Emily Taylor

We’re Moving Into Your Flat — Polly’s flat is great, right in the city centre. Freshly renovated — just move in and enjoy! — It’s perfect… for a single girl, — Rusty smiled patronisingly at Anna as though she were a clueless child. — But we’re planning two, maybe even three kids. Straight away, one after another. The city centre’s noisy, there’s no fresh air, nowhere to park. Plus, it’s only got two bedrooms. You lot have three here, plus it’s quiet, with a nursery just outside. — Oh, it really is a lovely area, — agreed Serge, still unsure where his future brother-in-law was going with all this. — That’s why we settled here. — Exactly! — Rusty snapped his fingers. — I keep telling Polly: why struggle with less space when there’s a ready-made solution? There’s too much room for the three of you and your daughter. What do you need all that space for? You don’t even use your spare room — it’s just storage. For us, it would be perfect. Anna was wrestling an unwieldy vacuum cleaner into the tiny hall cupboard. The hoover protested, snagging its hose on coat hangers and absolutely refusing to fit in its allotted space. — Serge, give us a hand! — she called out towards the living room. — Either the cupboard’s shrunk, or I’ve forgotten how to put things away. Serge poked his head out of the bathroom — he’d just finished fixing the tap. Calm, always a bit slow, Serge was Anna’s complete opposite. — Don’t worry, Ann, I’ve got this. Pass it here. He smoothly shifted the heavy thing and tucked it out of sight into the corner of the cupboard. Anna exhaled and leaned against the doorframe. — Tell me again, why do we never seem to have enough space? This flat’s big, three bedrooms and all, but the minute we start cleaning it’s as if our whole life’s overflowing into the street. — That’s because you’re a chronic hoarder, — Serge chuckled. — Why do we have three dinner sets? We only use one, twice a year. — Let them be, they’re memories. It was Gran’s flat, after all. After the wedding, Serge’s parents split the inheritance fairly: their son got this spacious three-bedroom flat in a quiet area — Gran’s flat — and his sister Polly got the two-bedder right in the city centre, in the “golden square”. It worked out roughly the same value. For five years, everyone got along famously, no hard feelings on either side. Anna naively thought it would always stay that way, but… *** They finished tidying, sorted the mess, sat down for a breather. No sooner had they turned on the telly when the doorbell rang. Serge went to open it. — Sis and her fiancé are here, — he called to his wife after peering through the peephole. Polly flitted in first, followed heavily by Rusty. Anna had only met him a couple of times before — Polly found him at the gym about six months back. Anna didn’t like Rusty from the start — too pompous, a bit condescending. He always looked down his nose at both Serge and her. — Heya! — Polly kissed her brother and hugged Anna. — We were just passing, thought we’d pop in. We’ve got news! — Well, do come in, if you’re just passing. News is always good, — Serge gestured towards the kitchen. — Tea? — Just water, thanks, — Rusty traipsed after the host. — We need a proper chat, Serge. Actually, we weren’t just “passing”. It’s about something important. No need to fuss or make tea. Just come sit. Anna suddenly felt anxious — she didn’t like Rusty’s tone one bit. What’s all this about? — Go on, spit it out, — Serge shrugged. Polly pretended not to be in the room at all — engrossed in her phone, leaving Rusty to speak for them. Rusty cleared his throat. — Here’s the thing. Polly and I have set a date. Wedding in three months. Naturally, I have serious plans for us. A family, a long, happy life together. We were talking about our living situation and… We’re moving in here, and you two can swap into Polly’s flat! Anna was gobsmacked. She looked at her husband, then at Polly — but Polly kept on scrolling, as if none of this had anything to do with her. — Rusty, I don’t get it, — Serge frowned. — What are you getting at? — I’m not getting at anything, I’m offering a constructive solution. Let’s swap! We move in here; you lot take Polly’s flat. Pol’s completely on board, we both reckon it’s the fair thing. Anna was gobsmacked all over again. — Fair? — she repeated. — Rusty, are you serious? You waltz into our home and suggest we move out because you’ve decided it’s time for children? — No need to be so dramatic, Anna, — Rusty grimaced. — I’m being realistic. You’ve one child and, as far as I know, no plans for more. So why stretch out in all this extra space? Not practical. Whereas we… we’ve got big plans. — Big plans, have you! — Anna leapt up. — Serge, you hearing this rubbish? Serge raised a hand, signalling for Anna to hold her tongue. — Rusty, maybe you’ve forgotten, but my parents gave me this flat. Just like Polly’s got hers. We spent five years making this place a home, picked out every skirting board ourselves. Our daughter’s growing up here. She’s got her own room, routines, friends in the building. And you think we should up sticks and move to the city centre just because it suits you better? — Come on, mate, — Rusty leaned back insolently. — We’re family. Polly’s your flesh and blood. Doesn’t your sister’s future matter to you? Besides, I’m offering you equal value. You’d get a place in a prime location. Actually, you’re winning out pricewise. I did the maths. — Funny, that, — Serge snorted. — You’re not even married to my sister yet and you’re already eyeing up my flat! Finally, Polly looked up from her