’s mother kept telling everyone that the child was not her son’s. “Look at them!” the woman explained. “The child is blonde, while we’re all dark-haired. And that nose isn’t ours! We’re all attractive, and this child is plain—trying to worm their way into our family. They’re nothing but trouble!” Anna, exasperated, suggested a paternity test to ease Robert’s mother’s mind. The result was immediate: Robert’s mother invited Anna over to meet her granddaughter, showering the child with lavish gifts. Anna, who survived on her own mother’s pension, was grateful. Soon, the new grandmother asked to take her granddaughter for visits. Anna explained that at only a year old, the girl was too young to be away from her mother. The grandmother became upset. She then warned Anna she would take her to court to secure visitation rights, arguing the girl would be much better off with her grandmother, who had everything a child needed. The court, she claimed, would favour her; after all, everyone knew her in their town. Anna was told she was still young and could have more children, so she should “willingly give up” her daughter. Anna stood her ground, fighting to raise her own child through years of costly and stressful court battles. The little girl once rejected by her powerful family was suddenly their most cherished member. Influential relatives brought in witnesses, stalked Anna, complained, took photos—until Anna was forced to hide and move away. But eventually, things settled down. Robert remarried and had a son. His mother’s attention shifted to her new grandson. Anna’s daughter started school and Anna herself moved to London. Anna frequently travelled home to visit her mother and child. Eventually, she met someone new, and her mother encouraged her to build a life for herself, promising to care for Anna’s daughter until she was settled. Anna remarried, moved into a new apartment, and is now expecting another baby. But even with a new family, Anna hesitates to bring her daughter to London—her husband is indifferent to another man’s child. Anna decides it is better for her daughter to remain with her grandmother where she has friends and school. Besides, with a new baby on the way, no one would be able to look after her daughter in London. But Anna’s mother’s health began to fail; ambulances were called, hospital visits became routine, and Anna’s daughter was left with retired neighbours. The once-powerful grandmother lost all interest in her granddaughter. Now, when she sees Anna’s mother, she only smirks: “You should’ve listened to me! If you’d given me the girl, I’d have raised her right! By now, she’d be speaking foreign languages, playing piano, attending the best schools. Instead, her mother abandoned her. Who will she become when she grows up? Now I have my grandson to care for—he’ll get the absolute best, the finest schools, the best extracurriculars!” The father has never shown any interest in the girl. After all the bitterness and legal battles, the child nobody wanted is left with no one. No one knows what the future holds for her.

Emily is young, shell have more children! thats what she kept saying. In the end, it turned out no one

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While Our Children and Grandchildren Squeeze into a Tiny Flat, My Son-in-Law’s Parents Enjoy the Good Life in Their Spacious Apartment

While my children and grandchildren make do in a tiny flat, my son-in-laws parents enjoy life in a spacious

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My Sister-in-Law Spent Her Holidays at a Resort While We Renovated the House, and Now She Expects to Live Comfortably in Our Home

My sister-in-law recently spent a lovely holiday at a seaside resort while we were up to our necks renovating

