Emily Taylor

At the Divorce, She Told Him: “Take Everything!” – But a Year Later, He Regretted Believing Her Natalie looked calmly at the papers. Surprisingly, she felt no anger at all. “So, you’ve finally made your choice?” Victor eyed his wife with barely concealed irritation. “What now? How do we split things?” Natalie raised her eyes. There were no tears or pleading—just the resolve that comes after a sleepless night spent thinking about a life wasted. “Take everything,” she said quietly, but firmly. “What do you mean, ‘everything’?” Victor squinted suspiciously. “The house, the car, the accounts. Everything,” she gestured around. “I don’t want any of it.” “Are you joking?” he started to grin. “Or is this some kind of woman’s trick?” “No, Victor. No tricks, no jokes. Thirty years, I put my life on hold. Thirty years of washing, cooking, waiting. Thirty years of being told holidays were a waste, my hobbies were silly, my dreams were childish. Do you know how many times I wanted to go to the seaside? Nineteen. Know how many times we went? Three. And every time you grumbled about the price, about how pointless it was.” Victor snorted. “Same old story. We always had food and a roof—” “Yes, we did,” Natalie nodded. “And now you’ll have everything else too. Congratulations on your victory.” The solicitor looked on, astonished. He was used to tears, shouting, accusations. But this woman was simply letting go of everything most people fight over. “Do you understand what you’re saying?” he asked quietly. “By law, you’re entitled to half of everything.” “I understand,” she smiled, as if shedding a great unseen weight. “But I also understand that half a wasted life is still a wasted life—just smaller.” Victor barely hid his delight. He’d planned to barter, maybe even threaten, certainly manipulate. But this—this was a stroke of luck. “Now that’s mature!” he smacked the table. “Finally, you’re being reasonable.” “Don’t confuse reason with freedom,” Natalie replied softly, signing the papers. They drove home in the same car, yet as if on different planets. Victor hummed an old tune from childhood. The car rocked gently, his whistle drifting and fading… Natalie didn’t listen. She stared at the rain-speckled window, heart fluttering like a bird on its first flight. The ordinary road, the tired evening – and suddenly, an overwhelming sense of open space inside. As if the heavy stone she’d carried for years had vanished. She smiled, touched her cool cheek, and thought: “This… this is freedom.” Sometimes, that’s all it takes—one moment, one glance at rushing trees—to see life suddenly coloured with forgotten brightness. Three weeks later, Natalie stood in a small rented flat in Kent. It was modest: bed, wardrobe, table, a small TV. On the windowsill, two pots of violets—the first thing she’d bought herself for her new home. “You really have lost it,” her son Chris sounded annoyed on the phone. “You left everything just to move to some hole in the middle of nowhere?” “I didn’t leave, Chris,” she replied calmly. “I let go. There’s a difference.” “But Mum—Dad said you gave him everything. He’s even planning to sell the summer house now. He says he doesn’t need all the hassle on his own.” She smiled, catching her new haircut’s reflection—something she’d never dared with Victor. “Too trendy,” “you’ll look silly,” “what will people say”—she could still hear him. “Let him sell it,” she said lightly. “Your father’s always known how to handle things.” “And you? You’ve got nothing left!” “I’ve got the one thing that matters, Chris. My life. Turns out it’s never too late to start living—fifty-nine isn’t the end of the world, you know.” She found work as the manager of a small private retirement home. The job was challenging, but interesting, and most importantly, her time was at last her own. Meanwhile, Victor revelled in his “victory”—for the first two weeks, he strutted around his home like Lord of the Manor. No more nagging, no reminders about socks or dirty dishes. “You’ve really landed on your feet, Vic,” grinned his friend Dave over brandy. “Most blokes lose half, some lose more—but you? You got the lot! House, car, savings—everything.” “At last, Natalie’s seen sense. She knows she can’t cope without me,” Victor smirked. But after a month, the thrill faded. Clean shirts no longer magically appeared. The fridge was empty. Cooking a proper dinner was harder than it looked. Colleagues commented he looked unkempt. “You’ve lost a bit of your spark, Vic—is everything all right at home?” “Better than ever,” he replied. “Just a bit of an adjustment, that’s all.” One evening, opening his fridge to find only ketchup, cheese slices, and a half-empty bottle, his stomach rumbled. He remembered how Natalie would always have a meal ready. “Bloody hell—this can’t go on…” He ordered takeaway—again. The bills piled up. Energy, internet, food—it all seemed so much more expensive. The doorbell rang, snapping him from his thoughts. “£6,” said the delivery boy. “For stew and a bottle of water?!” Victor spluttered. “Standard, mate,” the boy shrugged. He paid, stood in his quiet kitchen, and listened to the silence. The big, stylish flat with all the things he’d once coveted now just felt cold. Empty. As if the wind could howl down the hallway—just like in his soul. Meanwhile, Natalie stood on a beach in Brighton, face to the sea breeze and sun. All around her, laughter and chatter—she’d joined an active seniors club, off on their first ever seaside trip. For the first time in her life, she travelled without anyone sniping about wasted money or moaning about costs. “Nat, come get in the photo!” called her new friend, lively Irene, whom she’d met at an art class. Natalie skipped to join the group. Who’d have thought, at nearly sixty, she’d wear a bright sundress, her hair loose, laughing like a girl? “Selfie time!” Irene waved her phone. “Let’s put it in the group!” That evening, Natalie scrolled through the photos: a woman with sparkling eyes, grinning with happiness—a woman she hardly recognised. No more worry-lines. Relaxed shoulders. A lightness in her step. “Perhaps I’ll post these,” she decided, and uploaded a few to her almost forgotten social media profile. Back in London, Victor was battling a burst pipe in the kitchen. Water everywhere—the handyman said the pipe was out-of-date and the whole lot would have to go. “Bloody hell! Where’s that number for the plumber? Natalie always knew.” He realised she’d kept the house running behind the scenes with a hundred contacts—plumber, hairdresser, butcher. Now, that invisible backbone was gone. Evening, water finally off and the kitchen mopped, Victor idly scrolled through social media. There was Natalie, beaming by the sea in a vivid sundress and new haircut—she looked… happy? He frowned, scrolling further: “You look so much younger, Natalie!” “You look fantastic!” “Brighton suits you!” More photos: tea at a library group, painting in the park, Natalie on a bench, arms full of wildflowers. He stared around his messy kitchen. “She was supposed to—she was supposed to…” He couldn’t finish the thought—because deep down, he’d always thought Natalie would be lost without him. But there she was, years younger and finally free. A few days later, his country house sprung a leak. Storm on the way—someone had to deal with the roof. “Dave, mate, help! Bring some nails, I can’t manage on my own.” “Sorry, Vic—my mother-in-law’s ill, I’m at hospital. Why don’t you ask Natalie?” “She’s… she’s gone.” “Gone where?” “Just gone, Dave.” But fixing the roof on his own was hopeless. It poured down, the ceiling stained, damp pervading everything. The garden was overgrown—the apple trees unpruned, pathways invisible under weeds. It had all wilted without her. He stopped at a roadside café. Tired, he ordered soup. First spoonful—sharp and tasteless. Not like Natalie’s. “You all right, love?” the waitress asked gently. He just nodded. How could he explain that soup, of all things, triggered memories of a whole lost life? At home, he gazed at old photos—Natalie laughing in front of Buckingham Palace, their son as a boy, their twentieth anniversary. “What a bloody fool,” he whispered, looking at her younger face. He picked up his phone, taking a breath, and sent her a message. But the reply wasn’t what he hoped for. Because Natalie had moved to a seaside town. Surrounded by new friends and music, life—at long last—belonged to her. At nearly sixty, she had finally started to live.