phone. — Oh, come on, — she whined. — Rusty just wants the best for us. We’ll be really cramped in my place if we have kids. And your hallway is big enough for five-a-side! Mum always said family comes first. Remember, Serge? — Mum said family should help, not chuck each other out of their homes! — Anna snapped. — Do you even realise what your Rusty’s suggesting? — What’s so bad about it? — Polly batted her eyelashes. — He’s being reasonable. We need it more. You’re not even using your extra room. — It’s not spare! — Anna nearly shouted. — That’s my study! I work in there, have you forgotten? — ‘Work’… — Rusty rolled his eyes. — You post pictures on the internet? Polly says that’s just a hobby. You could perch at the kitchen table with your laptop, it’s not like you’re Lady Muck. Serge stood slowly. — Right, — he said in a low voice. — That’s enough. Time for you both to leave. — Serge, come off it, — Rusty didn’t budge. — We came here to have a sensible, family discussion. — Sensible? — Serge stepped up to the table. — You come here demanding my flat, insulting my wife, deciding where my daughter should live? Do you have any shame at all? — Shame? Serge! — Anna stood at her husband’s side. — It’s sheer greed. The bloke doesn’t even have a ring on your sister’s finger and he’s already divvying up her assets. Polly, do you even realise who you’ve brought into the family? He’ll chuck you out of your own place first chance he gets! — Don’t speak about him like that! — Polly shot up, too. — Rusty cares about me! About ‘us’! And you lot… just greedy, clinging onto your precious rooms. And you call yourselves family! — I’ll tell you who’s greedy — your future husband, — Serge pointed sternly towards the door. — Once and for all: get out. And forget about any flat swap. If I hear about it again, we’re done. No contact, ever. Rusty rose, straightening his shirt collar. Not a flicker of embarrassment — only annoyance. — Suit yourself, Serge. I thought we could be reasonable. But if you want to be stubborn… Polly, come on! Once the door slammed behind them, Anna collapsed onto the sofa. She was shaking. — Did you see that? Did you hear that? — she stared at Serge, wide-eyed. — The nerve! Who even is that guy? Serge was silent, standing at the window, watching Rusty open his car like he owned the place, barking something at Polly. — You know what’s worst? — Serge said at last. — Polly actually thinks he’s right. She’s always been… a bit away with the fairies, but this? — He’s brainwashed her! — Anna burst out. — Serge, ring your mum. Your parents need to hear what their future son-in-law’s really like. — Wait, — Serge pulled out his phone. — I’ll call my sister first. One-to-one. Without the peacock. He dialled. The call rang for ages before Polly, crying, picked up. — Hello, — came the muffled voice. — Polly, listen to me, — Serge’s tone was hard. — Are you with him, in the car? — What does it matter? — If he’s there, put me on speaker. He can hear this too. — I’m not. — Polly sniffled. — He dropped me outside and sped off. Said he needed to clear his head, because my family are all selfish. Serge, why are you all like this? He just wanted everything to be perfect… — Polly, wake up! — Serge almost shouted. — Perfect? He came here to wrangle my flat out of us! Did he even discuss this ‘swap’ with you beforehand? Silence. — No, — Polly whispered at last. — He said he had a surprise for everyone. A way to make things better for all of us. — Some surprise. He decides what’s best for you and me — never even asked. Polly, do you even realise who you’re marrying? He’s a gold digger. Today it’s our flat, tomorrow your car’s too small, and next he’ll be hinting your parents need to give up their cottage so he can get some ‘fresh air’. — Don’t say that… — Polly’s voice shook. — He loves me. — If he did, he wouldn’t be kicking off scandal for no reason. He’s just played us off against each other! Anna’s still in shock. Don’t you see? He wanted to turn us against each other. — I’ll talk to him, — Polly said uncertainly. — Do. And think hard before you head down the aisle. Serge hit disconnect, tossing his phone onto the sofa. — What did she say? — Anna whispered. — Said she didn’t know — Rusty had planned his ‘surprise’. Anna gave a bitter laugh. — Picture it: struts in thinking he owns the place, shifting people like chess pieces. Flats here, people there. Ugh. Makes my skin crawl. — Never mind, — Serge put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. — We’re not giving up our home. End of. But I feel sorry for my sister. She’s going to regret him. *** Serge and Anna’s worst fears didn’t come true — the wedding never happened. Rusty dumped Polly that very night. Polly, in tears, turned up at her brother’s later and told them what had happened. Rusty had returned immediately and started packing. Polly panicked, asking what was going on. Rusty declared he wasn’t about to become related to such selfish people. — Said he doesn’t need relatives like ‘that’, — Polly sobbed. — Said he can’t count on you. Said you wouldn’t even babysit for us when we need a weekend off. And you wouldn’t give us any money, even if we asked. — Oh, Polly, don’t let it get to you! — Anna protested. — You’re better off without him! You can’t count on someone like that. He’ll never care about anyone but himself. Forget him! Polly was upset for a couple of months, but she got over it. She realised the truth in time — and how had she not seen her fiancé’s rotten side before? If she’d married him, she’d have been miserable forever. She’d dodged a bullet — truly.

