Emily Taylor

A Promise Kept Denis steered calmly and confidently along the motorway; his friend Kirill sat beside him as they returned from a business trip to Manchester, sent by their boss for two days. “Kirill, we really pulled it off! The contract is signed for a huge sum – the boss will be thrilled,” Denis grinned. “Absolutely, we’re lucky,” Kirill agreed. They worked in the same office. “It’s great going home to someone who’s waiting for you,” Denis said. “My Arisha’s pregnant and suffering from morning sickness. I feel for her, but we wanted this baby so badly, she said she’ll endure anything for our child.” “A baby – that’s wonderful. Marina and I haven’t managed it yet… She can’t carry a baby. We’re about to try IVF again; the first round didn’t work,” Kirill confided. He and Marina had been married seven years and desperately wanted a child. Denis had married late, at thirty-two. He’d had other relationships, but none swept him off his feet – until he met Arina. He fell in love so deeply he couldn’t imagine anyone else. When Denis introduced Arina to Kirill and then married her, Kirill, as his best man, had felt a twinge of envy. Arina was beautiful and gentle; he understood Denis’s feelings. A fine autumn drizzle spattered the windshield and the wipers flicked now and then as they chatted cheerfully. Denis’s phone rang and he answered. “Hi, Arisha! Yes, we’re driving home now, should be there in a couple of hours. How are you? Same old, huh? Don’t lift anything heavy; I’ll do everything when I get back. Love you, see you soon.” Kirill listened and pictured Arina waiting, worrying. He thought: “Marina never calls or worries. She thinks I’m bound to her, and she’s nothing like Arisha – everything is tidy, work and home.” Suddenly Denis swerved; a delivery van was careening towards them. The collision was inevitable but they managed to hit a post on Denis’s side and spun off the road. Kirill came to with a throbbing head and blood on his arm. The car sat upright but his door was open. Denis wasn’t moving. Bystanders rushed over; cars stopped. Kirill lay on the wet grass, waiting for an ambulance. Denis was stretchered away; Kirill bent over his friend and heard him whisper, “Help Arisha…” Both were taken to hospital. Kirill had a broken arm and concussion. He anxiously questioned the medics: “How’s Den, my friend?” A nurse finally told him: “Denis passed away…” Kirill was devastated and couldn’t attend the funeral. Marina told him Denis’s widow wept uncontrollably, barely able to stand by his coffin. After discharge, Kirill visited the cemetery with Marina, lingering by Denis’s grave and promising silently: “Don’t worry, mate, I’ll look after your wife, as you asked…” Two days later, he went to Arina’s place. She burst into tears on seeing him. “How do I go on without him? I can’t accept that Den’s gone.” “Arisha, I promised to help you. We’ll manage together. Call me for anything; I’ll visit,” Kirill assured her. Time passed. Arina tried to adjust, fearing her grief might end the pregnancy. The doctor also warned her to stay calm. Kirill visited twice a week, bringing groceries and vitamins, driving her to appointments. Arina didn’t take advantage; she asked for help only as needed. “Kirill, I feel bad that you spend your time on me.” “I don’t mind. I promised Den.” Kirill felt mixed emotions for Arina: she was his dream woman, but the situation overwhelmed him. While Arina endured her sickness, Kirill and Marina pursued more fertility treatments, facing familiar disappointments. Marina was unaware of Kirill’s help for Arina; on his phone, Arina was saved as ‘Charity’ to avoid suspicion from Marina. After another failed IVF attempt, tension grew between Kirill and Marina. She thought he was to blame; he simply stopped caring. Marina became suspicious—her husband seemed distracted, sometimes irritable, off running errands. An affair seemed unlikely; they hadn’t lost that spark. Despite personal troubles, work went well: Kirill returned to the project he’d started with Denis and landed a big contract. Arina’s pregnancy advanced, making her more helpless. Her parents lived far away in Scotland; she had no close friends in London. She suffered headaches and swollen feet but rarely complained. One day, Kirill arrived to find Arina on a stepladder, hanging new curtains. “I just cleaned the window,” she said cheerily, “and I’m putting up new drapes.” “Get down right now,” Kirill barked, eyeing her large belly. “If you fall, it’s no joke.” He helped her down and, standing close, felt a tremor. “Thanks, Kir,” she said, then quickly dashed to the bathroom, morning sickness returning. Kirill wiped his brow, thinking, “Is Denis watching from somewhere? He did ask for my help.” Next, Arina asked, “Kirill, could you help me set up the nursery? I’ve found some wallpaper I like.” Kirill had to tackle the nursery renovation. He couldn’t let Arina strain herself. They worked together; she helped and cheered him on. Between his depressed wife, always upset over infertility, and Arina nearing her due date, Kirill felt torn. Marina sensed their marriage was in jeopardy, threw herself into work, landed a magazine column, and brought home treats and wine to celebrate. “Ooh, what’s this? A party?” Kirill asked, arriving home. “Yes, I landed a big contract—let’s celebrate!” Their favourite movie played on TV; snacks and wine filled the room as they tried to rekindle the old warmth. Kirill’s phone rang. Marina glanced over his shoulder: ‘Charity’ on the screen. He hurried to the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” he whispered. “Kir, sorry, but I think I’m going into labour… Already called an ambulance.” “But it’s early!” “Seven months—it’s possible,” she said, fighting pain. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.” He dressed quickly; Marina eyed him with concern. “You’re leaving?” “Yes,” he improvised. “The boss called about charity work, needs me urgently. I’ll explain later.” But Marina didn’t buy it. “What charity, what boss, what rubbish?” Kirill sped to the hospital; Arina had already arrived. After two hours, the nurse brought news—Arina had a baby boy. Kirill breathed a sigh of relief. At home, Marina eyed him coldly. “That charity work’s worn you out,” she said scornfully. Kirill sat heavily, still dressed. “Yes, Marina, yes… Arina gave birth to a son. I promised Denis I’d help her. She’s completely alone.” “Now I understand… Next, you’ll help Arina with her newborn son, right?” “Yes,” Kirill replied sincerely. “Well, you know me—I won’t tolerate you giving time to someone else’s child, especially when we can’t have one, and probably never will. So I’m filing for divorce. Maybe I’ll meet someone else and have a baby after all.” Kirill looked at her, realising she blamed him for their childlessness. “That’s your choice, Marina, I won’t argue. I need to help Arina and her baby.” In time, Marina filed for divorce. Kirill moved in with Arina to help with baby Danny. Later, they married—and, two years on, welcomed a daughter. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and for your support. Wishing you all the best in life!