At the divorce, his wife said, Take it all! but a year later, the husband regretted trusting her.

La vida

011

On Christmas Eve I Set the Table for Two, Knowing I’d Be Sitting Alone – Crystal Glasses, Favourite Dishes, and a Seat Left Empty for a Loved One Who Wouldn’t Return

On Christmas Eve, Id laid the table for two, though I knew I would take my place there alone.

La vida

Oksana Surprises Her Mum and Little Sister on New Year’s Eve—A Heartwarming Reunion, A French Roast Dinner, and an Unexpected Encounter on the Train That Might Just Change Her Life

Charlotte arrived at her mothers for New Years Eve. She wanted it to be a surprise, so she hadnt breathed

La vida

Tom Bought the Finest Bouquet and Set Off for His Date – Waiting by the Fountain in High Spirits, Flowers in Hand, But Emily Was Nowhere to Be Seen. He Called Her, No Answer. “Maybe She’s Just Running Late,” He Thought, and Tried Again. This Time, Emily Picked Up. “I’m Already Here, Where Are You?” Tom Asked Eagerly. “It’s Over Between Us!” Emily Suddenly Replied. “What? Why?” Tom Was Stunned. “Because of Your Bouquet!” She Snapped Unexpectedly. “What’s Wrong with My Bouquet?” Tom Asked, Utterly Confused

Simon bought the finest bouquet of flowers and set off for his date. In high spirits, he stood by the

La vida

010

Galina Returns from the Shops to Unpack Her Groceries—But Suddenly Hears a Strange Noise from Her Son and Daughter-in-Law’s Room. Curious, She Discovers Valentina Packing Her Suitcases and Asking Through Tears to Leave. When Galina Reads the Mysterious Letter Valentina Hands Her, She Is Frozen in Shock by Its Contents

Evelyn drifted home from the market, her arms full of shopping bags that felt lighter than air.