Were Moving into Your Flat Emilys got a lovely flat in the heart of town. Freshly done upjust move in

“It Doesn’t Seem Right That Your Children Will Have Homes While My Son Won’t—Let’s Get Him His Own Place with a Mortgage!”

It doesnt look right that your children will have homes of their own, while my son wont. Lets sort him

Recently I Met a Woman Strolling Down the Street With Her One-and-a-Half-Year-Old Daughter, Entirely Lost in Her Own World – Her Heartbreaking Tale of Love, Marriage, and the Struggles That Followed Forever Changed the Way I See Family Life

Not long ago, I came across a woman strolling down the street with her eighteen-month-old daughter, completely

Changed His Mind About Getting Married Late Into the Night, Dr. Archibald toiled away in his lab, endlessly transferring mysterious liquids between test tubes and analyzing granulated powders, his mind consumed by the hope that his painstaking research would soon bear fruit—and that he’d finally unveil his “product,” extracted from the roots of a rare English wildflower, to the scientific community. With all the enthusiasm of a dedicated forty-year-old scientist, Archibald barely registered the awestruck gazes from the institute’s new young cleaner, Sophie, who, forgetting her own work, would linger in his office for hours, propping herself on her mop and watching him intently. Driven by his dream, Archibald noticed neither Sophie’s attentions nor her habit of standing quietly behind him, lost in her thoughts until, one evening, she found her courage: “Dr. Archibald, you’ve hardly left your chair all day,” she said, brightening. “Fancy a cuppa? I happened to bring my electric kettle—and some homemade sausages.” At the mention of sausages, Archibald looked up from his experiments. “Tea with sausages, you say? I’d be mad to pass that up.” Sophie beamed as she rummaged through her backpack, producing first the kettle and then a plastic container of delicious-looking food. “Mother sent me some beef mince from the country yesterday,” she explained, her cheeks glowing with pride, “so I made sausages with a bit of pork fat and roasted them.” Archibald peered into the clear tub, putting his glasses back on for a closer look. “How long has this sat in your bag?” he inquired. “Since this morning, I suppose. Why?” Sophie faltered, apprehensive. “And the lid was sealed tight?” “Yes, it was,” Sophie insisted, now a bit anxious. “You think it’s spoiled already? It’s been cold in the staff room—they haven’t got the radiators on yet.” Archibald weighed his doubts. “Best stick to tea for now. Maybe you should take the sausages home.” Angry at the rejection, Sophie scooped away her container, but curiosity got the better of her, and she opened it anyway. “Smells just fine! Oh, you city types—always worrying! If you won’t have any, more for me.” As the kettle boiled, Archibald eyed Sophie as she tucked in voraciously. The warm aroma and her enjoyment tempted him. He reasoned with himself about food safety, the risk of bacteria, and Sophie’s questionable fridge habits, but the British scientist’s willpower failed under hunger’s persuasion. Finally, he caved—one bite led to another, and Archibald found himself in culinary heaven. “Stunning! Did you really make these yourself?” Sophie smiled through happy tears. “Told you—I’ve been cooking since I was a girl!” The humble supper ended with Archibald offering to see Sophie to the bus stop, and the evening set in motion a chain of unexpected events. Archibald, A Forty-Year-Old Scientist, Visits His Young Girlfriend Sophie’s Eccentric Family in a Snowy English Village—Only to Find Himself Questioning Both Love and Marriage The next day, anxiety gnawed at Archibald as a bumpy taxi ride took him and Sophie to her childhood home in the snow-blanketed English countryside—a crooked-roofed old cottage reminiscent of an eccentric BBC drama. Sophie, headstrong and affectionate, tried to reassure him: “Mum’s understanding. And my stepdad will love you; he agrees with everyone.” Archibald fretted about the age difference. “Your mum’s forty-five, I’m forty. Will she even approve?” “She’ll come round!” Sophie insisted, even vowing, in jest, to invent a pregnancy if her mother disapproved. The cottage was as unwelcoming as Archibald had feared. Sophie’s mother, wrapped in a threadbare dressing gown, sized him up sharply, her voice cold. “My little girl’s twenty-three, and you’re twice her age! What’s your game? Looking for a housekeeper?” The tension snowballed into a blazing row involving Sophie’s handsome young stepfather and the whole family, with accusations and furniture flying. Archibald fled into the frosty night, dodging hurled stools and searching the village for any means of escape, ruing the day he ever left his lab for this rural “adventure.” After collapsing from stress and cold, Archibald was nursed back to health by a local medic and Sophie’s unwavering devotion. But as tempers cooled, doubts about love, marriage, and rural English family drama gnawed at him. Archibald found himself longing for the order and coziness of his city flat—and the idea of remaining a confirmed bachelor started to seem far more appealing. A Comedy of Love, Laboratories, and Culture Clashes: When a Middle-Aged London Scientist Visits His Quirky Young Girlfriend’s Eccentric Family in Rural England, He Starts to Rethink His Plans for Marriage

