Emily Taylor

My Ex-Wife… It Happened Two Years Ago, Just Before My Return from a Work Trip to Sheffield. With Three Hours to Spare Before My Train Home to Birmingham, I Wandered the City – and Ran Into My First Wife, Whom I Hadn’t Seen for Twelve Years. Zina Still Looked the Same, Only Paler, and Our Unexpected Meeting Shook Us Both. I Had Loved Her Madly, to the Point of Jealousy and Our Inevitable Divorce. Unable to Bear My Constant Questions and Suspicions, She Finally Left, Leaving a Note Apologising and Asking Me Never to Look for Her. Now, After All Those Years, We Spoke at Length Until I Realised I Was Late for My Intercity Bus. As I Started to Leave, Zina Asked for a Favour: to Escort Her to an Office in a Large Building She Didn’t Want to Enter Alone, and I Agreed. Inside, We Wound Through Corridors and Stairways Among People of All Ages, My Thoughts Consumed by Zina. At Last, She Entered a Room Alone, Gave Me a Strange Farewell Look, and Said, “It’s Odd—I Couldn’t Be With You, Nor Without You.” When She Didn’t Return, I Suddenly Realised I Was Late. To My Horror, I Found Myself Alone in an Abandoned, Derelict Building. I Barely Escaped and Missed My Bus, Only to Learn That It Had Crashed into a River With No Survivors. Two Weeks Later, I Tracked Down Zina’s Mother in London and Learned the Truth: Zina Had Died Eleven Years Ago—A Year After Our Divorce. Sceptical, I Asked to See Her Grave and Stood Before the Headstone, Staring at the Smiling Woman Who, Somehow, Had Just Saved My Life.

My Former Wife… It all unfolded two years ago. My posting in London was drawing to a close, and

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Anna sat weeping on a bench in the hospital garden. Today she turned 70, but neither her son nor daughter came to see her or offered any birthday wishes. Her ward-mate, Mrs. Jenkins, was the only one who congratulated her, even bringing a small gift. The kindly cleaner, Mary, gave her an apple for her birthday. The care home was well-kept, but most of the staff were indifferent. Everyone knew that the elderly were left here by children to live out their days, as they’d become a burden. Anna’s own son had brought her here, saying it was just for a rest and some medical care, but in truth, she’d simply become a nuisance to her daughter-in-law. After all, the flat belonged to Anna, until her son convinced her to sign it over to him. He promised she’d live just as before, but the reality was different: the whole family moved in, and life became a battleground with her daughter-in-law. She was never satisfied—complaints about Anna’s cooking, about the bathroom, about everything. At first, her son defended Anna, but he stopped, and soon began to shout at her too. Then Anna noticed them whispering together and stopping abruptly when she entered the room. One morning, her son told her she needed to rest, to have treatment. Bitterly, Anna asked him straight to his face: “Are you putting me in a care home, son?” He flushed and fidgeted, replying guiltily: “No, Mum. It’s just a nice nursing home. Just a month of rest and then back home.” He delivered her, swiftly signed the papers, and hurried away, promising to come back soon. He only visited once, bringing two apples and two oranges, asking how she was before leaving again in a rush. She’s been here nearly two years now. After a month passed with no sign of her son, she phoned the family flat. Strangers answered—the flat had been sold, and her son’s whereabouts were unknown. Anna wept for a few nights, but knew by then she’d never go home, so what was the point in tears? Her greatest regret was pushing aside her daughter for her son’s sake. Anna was born in a village, married Peter, her school sweetheart. They had a large house and a smallholding—never rich, but never hungry either. One day a friend from the city visited, tempting Peter with promises of city life and good wages. He persuaded Anna to sell all and move, and they were given a flat and bought an old car, a battered Ford. But Peter died in a car accident. Left alone with two children, Anna worked evening cleaning jobs to scrape by. She thought her children would help her once they grew up—it didn’t turn out that way. Her son got into trouble; Anna borrowed to keep him out of jail and spent years repaying the debt. Her daughter Daisy got married and had a baby, but the child was often ill and Daisy left her job to care for him. After much searching, doctors finally diagnosed a rare disease that only one London specialist could treat, and the waiting list was endless. Daisy’s husband left her, though she kept the flat, and she eventually met a widower whose child suffered from the same illness. They became a couple, but five years later he fell ill and needed surgery. Anna had savings she’d meant to give her son for a house deposit—but when Daisy asked for help, Anna refused, wanting to save the money for her own child instead of “an outsider.” Daisy was deeply hurt, telling her mother to never ask for help again, and they stopped speaking for twenty years. Daisy eventually cured her husband and they moved to live by the sea with their children. Anna always wished she could change the past, but it was all too late. Anna slowly stood from the bench and turned for the care home. Suddenly, she heard: “Mum!” Her heart leapt. Slowly turning, she saw her daughter—Daisy. Her knees buckled, but Daisy rushed over and caught her. “At last, I’ve found you… My brother wouldn’t give me your address, but I threatened court over the illegal flat sale and then he finally gave in.” They sat together in the entrance hall. “I’m so sorry, Mum, for not speaking for so long. First, I was angry, then ashamed, and kept putting it off. But last week I dreamed of you, wandering the woods and weeping. I woke up feeling so heavy-hearted. I told my husband everything—he said, ‘Go, make peace.’ I came, but strangers were living in your flat. It took a while, but I finally got your address. Now I’m here. Pack your things, you’re coming with me. We have a beautiful house by the seaside, you know. My husband insisted, if my mum ever needed help, I should bring her home.” Anna hugged her daughter tearfully—but these were tears of happiness at last. Honour your father and your mother, that your days may be long on the land the Lord your God is giving you.