La vida

Borrowed Happiness Anna was tending to her garden plot—a rare, early spring in England this year, with March not yet out but all the snow already melted. She knew the cold would return, but for now the sun was warm enough to coax her outside, propping up the sagging fence and patching the wood shed. She made plans—she’d get some chickens, maybe a piglet, a dog and a cat. Enough, she laughed to herself. She’d done her wandering, her playing. It was time to dig over the garden, to feel the earth like when she was a girl—shoes off, running barefoot across freshly turned, warm, soft soil. “We’ll go on living yet,” Anna said aloud, to no one in particular. “Excuse me?” Anna started. By the gate, a slight girl stood—mid-teens at most. She wore a plain grey coat, the sort Anna knew was given out at the local vocational colleges, flimsy shoes, tights too thin for the weather. “Far too early for those,” Anna thought, “She’ll catch her death. Those shoes barely have soles—rubbish.” The girl picked at the ground with her toes. “Hello,” Anna called, curtly. “Sorry, could I use your loo?” “Ah—go on, then. Straight ahead and round the corner.” Anna watched her scurry off. “Thank you! You’ve saved me. I’m looking for a room to rent—you don’t happen to have one, do you?” Anna blinked. “I wasn’t planning on it. Why do you need one?” “I wanted somewhere quiet, not a hostel. It’s wild there—boys everywhere, drinking and smoking.” “And what could you pay?” “Five quid a week. That’s all I’ve got.” “Come in, then. Go on.” “Can I use the toilet again, just quickly?” “Go ahead…” “What’s your name?” Anna asked, ushering her in. “Ollie,” squeaked the girl. “Well then, Ollie. What brings you here, really?” Anna said, fixing her in place with her gaze. “I… I just want a room…” “Don’t fib to me. Who sent you?” “No one. I came myself. You—are you Anna Samuels?” “That’s me, yes…” “You don’t recognise me, do you, Mum? It’s me, Ollie. Your daughter.” Anna sat ramrod-straight, her weathered face unmoving. “Ollie… my girl… Ollie…” “Yes, Mum! It’s me. Back at the care home, they never let me have your address—said it wasn’t allowed. But my teacher, Miss Stevens, helped. We found your name, and then your address—and here I am.” Anna sat in silence, tears streaking her cheeks. “Ollie, my girl… my little one…” “Mum, oh Mum,” Ollie sobbed, flinging her arms around Anna’s neck, “I searched for you so long, Mum. I wrote letters—they laughed, said you’d just abandoned me, gave me away. But I believed in you, Mum. I always believed.” Anna embraced her, rough hands holding tight to Ollie’s chunky-knit jumper—her girl, her daughter, her Ollie. For a long time, they just sat, neither wanting to break the spell. Later, Anna, recalling her Nan’s wisdom and her own hard years, bustled around—boiling water, steeping fennel, fussing over her foundling beauty. Ollie. Daughter. Life’s new purpose. She had a reason to live, a reason after all. God had pitied her. She wasn’t lost… The garden, a piglet, a new coat. There was money put aside. She’d thought she was ready for the end, but here was her daughter—her Ollie. *** “Mum?” “Mmm?” “Mum… I’m in love.” “Well now!” “He’s called Jack—he’s wonderful. He wants to meet you…” “I… I don’t know…” Anna thought—so soon, the happy days are over. What’s given is taken, too. “Mum, what’s wrong?” “Nothing, my love. You’ve grown up so fast… I didn’t get enough time. Forgive me, Ollie.” “Mum! You mustn’t… You’re my mum, you know how much I love you, how long I searched… We’ll give you grandkids, Mum. You’re my mum, always.” Jack was sturdy, kind, dependable—a country lad. Anna approved. Times were hard—some went hungry while others’ dogs ate better than people. But Anna, Ollie, and Jack managed. Anna sewed well; when the factory closed, she joined a co-op, got on fine, dressed her girl and son-in-law as though they were royal. Jack was indefatigable—raised a fence, fixed the house, mended the shed. The little cottage thrummed with