Changed His Mind About Marriage Archibald would stay in his laboratory late into the night, endlessly

A Baby for a Friend: Lily’s Struggle Against Betrayal, Poverty, and Sacrifice — Her Journey as a Single Mother Surrounded by Greed, Broken Promises, and the Unexpected Power of Maternal Love

A Child for a Friend When Lily was approaching the last months of her pregnancy, her younger brother

He Set His Sights on Another Man’s Wife Living Together, Dudnikov Revealed Himself to Be Weak and Spineless—His Moods Ruled Each Day, Vacillating Between Bursts of Cheer and Long Stretches of Artistic Gloom. As a Rural School Teacher Teaching Art, Handicrafts, and Occasionally Music, Victor Dudnikov Longed for Creative Fulfillment, Turning the Best Room in His House (Destined for Future Children) into a Chaotic Studio Packed With Easels, Paints, and Odd Sculptures—Much to the Quiet Discontent of His Wife, Sophia. Victor’s “Masterpieces” Filled the Walls and Shelves, Drawing Only Awkward Silence From Visiting Artist Friends—All Except Liver-Soaked Lev Pechersky, Who, After Sampling a Whole Bottle of Rowanberry Liqueur, Declared: “My God, What Absurd Doodles! Nothing Here Worth a Thing—Except, of Course, the Lovely Hostess.” Wounded by Criticism, Victor Erupted in Fury, Lashing Out at His Wife for Her Friend’s Sake. Yet Though Sophia Dreamed of a Family, She Endured His Tempers, Managed the House, the Garden, and Even the Care of His Mother—Until Misfortune Struck Again and Again: Lost Pregnancy, a Deteriorating Marriage, and Her Own Mother Selling the Family Home, Leaving Sophia With Nowhere Else to Go. With Victor Bedridden and Bitter, Refusing Food and Preparing to Divorce, Sophia Was Forced to Sell Their Only Hen at the Village Fair, Desperately Trying to Support Herself—Where She Met Denis, a Kind Stranger With an Eye for Her Husband’s Odd Art and, More Importantly, for Her. Denis Cleverly Returned Each Day, Buying Up Victor’s “Art” Simply to See Sophia, and at Last, Taking What He Truly Wanted—Victor’s Former Wife. Victor, Left Alone and Suddenly Regretful, Realises Too Late That He Has Lost His One True Treasure: the Devoted, Long-Suffering Woman He Never Learned to Love.