June 9th I found myself sitting alone on the bench in the hospital gardens, tears blurring my vision.

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That Morning, Michael’s Condition Worsened—He Struggled to Breathe. “Nick, I Don’t Want Anything—No More Medicines, Nothing. But Please, Let Me Say Goodbye to My Friend. I Beg You, Unhook All This…” Men from the Ward Gathered. “Nick, Surely There’s Something You Can Do? No One Should Go This Way.” Nick Knew What He Had to Do—Consequences Be Damned. With the Nurse’s Blessing, He Rushed Out to Fetch Michael’s Beloved Dog. The Tearful Goodbye Left the Room in Silence, the Dog Crying Beside His Owner. Afterwards, Nick Sat in the Hospital Courtyard, Ready to Quit His Job—But Anna, Eyes Red from Grief, Called Him the Best of Men. Three Years Later, Nick and Anna, Now a Family, Stroll Down to the River: Their Child in a Pram, Their Loyal Dog at Their Side—Love, Loss, and Loyalty Endure.

In the morning, Michael George was worse. He was struggling to breathe. Nick, I dont want anything.

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Night Express: When a Rowdy Gang of Partygoers Takes Over London’s Last Trolleybus, Only to Discover the Chilling Price for Their Wild Ride—A Harrowing Midnight Journey with a Silent Conductor, a Desperate Plea for Escape, and an Unexpected Lesson Waiting at the End of the Line

Night Bus The doors of the night bus folded together with a clatter, letting a burst of warmth and murky

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Not Meant to Be… The Train Journey that Unveiled a Miracle: An Unexpected Tale of Survival on a Frosty River, Mysterious Rescuer in a Cloak, and the Village Gossip that Changed Everything

…The train has been travelling for a second day now. Passengers have already introduced themselves