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LOVING WITH PATIENCE, ENDURING WITH LOVE John and Mary had a church wedding. On the day of the ceremony, as the wedding procession neared the church, a wild summer storm sprang up out of nowhere and tore Mary’s veil from her head. The veil soared skyward like a balloon, whirled about, then dropped, exhausted, into a muddy puddle. All the guests gasped in shock. The storm vanished as swiftly as it arrived. John dashed for the veil but could not reach it in time. The once-snowy veil now lay in a black puddle. In distress, Mary called to her groom, “John, don’t pick it up. I’m not wearing that veil!” The local old ladies outside the church began to mutter, warning: with such a sign, storms and troubles would follow the couple’s lives… A fake white flower was hastily pinned in Mary’s hair from the nearest shop—there was no time to find a new veil. One does not keep one’s own wedding waiting! The bride and groom stood together, candles in hand, pledging their vows before God at the altar. But before the sacred ceremony, John and Mary had already signed papers at the registry office and celebrated with a beautiful reception. That, as Mary told herself, was for people. Three years later, their home rang with the laughter of two children: little Sophie and Arthur. Life flowed along peacefully. But a decade on, a knock came at John and Mary’s door. Mary, ever the gracious hostess, welcomed all—invited or otherwise—offering a warm meal, a cup of tea, and a listening ear. This particular guest, however, was different. She arrived when John was out. Mary’s eyes sized up the stranger immediately: well-built, beautiful, young, and polite. “Hello Mary,” she introduced herself. “I’m Emily. I’m… I’m to be your husband’s future wife.” “How fascinating!” Mary replied in surprise. “And how long has John been your fiancé?” Mary pressed on with the odd conversation. “A long while. But I can’t wait any longer. John and I are expecting a child,” Emily reported, entirely unfazed. “Hmm… A textbook saga—wife, mistress, illegitimate child… Do you know John and I are church-wed? We have children,” Mary tried to reason. “I know everything. But John and I have true love! Forever too! You could annul the marriage. He’s not faithful. I asked my priest; it’s allowed,” Emily insisted. “Well, young lady, I sincerely advise you not to interfere in another’s marriage! We’ll handle our own love and loyalty,” Mary said, now irritated. “Good day.” Emily shrugged—“I warned you”—and hastily left. Mary slammed the door, furious: “She’s done her research… not getting my John!” She couldn’t help recalling how John had seemed different lately—longer hours at work, sudden business trips, a newfound interest in fishing… All classic signs. Women always sense a rival’s shadow. But Mary forced the dark thoughts away; perhaps it was her imagination, and John was guiltless. That evening, when John got home, Mary fed him well before broaching the uncomfortable topic. “John, are you in love?” she began, struggling with the words. “I am,” John confirmed, tense. “Your… sweetheart came by today. Is it serious?” Mary dreaded his answer. “I’m a scoundrel! I can’t live without Emily! I tried to break it off but failed! Let me go, Mary!” John begged. “You’re free…” Mary replied softly, realizing appeals to conscience or the children would be pointless. Life would decide. John moved out to be with his beloved. Mary sought comfort, and advice, from her vicar. “My daughter, love suffers long and never fails—remember the words of Scripture. You have the right to annul the marriage, for your husband has fallen into sinful lust. Or you may forgive, pray, and wait for his return. The Lord works in mysterious ways…” Two months later, Mary discovered she was pregnant—John’s child. She felt it was a sign that, in time, John would repent and return. A baby boy was born; Mary’s mother suggested naming him Jack—an English John. “Maybe your John will find his way home—miracles happen,” her mother smiled, helping care for all the children with devotion. John never forgot Sophie or Arthur—he spoiled them, took them on seaside holidays, sent Mary money by envelope. Mary forbade the kids from telling him about baby Jack, but of course, children never obey. Sophie blurted out the secret on a visit; John, believing Mary had moved on, felt a pang for his old, happy life—not imagining Jack was his own son. Meanwhile, Emily was in hospital on bedrest. John flitted between bringing fruit and hunting for “tasty” chalk to quell her cravings for calcium. Tragedy struck: Emily gave birth to a stillborn daughter, then later suffered a miscarriage. Devastated, Emily longed for a pause before another child, but fate had other plans. John doted on her, feeling deep guilt for their suffering. Back at Mary’s, her former university friend David began visiting. He’d courted her years ago, but she’d always found him too picky, too serious, too much a mama’s boy. When she met John, David was resigned to his fate. One rainy autumn day, Mary met David on the bus. He sensed her sadness, and she invited him round. Over a hearty dinner, she poured out every sorrow. He listened quietly, with understanding. Mary pecked him on the cheek for his sympathy—David, still single and childless, became a regular guest, bringing treats for the children and flowers for Mary. Mary laid firm boundaries: “Come by as you please, but I’m waiting for my husband. No funny business.” Even friendship was happiness to David; he called her his honorary sister, the children, his nieces and nephew. Time passed, and change returned to John’s new family: Emily finally gave birth to a healthy daughter—Grace. Emily was swept into motherhood, but couldn’t forget her conversation with Mary. Stolen happiness is always tinged with bitterness. Only after Grace’s birth did she truly understand the pain she’d caused. She wanted to fall at Mary’s feet and beg forgiveness. John adored baby Grace—spoiling her, comforting her through the nights, cherishing every moment. Years flowed by. Five years later, Emily grew gravely ill at just thirty. John was frantic: hospitals, doctors, expensive treatments. Nothing helped—Emily was dying. Preparing herself for the end, she had just one last wish: “Take me to your first wife, please,” she whispered to John. Mary had heard the news—from Sophie, who still visited her dad. Mary agreed at once. John carried Emily, weak as a whisper, into the house. The whole family gathered, waiting for an explanation. “Leave us, please,” Emily asked quietly. Mary sat beside her on the bed. “Forgive me, if you can, Mary. This is God’s punishment. I beg you—please take Grace as your own. I have only John, and you. Promise you’ll raise her alongside John,” Emily pleaded desperately, tears streaming. Mary gently squeezed her hand. “Emily, it’s not God’s punishment—it’s our own doing. I forgave you long ago. Don’t worry about Grace—we won’t abandon her. Stay here, with John. My house is big enough for everyone. You’ll get better—believe me, with God all things are possible! Don’t despair.” So Emily stayed, the house swelling like a fairy-tale cottage, everyone finding a place. David, tender since the moment he met Emily, was her greatest support. Gradually, without realising, he fell in love with Emily, adoring Grace as if she were his own. Emily fought to recover. Driven by hope, by Mary’s kindness, and by David’s gentle presence, she slowly regained strength. In time, Emily announced at dinner: “Mary, John, Grace and I—and David—will be moving out. Thank you for everything—for your love, your home, your hearts. I have never met such people! I never will again. Thank you.” John and Mary exchanged looks; they knew that love was blossoming between David and Emily. Earlier, John had made a confession to Mary: “Mary, whatever happens, I want to come back to you, to raise our three children together. Please, take me back. I’ll beg, if I must!” “Do you even need to ask?” Mary replied, embracing her prodigal husband. “But what about Grace?” Mary worried. “She’s my daughter. I’ll never turn her away. My home will always be open to her,” John promised. As David, Emily, and Grace prepared to leave, Emily pulled John aside: “Love Mary, John—love her more than life. Don’t ever hurt her. I’ll remember you always.” “Be happy, Emily,” John replied.