Settled My Sights on Another Mans Wife Living together revealed everything I needed to know about Oliver

Through Thick and Thin: The Story of Antonina, an Early Widow Whose Daughter Moved North, Who Lost Her Village Job and Sold Dairy to Survive, Befriended a New Wealthy Neighbour, Endured an Unhappy Marriage for the Promise of Comfort, yet Found Hope and True Kindness in Her Old Friend Gavril as She Learnt Life’s True Riches Beyond Heartache and Joy

Through Sorrow and Joy Margaret became a widow early, at forty-two. By then, her daughter, Florence

Wife and Father Karina only pretended that she wanted to meet Vadim’s parents. What did she need them for, anyway? She wasn’t planning to live with them, and as for his father—supposedly well-off—the only thing to expect from him was trouble and suspicion. But if you’re playing the game, you have to see it through—especially when you’re getting married. Karina dressed up, but kept it simple—she wanted to be seen as a sweet, unpretentious girl. Meeting your fiancé’s parents is always a minefield; meeting clever parents is a full-blown trial by fire. Vadik, thinking she needed reassurance, said, “Don’t worry, Karin, honestly. Dad’s a grump, but he’s reasonable. They won’t say anything terrible to you. And they’ll love you. Dad’s a bit odd, but Mum’s the life of any party.” He gave her a pep talk outside the family home. Karina just smiled, flicking a strand of hair off her shoulder. A grumpy dad and a social butterfly mum—a combination, if ever there was one. An inward smirk. The house didn’t surprise her. She’d been in fancier ones. They were greeted at the door. Karina wasn’t particularly anxious. Why should she be? They were just people. Nina—Vadim’s mum—was a long-time homemaker, vaguely familiar from stories, sometimes going on trips with her friends, but nothing out of the ordinary. The father, Valery—aloof, but silent. But the name—there was something familiar about it… They met face to face. And Karina froze, not setting foot across the threshold. This was the end… She didn’t know her future mother-in-law, but her future father-in-law she recognised in an instant. They’d met before. Three years ago. Not often, but for their mutual benefit. In bars. Hotels. Restaurants. No one—least of all his wife or son—knew about that. Well, this was it. Valery recognised her, too. There was a flash in his eyes—could have been surprise, shock, or something darker, some scheme already taking shape—but he kept silent. Vadim, blissfully unaware, introduced her. “Mum, Dad, meet Karina. My fiancée. I’d have brought her sooner, but she’s a bit shy.” Oh dear… Valery shook her hand. A firm, almost hard grip. “Pleased to meet you, Karina,” he said, with a subtle undertone she couldn’t quite place. Anger? Warning? Or…? Karina wondered how she’d get out of this, half-expecting Valery to reveal everything. “Delighted to meet you too, Mr. Matthews,” she replied, keeping up appearances, heart pounding with adrenaline. What next? But… nothing. Valery even gave a strained smile and pulled out her chair at the dining table. Perhaps he was saving the embarrassment for later. But nothing happened. That’s when it dawned on Karina—he wouldn’t reveal her. If he did, he’d be exposing himself, too. Once she relaxed, the evening was almost easy-going. Nina recounted childhood anecdotes about Vadim, while Valery, unexpectedly attentive, asked Karina about her job—he already knew more than he let on, but his subtle irony didn’t unsettle her. He even cracked a few jokes, and to her surprise, she laughed. But the jokes were laced with meanings only they could decode. Like when, looking at Karina, he remarked, “You know, you remind me of an old… colleague. She was clever. Good with people—all kinds of people.” Karina didn’t skip a beat. “Talents come in all shapes, Mr. Matthews.” Vadim, as a besotted fiancé should, gazed at her adoringly, hearing no subtext. He truly loved her. That was both the sweetest and the saddest part—at least, for him. Later, the conversation turned to travel. Valery, looking smoothly at Karina, said, “Me—I like remote places. No fuss. Peace to sit and think, with a good book. What about you, Karina?” He was baiting her. “I like crowds—life, noise, fun,” Karina answered, not playing along. “Though, I’ll admit, extra ears can be dangerous sometimes.” Briefly, just a flicker, Nina seemed to notice something. Karina caught her future mother-in-law frown, but she dismissed it. Valery knew Karina was never one for peace and quiet. He knew why. At evening’s end, as they prepared for bed, Valery hugged Vadim. “Son, look after her. She’s… special.” It sounded like both a compliment and a warning, though only Karina got it. She felt a sudden chill at the word “special.” Only he could have chosen that word. *** That night, Karina lay sleepless, replaying their fateful encounter and pondering how to live with their newfound secret. Odds weren’t great. She imagined Valery was just as sleepless—for the same reason, plus the coming showdown. Honestly, for everything. She slipped out of bed, pulled a sweatshirt over her shorts and tee, and tiptoed downstairs. For effect, she made sure her steps were audible enough to be noticed. She slipped outside to the veranda, positive Valery would find her there. She didn’t have to wait long. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, coming up behind her. “Not tonight,” Karina replied. A breeze carried the familiar scent of his cologne. He studied her. “What do you want from my son, Karina? I know what you’re capable of. I know how many like me have been in your life. And I know you’ve only ever cared about money. You never hid your price. So, why Vadim?” If he wasn’t going to get sentimental about their past, neither was Karina. She bared her teeth in a fake smile. “I love him, Mr. Matthews,” she sang. “Why shouldn’t I?” He was unconvinced. “You? Love? It’s laughable. I know you, Karina. And I’ll tell Vadim everything—what you did, who you really are. Do you think he’ll still want to marry you?” Karina stepped closer, barely an arm’s length between them. She tilted her head, studying him. As if she hadn’t seen enough over the years. “Go ahead, Mr. Matthews,” she purred, drawing out his name. “But then your wife will learn our little secret.” “That’s…” “It’s not blackmail. It’s fair warning. If you spill about my… ‘intentions,’ you’ll have to explain our relationship too. Trust me—I’ll fill in every detail.” “That’s different—” “Really? Will you tell your wife the same thing?” Valery froze. His threat had failed. He realised he was cornered. They were in it together. “What would you tell her?” he asked. “I’d tell everyone—Vadim most of all. I’ll tell him what a loyal husband you are, and just where those long nights at work really happened. The whole story. I’ll have nothing left to lose. You want to save your son from me? Go on then. Try.” A hard choice. Advising his son against the marriage would be signing his own marital death warrant. “You wouldn’t dare.” “I wouldn’t dare?” Karina laughed. “You would, but I wouldn’t? I’ll stay quiet if you do. But you know it—if I fall, you fall. Nina values loyalty above all else.” He remembered, blindingly drunk, confessing to Karina about his cheating. How kind his wife was, how loyal, how he was the scoundrel. Nina would never forgive him. Never. So he had to choose. He knew Karina wasn’t bluffing. “Fine,” he choked. “I won’t say a word. And you… keep quiet too. No one says anything. We’ll forget it ever happened.” That’s why Karina wasn’t worried. He’d lose more than she would. “As you wish, Mr. Matthews.” The next morning, they left Vadim’s parents’ house. With a stare of pure loathing from her future father-in-law, Karina said goodbye to his wife, who had already started calling her “my dear.” Valery’s eye twitched. He was torn—unable to warn his son about his cunning fiancée, for fear of exposing himself. Losing Nina would mean losing not just his wife, but a fair chunk of his fortune—and his son would probably never forgive him. On another visit—this time for a two-week stay—Valery kept his distance, always inventing errands. But one day, home alone, curiosity got the better of him. He decided to snoop through Karina’s things, hoping to find a weakness. He rifled through her make-up bag, diary, notebook—and found a white-and-blue item. A pregnancy test. Two pink lines. “I thought my son marrying someone like you was a disaster… But this… This is a catastrophe!” He put it back, trying to hastily close the bag. Karina caught him red-handed. “Tsk, tsk. Snooping isn’t very polite,” she chided with a sarcastic glint—but she didn’t seem too upset. Valery didn’t bother denying. “You’re pregnant with Vadim’s baby?” Karina walked over, took the bag, looked him in the eye, and said, “Congratulations, Mr. Matthews—you’ve spoiled the surprise.” Valery was livid. Now Karina truly had a grip on his son. If he spoke out, the fallout would be even worse. Now he really had to keep quiet. But it was torture—watching his son walk into a trap. *** Nine months passed… then half a year more. Vadim and Karina had a daughter, Alice. Valery avoided visiting altogether. He refused to see or even think about them. He didn’t see Alice as his real granddaughter. And Karina frightened him—with her indifference to Vadim, and her shadowy past. And now—again. Nina was planning a visit to Vadim and Karina. “Valer, are you coming?” “No, I’ve got a headache.” “Again? This is getting serious.” “It’s nothing. Go without me.” Fake migraines, colds, aching limbs—he always had an excuse. He even took tablets for good measure. He just couldn’t bear to see Karina. But neither could he tell the truth. The evening dragged by. He read. Relaxed. But then noticed Nina was very late. It was 11 p.m. No sign of his wife, and her phone went unanswered. He called Vadim. “Hi son—everything all right? Has Nina left? She’s not home yet.” “Dad, you’re the last person I want to talk to right now.” Click. Valery was about to set off to the house when Karina’s car pulled up outside. Seeing her, he nearly passed out. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, shaking her. “What happened?” Karina, cool as ever, poured herself a glass of wine and settled in. “We’ve crashed.” “What do you mean ‘crashed’?” “Our secret. It’s out. Vadim found our photos on a café website—remember that ‘Oasis’ party four years ago? He was booking the place for our anniversary and found their photo album online… We’re both in it, clear as day. Flipping photographer… Now Vadim’s in bits. Your Nina’s filing for divorce. And me? Well, you got what you wanted—I might just be leaving your son, after all.” Valery stared at her, his mind spinning. That website, that party… He remembered warning them not to take photos, but who could have predicted this? He slumped to the floor. “Why did you come here?” “I needed to get away for a bit,” Karina smiled. “It’s chaos at home. Alice is with her nanny. Fancy some wine?” She offered his favourite wine. They sat on the veranda, drinking, interrupted only by the droning of crickets—the only thing left in common. “This is all your fault,” Valery said. Karina nodded, staring at her glass. “It is.” “You’re unbearable.” “So they tell me.” “You don’t even pity Vadim.” “I do, but I pity myself more.” “You only love yourself.” “On that, we agree.” He reached out, turning her face to his. “You know I never loved you,” he whispered. “Glad to hear it,” she answered, deadpan. *** The next morning, when Nina did return, ready to forgive her husband even at the cost of her sanity, she found Karina and Valery asleep together. “Who’s there?” Karina stirred. “It’s me,” said Nina, staring at the wreckage of her life. Karina smiled softly. Valery woke up a little later, but didn’t follow his wife.