life, singing even more than when Ollie returned. Anna’s heart melted, thawed. At last, she wanted to live for real, to make up for lost and shameful years. Some nights, the old pain still caught her unawares… “Mum, are you alright? Does it hurt?” “No, sweetheart. Go to sleep, my darling.” “Mum, can I stay here with you?” “Of course,” Anna moved, making space so her daughter could nestle in beside her. Her little girl. Her heart near burst with love. So this was maternal love. Thank you, God, she thought. They had a wedding. The young couple stayed on. Anna blossomed, cheeks apple-pink, so even her workmates said she was all smiles now—Anna Samuels, of all people. “A grandchild, I reckon!” she whispered at lunch, anxious. “A lucky girl, that Ollie—Mum adores her.” A grandson was born—Anthony, named for Anna’s own mum. “A strict woman, but fair,” Anna would say, laughing, “What a little darling—I can hardly stand it!” She’d never held a newborn since Ollie, not in all those years. Holding Anthony, her heart drummed in her head—this was it: happiness. Life revolved around Anthony. The best and brightest. He wouldn’t budge from his granny. Jack built on, made the house big, gave Anna her own place in it—how could they do without her? He and his brothers started up a building firm. They even opened a hardware shop. Then—a new joy—a girl, Mary. Anna made her dresses, kitted her out pretty as a princess. Children’s laughter rang through the house. Things were good. Except the burning in Anna’s chest grew more frequent. “Mum, my darling, why didn’t you say anything? Where does it hurt?” “All’s fine, sweetheart, all’s well…” *** “…I’m sorry. We did everything we could.” “Doctor… That was my mother…” “I know. I’m very sorry.” *** “Ollie, love… It’s time. Forgive me. I lasted longer than you all expected. But you saved me, all those years ago. “Mum, please…” “Listen, darling… It’s heavy to say, but—I’m not really your mother. Sorry…” “Mum! Never say that, to anyone. You’re my mum. My only mum. Do you hear me?” “Yes, sweetheart. I hear you. There’s a diary, on my shelf. Forgive me, Ollie. I love you.” “I love you, too, Mum… Mum…” *** “Have something to eat, Ollie…” “Yes, Jack… In a minute… Go on without me.” Ollie sat in her mum’s room, reading her—her mother’s—notebook. There was her life, Anna’s: tough, ugly and, sometimes, happy. Her mum had been strict—Tony, a war widow, strict but fair. Anna, Annie, Annie-flower. She’d loved a wrong-un—life wild and reckless. Ended up with nothing in the end. No child, nothing but the old cottage. Doctors said to wait—it could go either way. She found faith, went to church, hoped. Then, a miracle. She’d thought: at least let me try, let me feel what it is to be a mum. She became Ollie’s mum, moved heaven and earth to make it true. Didn’t believe she deserved it, not until the end. Forgive me, dear God, for my theft—let me live to see my grandchildren, help my girl… She’d worried at first—that Ollie would discover the truth: a bureaucratic mix-up, not her birth mother. But fear faded. She just lived—a plain, English life. Believed at last: I’m worthy. Forgive me, my darling, for stealing you from your real mother. This is my stolen happiness… *** “Mum,” Ollie wept at the beautiful grave, “my dearest Mum. I hope you can hear me. I knew, I nearly always knew. They told me—my real Mum, Anne, Ivanova, I found her out of curiosity. She wanted nothing to do with me after all. You’re my real mum, and I thank God for that each day.” *** “Granny, was Granny Anna kind?” “The kindest, darling.” “And beautiful?” “The most beautiful. That’s why you’re called Anna too.” “Really? Was that your dad’s or your mum’s idea?” “Maybe both, darling. Your dad loved his Granny.” “Can she see me?” “Of course—she’s always watching, always helping.” “I love you, Great-Granny Anna,” says the little girl, laying a dandelion wreath on Anna’s grave. “And I love you, my dear,” whispers the birch tree, and the wind carries it far.