Promise David gripped the steering wheel with a sense of calm assurance, guiding the car along a winding

Antonia Peterson Walked in the Rain, Tears Mixing with Raindrops—Her Only Comfort That No One Saw Her Crying. She Thought: “It’s My Own Fault! An Unwelcome Guest.” She Cried, Then Laughed Remembering a Joke About a Son-in-Law and Tea. Now, She Found Herself Like That Mother—Crying and Laughing. At Home, She Pulled Off Her Wet Clothes, Wrapped Up in a Blanket, and Sobbed Freely: No One Could Hear Her Except the Goldfish in Her Bowl! Antonia Was an Attractive Woman, Popular with Men, But Things Didn’t Work Out with Nikita’s Father—He Became Jealous and Violent. After Her Father Defended Her, Her Husband Disappeared for Good and She Raised Her Son Alone, Avoiding Relationships. She Had a Good Job as a Catering Manager and Saved for a Flat, Which She Gave to Nikita and His Fiancée, Anastasia, After Their Wedding. Now She Was Saving for Their New Car. She Never Imposed on Her Children, But Ended Up at Their House During a Downpour. Her Daughter-in-Law Coldly Refused Her Tea, Barely Letting Her Inside. Antonia Left in Tears and Later Dreamt Her Goldfish Told Her She Was Wasting Her Life on Ungrateful People. She Used Her Savings for a Seaside Trip, Returned Transformed and Radiant, and Finally Found Romance with Her Restaurant’s Charming Director. When Anastasia Came Hinting at the Car, Antonia Calmly Refused Tea and Shut the Door, Winking at the Fish—That’s How Things Change!