My Wife and My Father Sophie pretended she was eager to meet my parents. But honestly, what did she care?

His Wife Packed Her Bags and Vanished Without a Trace: A Story of Betrayal, Broken Trust, and What It Really Means to Be a Family

His wife packed her bags and vanished without a trace Stop acting like a martyr. Things will sort themselves out.

A Carer for the Wife “What do you mean?” Lida thought she’d misheard. “Where am I supposed to move? Why? For what reason?” “Oh, please, don’t start with the scenes,” he grimaced. “What’s unclear here? You’ve got no one left to look after. Where you go next is none of my concern.” “Ed, what’s got into you? Weren’t we planning to get married?” “That was just your idea. I never said anything like that.” At 32, Lida decided it was time for a fresh start. She packed up and left her small hometown, hoping to leave behind her critical mother, who never stopped blaming her for the divorce. “How could you let your husband slip away?” she’d demand. But Vas, her ex, was a hopeless drunk—a waste of time if ever there was one. Lida didn’t mourn the divorce; she actually felt relieved. Still, she and her mother argued constantly, especially about money, which was always short. Time to move to the city and make a new life! Her old school friend Sue had married a widower—never mind the 16-year age gap or his looks; he had a flat and money, and Sue was living well. “I’m no worse than Sue,” Lida thought. “Thank goodness! You’ve finally come around,” cheered Sue. “Pack up quick—you can stay with us at first, and we’ll get you sorted with a job.” “Are you sure your David won’t mind?” Lida asked anxiously. “He does whatever I say! Don’t worry, we’ll manage.” Lida didn’t stay long with Sue; just a couple of weeks until she’d earned her first wages and found herself a room. And then, luck seemed to strike. “Why is a woman like you selling at the market?” asked a regular customer, Edward Thompson, with concern. Lida knew all her regulars by name by then. “It’s cold, it’s lonely, but what else can you do?” She shrugged. “You’ve got to make money somehow.” She added, playfully, “You got a better offer?” Edward Thompson was no dreamboat—at least 20 years her senior, pudgy, balding, with shrewd eyes, always fussy over his vegetables, counting out his change to the penny. But he was well dressed, drove a nice car, clearly not some bum. He even had a wedding ring, so she’d never considered him husband material. “You strike me as reliable, practical, tidy—ever done any care work?” he moved easily to ‘you’. “Yeah, I have. Looked after my neighbour after her stroke. Her kids lived far off, never had time for her, so they asked me.” “Brilliant!” he perked up, then put on a mournful face. “My wife, Tamara, recently had a stroke too. Slim chance she’ll recover, and I’ve brought her home, but I’ve no time for care. Can you help? I’ll pay you properly.” Lida didn’t think twice—it beat standing outside in the cold tending picky customers all day. Plus, Edward offered her a room in the flat—no rent to pay. “There are THREE rooms, Sue! Enough space to play football!” she gushed to Sue. “No kids, either.” Tamara’s mother, a lively 68-year-old, had recently remarried and was too busy with her new husband to care for Tamara. “Is she really that ill?” Sue asked. “Properly bed-bound—can’t do anything, barely mumbles. Doubt she’ll get better.” “Are you pleased about that?” Sue gave her a sharp look. “Of course not,” Lida said, avoiding her eyes, “but if Tamara’s gone, Edward Thompson is a free man…” “Have you lost your mind, Lida? Wishing someone dead for a flat?” “I’m not wishing for anything. Just not missing my chance, that’s all. Easy for you to talk—your life’s perfect!” After a row, they didn’t speak for months. When Lida finally told Sue she’d started an