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I Shouted Out the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch Your Death!” — She Turned, Waved Her Shovel in Greeting, and Called Back: “Doing My Best for You Lazybones.” — The Next Day, My Mum Was Gone… I Still Can’t Walk Past Our Old Garden Without Tears… Every Time I See That Footpath, My Heart Clenches Like Someone’s Grabbing It. It Was Me Who Took That Photo on January Second… I Was Just Passing By, Noticed Her Footprints in the Snow—And Stopped. I Snapped a Picture, Not Even Sure Why. Now, That Photo Is All I Have Left of Those Days… We Celebrated New Year’s Just Like Always, All Together. Mum Was Up Early on the 31st, and I Woke to the Smell of Frying Burgers and Her Voice from the Kitchen: “Darling, Get Up! Come Help Me Finish the Salads, or Your Dad Will Eat All the Ingredients Again While We’re Not Looking!” I Came Downstairs Still in My Pyjamas, Hair a Mess. She Was at the Stove in Her Favourite Peach-Print Apron—the One I Gave Her Back in School—Smiling, Cheeks Rosy from the Oven. “Mum, At Least Let Me Have My Coffee First,” I Groaned. “Coffee After! First, Chop the Veg—Small, the Way I Like. Not Like Last Time—Those Huge Cubes!” We Chopped and Chatted About Everything. She Reminisced About Her Childhood New Years—No Fancy Salads, Just Herring in a Fur Coat and the Oranges Her Dad Sneaked Home from Work. Then Dad Came In With the Tree—Absolutely Huge, Nearly Touching the Ceiling. “Alright Ladies, Accept This Beauty!” He Boomed. “Dad, Did You Bring Down the Whole Forest?” I Gasped. Mum Just Shook Her Head with a Smile: “It’s Lovely, But Where Will We Put It? Last Year’s Was Smaller.” Still, She Helped Decorate. My Little Sister and I Hung the Lights While Mum Dug Out the Old Glass Ornaments, Including a Tiny Angel She Said She’d Bought for My First New Year’s. “Remember This One?” She Asked Quietly. “I Do, Mum,” I Lied. Really, I Didn’t, But She Glowed from My Nod. My Brother Arrived Later, Loud as Ever—Arms Full of Presents and Bubbly. “Mum, I’ve Got Proper Champagne This Year! None of Last Year’s Cheap Stuff.” “Just Don’t Drink It All at Once,” She Laughed, Hugging Him. At Midnight, We All Went Out to the Garden. Dad and My Brother Set Off Fireworks, My Sister Screamed in Delight, and Mum Hugged Me Tight. “Look, Love, Isn’t It Beautiful? We’ve Got Such a Good Life…” I Hugged Her Back. “The Best Life, Mum.” We Drank Bubbly Straight from the Bottle, Laughed When a Rocket Nearly Hit the Neighbour’s Shed. A Bit Tipsy, Mum Danced in Her Wellies to “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing”, and Dad Swept Her Up in His Arms. We Laughed Until We Cried. On New Year’s Day We Laid About; Mum Cooked Again—Now Dumplings and Aspic. “Mum, Enough, We’re Bursting!” I Complained. “Nonsense, You’ll Finish It Off. It’s New Year’s, It Lasts a Week,” She Brushed Me Off. January Second, She Was Up Early as Always. I Heard the Door Bang, Saw Her in the Garden With the Shovel—Clearing the Path in Her Old Parka and Scarf. She Did It So Carefully: A Narrow, Neat Path from the Gate to the Porch, Sweeping Snow Just the Way She Liked. I Shouted: “Mum, Why So Early? You’ll Catch a Chill!” She Looked Back, Waved Her Shovel: “Or Would You Lot Rather Trudge Through Drifts TIll Spring? Put the Kettle On, Will You?” I Grinned and Headed to the Kitchen. She Came Back in Half an Hour, Cheeks Glowing, Eyes Bright. “All Done, It Looks Lovely, Doesn’t It?” “Lovely, Mum. Thank You.” That Was the Last Time I Heard Her Cheerful Voice. On the Morning of the Third, She Whispered: “Girls, I’m Getting a Sharp Pain in My Chest. Not Bad, Just Annoying.” I Panicked: “Mum, Let’s Call an Ambulance?” “Oh Stop, Love. Just Overdid It, That’s All. I’ll Lie Down A Bit, It’ll Pass.” She Lay on the Sofa, My Sister and I Sitting With Her. Dad Went for Medicine. She Still Joked: “Don’t Look So Gloomy—I’ll Outlive the Lot of You.” But Then Her Face Went Pale. She Clutched Her Chest. “Oh… I Don’t Feel Well…” We Called the Paramedics. I Held Her Hand. Whispered: “Mummy, Hold On, They’re Coming, It’ll Be Alright…” She Looked at Me and Murmured: “Sweetheart… I Love You All So Much… I Don’t Want to Say Goodbye.” The Ambulance Came Quick, But… Nothing Could Be Done. Massive Heart Attack. It Happened So Fast. I Sat on the Hall Floor, Wailing. Couldn’t Believe It. Yesterday She Was Dancing, Laughing—Today She Was Gone. Barely Steady, I Went Out to the Garden. Soft Snow. Her Footprints, So Small and Neat, Were Still There—from the Gate to the Porch and Back. I Stood and Stared for the Longest Time. Asked God How It Was Possible: Yesterday, She Walked Here, Left Her Prints—Now She Was Gone. The Tracks Were There, but She Wasn’t. Maybe She Really Did Step Out That Last Time Just to Leave Us a Clear Path—So We Could Walk On After Her. I Didn’t Clear the Tracks, and Asked Everyone Else Not To. Let them Stay Until the Snow Takes Them Naturally. That Was the Last Thing Mum Did for Us—Looking After Us Even When She Was Gone. A Week Later, Heavy Snow Fell. I Keep That Photo with Her Last Footprints. Every January Third, I Look at It—and Then at the Now-Empty Path by Our House. It Hurts So Much Knowing Her Last Steps Are Still Somewhere Under That Snow. Those Are the Steps I Still Try to Follow…