Antonia Smith was strolling under the downpour, her tears mingling with the rain as they traced paths

Became the Help: When Valerie Announced Her Wedding Plans, Her Son and Daughter-in-law Were Shocked and Unsure How to Respond—Now, at Sixty-three, She Claims the Right to Happiness, but Finds Herself Treated Like a Housekeeper in Her New Family

Became a Housemaid When Margaret announced her plans to remarry, both her son and daughter-in-law were

A Fortunate Mistake… Growing Up Without a Father in England: The Longing for Dad from Nursery Days to Primary School – Watching Classmates with Their Dads, Birthday Gifts from a Distant ‘Polar Explorer’, The Truth Revealed, Working Odd Jobs and Playing Father Christmas, An Unexpected Visit to the Right Address, and Finding Love, Family, and Happiness through a Mistaken Door – How One Serendipitous Christmas Reunited Me with My Son and the Woman I Never Forgot

A Fortunate Mistake I grew up in a single-parent household, just my mum and my grandmother looking after me.

My Brother Refuses to Let Mum Move into a Care Home or Take Her In Himself—He Says There’s Simply No Room!

My brother refuses to put Mum in a care home and wont take her in himselfhe says there simply isnt enough room.

My Son Brought Home His Girlfriend and She Seemed Suspicious – She’s Nearly My Age, Has a Young Daughter, and Now Wants to Move In with Us in Our Central London Home

A few days ago, my son brought his girlfriend home. She struck me as rather mysterious. Shes only a few

She Swapped Her Grandmother’s Unattractive Old Ring for Modern Jewellery—Now Her Mum Has Caused a Scene

My mother gave me my grandmothers ring. It wasnt an exquisite vintage heirloomno, it was an awkward

“Why Do You Need a Mortgage? Just Move In with Us—Our House Will Be Yours One Day!” My Mother-in-Law Insists We Live Together Instead of Buying Our Own Home

You can live with us, theres no need to bother with a mortgage! Youll have our house one day!

Great Job! Husband Spends Nights With His Current Wife, Days With His Ex – My Life With Frank, His Persistent Ex, and Never-Ending Drama

Well done! Husband with his current wife at night, ex-wife during the day I’m 38 years old, and