Stolen Happiness March, and despite it still being early in the year, the last remnants of frost had

La vida

WE ALL JUDGED HER Mila Stood Crying in the Church for Fifteen Minutes and I Was Shocked—The Glamorous Woman from My Street with Three Dogs, Who Everyone in Our Community Gossiped About, Wasn’t at All Who We Thought She Was

WE ALL JUDGED HER Millie stood in the church, softly weeping. She must have been there for fifteen minutes or more.

La vida

Olga Spent the Entire Day Preparing for Her First New Year’s Eve Away from Her Parents—Cleaning, Cooking, and Setting the Table to Celebrate with Her Beloved. For Three Months, She’d Lived with Tony, Fifteen Years Her Senior, Twice Divorced, Fond of the Bottle, Penniless and Mean—But When You’re in Love, None of That Seems to Matter. Everyone Wondered What She Saw in Him: He Was No Prince Charming, Grumpy, Tight-Fisted, and Used His Money Only on Himself. Yet Olga Believed Her Kindness, Hard Work, and Patience Would Convince Him to Marry Her—After All, He’d Said, “You Have to Live Together First to See What Kind of Woman You Are. My Ex Was Awful, You Know.” Wanting to Prove Herself, Olga Spent Her Own Money on Groceries, Didn’t Complain When He Drank, Did All the Cooking and Cleaning, and Even Bought Him a Brand New Phone for Christmas. But When New Year’s Eve Arrived, Tony Came Home Drunk, Brought Over a Group of Rowdy Friends She’d Never Met, and Didn’t Even Introduce Her—Joking to His Friends That She Was Just His “Flatmate with Benefits.” They Mocked Olga, Ate Her Food, and Praised Tony for Finding Himself a “Free Housekeeper.” As Midnight Struck, Tony Laughed Along with Them. Heartbroken, Olga Packed Her Things and Went Home to Her Parents, Where She Finally Saw Tony for Who He Was. A Week Later, When Tony’s Money Ran Out, He Showed Up at Her Door Complaining the Fridge Was Empty and Accusing Her of Being Just Like His Ex. For the First Time, Olga Finally Shut the Door on Him—for Good. That’s How Olga’s New Year Marked the Start of a New Life.

31st December I spent the whole day preparing for New Years Evecleaning, cooking, setting the table just right.

La vida

011

Stay Away from Me! I Never Promised to Marry You! Frankly, I Don’t Even Know Whose Child This Is—Maybe Not Even Mine at All? “Go on your way, I’m off,” said Victor, who was only in our village for work, leaving stunned Valentina in disbelief. Was this really the Victor who’d once proclaimed his love and promised her the moon? Now, years later, after heartbreak and raising her daughter Maria mostly alone, Valentina faces the gossip of their small English town when she invites a mysterious new man, Ian, into her home. Despite the neighbours’ suspicions, Ian’s kindness and practical skills slowly transform their lives—and he becomes the loving father Maria never had. This is the moving story of how true parenthood isn’t defined by blood, but by love, care, and shared moments—sometimes the greatest dads are found in the most unexpected places.

Keep away from me! I never promised to marry you! In fact, I dont even know whose child this is!

La vida

012

“No, Mum, You Really Shouldn’t Come Right Now — It’s a Long Journey and You’re Not Young Anymore”: My Grown Son Married and Moved to London, Promising to Visit Over Easter, But Didn’t Even Invite Me to the Wedding – Now I Don’t Know If I Should Give Him the £1,500 I Saved for His Big Day

No, theres really no need for you to come now. Just think about it, Mum. Its a long journey, an entire