I shouted out of the window, Mum, what are you doing up so early? Youll catch your death! She turned

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A Marriage of Convenience: When Ambitious Irina’s Bold Plea Leads to an Unthinkable Proposal from Her Late Mother’s Widower, Changing Both Their Lives Forever

MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE Mr. Graham, could I have a word with you? In the doorway of the office appeared

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Two Sisters… Once Upon a Time There Were Two Sisters: The Older, Val, a Beautiful, Successful, and Wealthy Woman; the Younger, Zoe, a Broken-Down Drunk Whose 32-Year-Old Face Looked Ancient from Hard Living. Despite Countless Rehab Clinics, Folk Remedies, and a Cozy Flat Bought in Her Own Name to Protect Her Sister from Squandering Everything for Drink, Val Fails to Save Zoe—Until, Before Moving Abroad for Good, She Takes Her to Their Reclusive Aunt Olga in the Tiny English Village of Teapotton. There, Through Homemade Herbal Teas, Goat’s Milk from Martha the Goat, Loving Care, and Old-Fashioned Country Wisdom, Aunt Olga Nurses Zoe Back to Health, Teaching Her to Crochet Stunning Shawls That Transform Her Life. Three Years Later, Zoe Whisks Her Aunt Away to a Sunny Seaside Town, Where Together—With Goats, Flowers, and Newfound Purpose—They Discover That Sometimes Family, Simple Kindness, and a Second Chance Are All You Really Need… and the Most Remarkable Thing? Every Word of It Is True.

TWO SISTERS Once upon a time, there were two sisters. The elder, Hannah, was beautiful, successful, and wealthy.

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When Every Penny Pinched Becomes a Prison: The Day Valerie Told Ian She Was Done with a Life of Sacrifice for “Our Future” and Chose to Start Living Now

The kitchen felt stifling as I scrubbed the plates, lost in my thoughts, when Edward strode in and flicked

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My Son Has a Great Memory: The Hilariously Disastrous School Christmas Play Where My Five-Year-Old Went from Cucumber to Wonky Gingerbread Man, Three Cheery Surgeons Became Costume Designers, and the Whole Nursery Was in Stitches at His Crooked-Toothed, Wise-Old ‘Bun’—All Topped Off with a Salad-Green Hat and Fatherly Instructions the Night Before

My son has always had a remarkable memory. Even at nursery, he could recite every single line from the