affair with Edward Thompson, Sue was appalled. “So you’re cosying up while his dying wife’s in the next room? Aren’t you ashamed? Or are you blinded by all that wealth (if it even exists)?” “You never say anything nice!” Lida snapped, and broke off the friendship. But she barely felt guilty (“maybe just a little”), convinced that well-fed people never understand the hungry. Lida cared for Tamara as diligently as she could, and once her affair with Edward began, she took on all the housework too. Lida cooked, cleaned, did his shirts, scrubbed the floors—after all, a man’s needs go beyond the bedroom. She felt sure her lover was satisfied. She hardly noticed he’d stopped paying her for the care work—after all, they were “almost married” now, weren’t they? As time passed, their passion cooled, and Edward spent less and less time at home. Lida blamed his exhaustion from caring for his ill wife, even though he never spent more than a minute a day with Tamara. And though she’d expected it, Lida still cried when Tamara passed away. Eighteen months of care—all for nothing now. Lida handled all the funeral arrangements, as Edward was “overcome with grief,” and did it all on a shoe-string, making a good show of it. Even Edward’s mother-in-law, Matilda, was pleased. But Lida never expected what Edward said next. “As you know, I no longer need your services, so you’ll need to be out within the week,” he said dryly on the tenth day after the funeral. “What do you mean? Where am I supposed to go? Why?” “Oh, don’t make a fuss,” he sneered. “What’s unclear? There’s no one left to look after, and I don’t care where you end up.” “Ed, weren’t we planning to get married?” “That was all in your head. I never promised any such thing.” The next morning, after a sleepless night, she tried to talk to him again, but he repeated the same words and urged her to hurry with the move. “My fiancée wants to renovate before our wedding,” he said matter-of-factly. “Fiancée? Who is she?” “Never you mind.” “Fine, but before I go, you’ll pay me what I’m owed,” Lida replied, no longer afraid. “You promised to pay me £2,000 a month, but I only got that twice. You owe me £32,000.” “You can do sums quickly,” he scoffed. “Don’t hold your breath for it…” “And you owe me for being your housekeeper too! I won’t get picky on pennies—give me £50,000, and we’ll be quits.” “And if not? You’ll sue? You don’t have a contract.” “I’ll tell Matilda. This flat was hers, after all. One word from me, and you’ll be out on your ear.” He blanched but quickly recovered. “Who’ll believe you? Go on, threaten me all you like. I want you out—now.” “You’ve got three days. Pay me, or we’ll have a scandal,” Lida said, heading to a hostel with her things and the little cash she had managed to save. On the fourth day, still no word, so she went back to Edward’s flat—luckily, Matilda was there. Lida didn’t hesitate; she told Matilda everything, watching as Edward paled. “She’s rambling! Don’t listen!” Ed shouted. “I’d already heard rumours at the funeral but didn’t want to believe,” Matilda’s eyes flashed. “Now I see everything very clearly. And I hope you do too, dear son-in-law. Or have you forgotten that this flat is in my name?” Edward froze. “And I want you out, not a trace left, within three days. No, make that one.” Matilda made to leave but paused near Lida. “And you, young lady, what are you hanging about for? Hoping for a medal? Out!” Lida fled, knowing she’d never see a penny. Back to the market for her—there’s always work there… (The original Russian title Сиделка для жены is best adapted as a title for the UK market as:) The Caretaker for the Wife: Lida’s Bid for Love and Security—From Small-Town Dreams to a London Betrayal

A Nursemaid for the Wife What do you mean? Lydia couldnt believe her ears. Where am I supposed to go?