TO LOVE ENDURING, TO ENDURE LOVING Edward and Grace had a church wedding. On the day of their wedding

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I was eight years old when my mum left home. She walked to the corner, hailed a cab, and never came back. My brother was five. Everything changed after that. Dad began doing things he’d never done before: waking up early to cook breakfast, learning how to do laundry, ironing school uniforms, fumbling through brushing our hair before we left for school. I watched him misjudge rice portions, burn meals, forget to separate whites from coloured clothes in the wash. But somehow we never went without. He came home tired from work and helped with homework, signed our exercise books, and made lunchboxes for the next day. Mum never came to visit. Dad never brought another woman home, never introduced anyone as his partner. We knew he went out and sometimes got back late, but his personal life stayed outside our walls. There was only me and my brother. I never heard him say he’d fallen in love again. His routine was work, come home, cook, wash, sleep, repeat. On weekends he took us to the park, the river, the shopping centre—even if it was just to window-shop. He learnt how to braid hair, sew on buttons, and make packed lunches. When we needed costumes for school plays, he fashioned them from cardboard and old fabric. He never complained. Never said, “This isn’t my job.” A year ago, Dad passed away—it happened quickly, with no chance for long goodbyes. While sorting through his things, I found old notebooks: lists of household expenses, important dates, reminders like “pay the school fee,” “buy shoes,” “take the girl to the doctor.” No love letters, no photos with another woman, no sign of a romantic life. Just the traces of a man who lived for his children. Since he’s been gone, one question won’t leave me alone: Was he happy? My mum left to find her own happiness. Dad stayed and, it seemed, gave up his own. He never rebuilt a family. Never had a home with a partner. Never again became a priority for anyone but us. Now I realise what an incredible father I had. But I also see that he was a man who stayed alone so that we wouldn’t be. And that weighs heavy. Because now he’s gone, I wonder if he ever received the love he deserved.

I was eight years old when my mother left our home. She walked to the end of the street, got into a taxi

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Born Again to Happiness: A Widow’s Retreat from Grief, an Unexpected Sanatorium Romance, a Second Chance at Love—and the Blended English Family That Learned to Forgive

Man, please stop following me everywhere I go! I told you already, Im mourning my husband. Dont pursue