Dad’s Better Than Anyone – A British Family Drama of Divorce, Rivalry and a Teenager’s Hard Lesson in Love “Max, we need to talk.” Olga nervously straightened the tablecloth, smoothing out imaginary creases, trying to hide her anxiety behind a calm voice. Max, hunched over his phone opposite, tapped the screen with dramatic focus – his favourite method of ignoring. “Son… I need to explain something important to you.” No reaction, just the soft clicks of a mobile. Olga took a deep breath, gathering courage for words she’d delayed for a week. “When your dad and I split up… it was half a year before I introduced you to Richard. I didn’t rush. I wanted to be sure it was serious.” Max’s fingers froze above the screen. The teenager lifted his head, eyes flickering with outrage, so intense that Olga instinctively recoiled. “Serious? That bloke means nothing compared to Dad! He couldn’t even hold a candle. Dad’s better than him at everything!” Memories of that first meeting struck Max with painful clarity—a tall stranger in their hall, mum’s anxious smile, the whiff of strange cologne. An intruder, unforgivably filling Dad’s place. “He isn’t a stranger,” Olga replied softly. “He’s my husband.” “Yours!” Max flung his phone onto the table. “Means nothing to me! My dad is Dad. This guy…” He didn’t finish, but contempt did his talking. Richard had tried, lord, how he tried. Evenings spent in the garage fixing Max’s bent bike, hands stained with engine grease, a determined smile against every setback. “Look, got the frame straightened,” he’d say, wiping his hands. “You can take it out tomorrow?” Silence met every gesture – icy, reverberating silence. Every evening Richard sat by Max’s desk, breaking down equations in plain words. “If you move X here—” “I get it,” Max would cut him off, even when it was clear he didn’t. Mornings brought the smell of freshly made pancakes and honey—Max’s favourite. Richard stacked them high on his plate. “Dad made them thinner,” Max would mutter, barely touching his food. “And Dad’s honey was proper. This is rubbish.” Every act of care crashed against a wall of cold indifference. Max seemed to collect ammunition for sarcastic comparisons. “Dad never shouted.” “Dad always knew what I liked.” “Dad did everything right.” Olga and Richard’s wedding shredded the fragile truce. Max took the marriage certificate as betrayal – final and irrevocable. The house became a minefield, mornings chilled by silence, nights ending in slammed doors. Max transformed into a secret agent, tracking every misstep by his stepdad like a detective. A sharp word over dinner – recorded. A sigh over homework – memorised. A tired “not now” after work – banked as grievance. “Dad, he had a go at me again,” Max would whisper in his bedroom. “Really?” Dad tutted, faking sympathy. “Poor lad. Remember those trips to the park? Every weekend, yeah?” “Yeah…” “That’s what a proper family was. Not this.” His dad painted a picture: perfect past, easy happiness, Dad flawless. Richard, meanwhile, felt like an unwelcome guest. Every look from Max screamed: you don’t belong. You’ll never be my family. The pressure built to breaking point. One evening, disaster struck. “You’ve no right to boss me about!” Max exploded when Richard asked for phones off at dinner. “You mean nothing to me!” Olga froze. Something inside her snapped. Max’s glare was venomous. “My dad is better in every way. He says you ruin everything. Life was better before you!” “Enough,” Olga said quietly. “That’s enough.” The next morning, she dialled her ex-husband’s number. Hands shaking, but her resolve steel. “Tom,” she began evenly, “if you think you’re the better parent, take Max. Permanently. I’ll pay maintenance if need be.” The silence dragged. “Well… the timing’s awkward…” Tom fumbled. “Work’s busy, loads of travel… I’d love to, but…” He shuffled papers, coughed awkwardly. “And, well, Jane—my girlfriend—she’s not ready for a kid yet. We’ve just moved in, trying to settle…” Weak excuses. Tom, who’d encouraged Max to attack Olga’s new family. Who fed him bitter words, stoked every little grievance. Now—just a cramped flat, some DIY and a girlfriend who’d rather not. “I understand, Tom,” Olga said, voice flat. “Thanks for your honesty.” She ended the call. That evening, she called Max to the living room. He slumped into a chair, defiant, but something in Mum’s gaze made him wary. “I spoke to your dad today.” Max tensed. “And what did he say?” Olga sat across from him. “He won’t take you. Not now, not ever. He’s got a new life, a new woman, and there’s no room for you.” “That’s a lie! He loves me! He told me—” “It’s easy to say things,” Olga replied softly. “But when I offered, he remembered his ‘repair work’ and his little flat.” Max’s mouth opened but he couldn’t contradict. “Now listen,” Olga leaned in. “No more comparisons with Dad. No more spying, no disrespect to Richard. Either we’re a family—us three—or you go live with your dad, who doesn’t want the job. I’ll make him take you. Then you’ll see for yourself what he’s really like.” Max sat motionless, eyes wide. “Mum…” “I’m not joking.” Olga didn’t flinch. “I love you more than anything. But I won’t let you destroy my marriage. Your behaviour is unacceptable. I’ve had enough. It’s your choice.” Max froze, his world in pieces. Kindly Dad vs ‘bad’ stepdad wasn’t so simple anymore. Dad wouldn’t take him back. He’d chosen his girlfriend and decorating. Had he used Max only to spite Mum? Painful understanding dawned. All those calls, all the questions—just ammunition. Tom gathering fuel for his own vendetta, Max unwittingly supplying it. He swallowed hard. And Richard? The man he’d mistreated for months? Patiently fixing his bike as Max ignored him. Baking pancakes every morning. Staying, trying, never quitting… Change wasn’t easy. Weeks passed with Max hiding in his room, ashamed to admit he’d acted like a child. Seeing Richard reminded him of: “You mean nothing to me.” He wanted to disappear. Everyone tread softly, speaking in cautious phrases. The house felt like an intensive care ward, teetering between hope and collapse. First step: a physics problem. Max struggled for two hours, chewed his pencil, finally found the nerve. “Richard…” The word was hard, stuck in his throat. “Can you help? It’s the vectors.” Richard glanced up from his laptop. No surprise or victory, just quiet acceptance. “Let’s have a look.” A month later, they went fishing together. Sitting by the lake, watching the bobbers, Max chatted about school, mates, a girl he fancied. No accusations, no comparisons – just a real conversation. Richard listened, nodded, occasionally added his thoughts. Max realised: this was real family. Not dreamy words or rose-tinted memories, but quiet breakfasts, patience, and sticking around when everyone else gave up. This time, Max chose right…

Dads Still the Best Max, we need to have a chat. Helen fussed over the tablecloth, smoothing out imaginary