Emily Taylor

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?

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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.

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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?

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Turning Our Daughter Away: When Tough Love Is the Only Option — A British Family’s Struggle With an Addicted Elder Sister Returning Home, Tensions, Tears, and the Fear for the Future

They Didnt Let Their Daughter In “Why didnt you let her in this time?” Victoria finally dared

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A Country Cottage Divided: The Daughter Who Finally Claimed What Was Hers

The Summerhouse of Disputes Daughter Reclaims Whats Hers Lizzie, youve got to understand this is a desperate

La vida

Grandson Not Wanted — “Mum thinks Irka’s the weak one,” my husband finally blurted out. “She needs more help, since she doesn’t have a husband. Supposedly, we’re the stable ones…” — “Stable?” Vera turned. “Slav, I put on fifteen kilos after giving birth. My back’s killing me, my knees are shot. Doctor says if I don’t start taking care of myself, in a year I won’t even be able to lift Pavlik. I need to go to the gym. Twice a week, for an hour and a half. You’re always at work, your shifts keep changing. Who am I supposed to ask to watch our son? Your mum couldn’t care less about her grandson – she’s got her precious granddaughter!” Slava said nothing. She was right—who could they ask? Vera pressed her forehead to the cool windowpane, watching the old Nissan as her mother-in-law backed out of their drive. The red brake lights flashed a farewell and then vanished around the bend. The kitchen clock read exactly seven. Nadezhda Petrovna had stayed for precisely forty-five minutes. In the living room, Slava tried to entertain their one-year-old son. Little Pavlik spun the wheel of a plastic dump truck, occasionally glancing at the door where his grandmother had just disappeared. — “She’s gone then?” Slava looked in, rubbing his aching neck. — “Flown away,” Vera corrected, not turning round. “Apparently, ‘Pashenka’ was overtired and she didn’t want to disrupt his schedule.” — “Well, he did squeal a bit when she picked him up,” Slava grimaced a smile. — “He squealed because he doesn’t recognise her. We haven’t seen her for three weeks. Three!” Vera turned sharply from the window and began stacking dirty mugs in the sink. — “Don’t, Ver,” Slava came up behind, tried to hug her, but she dodged, reaching for the sponge. “Mum just… she’s used to Lizzie. She’s four now, it’s easier with her.” — “No, Slava. She’s just more interesting to your mum. Lizzie’s Irina’s daughter. And Irina’s her favourite. And us? We’re just… there, just in the way.” Last Friday, it was déjà vu. Nadezhda Petrovna popped in ‘for a minute’, brought Pavlik a cheap plastic rattle and already eyed the door. Slava barely had time to mention he’d be out on site Saturday and could Mum watch Pavlik for a couple of hours while Vera went to the chemist and shop. — “Oh no, Slava, not possible!” Nadezhda Petrovna waved her arms. “We’re off to the puppet theatre with Lizzie, then Irina wants her all weekend. Poor girl works so hard, needs a break to sort out her personal life.” Slava’s sister raised her daughter ‘alone’—but only on paper. While Irina was ‘finding herself’ and changing boyfriends, Lizzie lived at Gran’s. Gran collected her from nursery, took her to dance class, bought painfully expensive clothes, knew all the dolls by name. — “Have you seen her status?” Vera nodded to the phone on the table. “Look what your mum posted.” Slava reluctantly picked it up and scrolled. Clips flashed by: Lizzie eating ice-cream, Gran pushing her on the swings, modelling clay together on a Saturday evening. Caption: “My greatest happiness, my joy.” — “She spent the whole weekend with them,” Vera bit her lip not to cry. “And she managed ten minutes here! Over there—it’s perfect happiness. Slava, Pavlik’s only a year old. He’s her grandson. Your son. Why is he treated like this?” Slava stayed quiet—he had no answer. He remembered last month, when Mum called in the night—her tap had burst, everything was flooding, so he dashed across town to fix it. Paid off her payday loan, so she could buy Irina a new phone for her birthday. Spent every weekend in May digging the allotment for her, while his sister and niece sunned themselves on loungers. — “Let’s ask her again,” Slava suggested. “I’ll explain, it’s about your health, not a whim.” Vera knew nothing good would come of it. *** The new conversation happened Tuesday evening. Slava put the phone on speaker so Vera could hear. — “Mum, hi. Listen, this is about Vera’s health — the doctor’s prescribed exercise for her back…” — “Oh, Slava, what gym?” Nadezhda Petrovna’s voice was bright, Lizzie giggling in the background. “She can just work out at home. She should eat fewer buns, then her back wouldn’t hurt!” — “It’s not up for debate. The doctor’s ordered it. Could you mind Pavlik on Tuesdays and Thursdays from six to eight? I’ll pick you up and bring you home.” Silence. — “Slava, you know my routine. I get Lizzie from nursery at five, we have activities, then a walk in the park. Irina’s working late, she depends on me. I can’t abandon a child just for your Vera to faff about at the gym!” — “Mum, Pasha is your grandson, too. He deserves your attention as well. You see him once a month!” — “Don’t start. Lizzie’s a little girl, she really loves me. Pasha’s just a baby, he doesn’t understand. When he’s older, we’ll bond. I’m busy now, we’re about to do some drawing. Bye.” Slava set the phone on the table, stunned. — “Did you hear that? So my son has to *earn* her attention? Reach some threshold before Gran will notice him?” — “Slava, I always knew,” Vera snapped. “From the day we left maternity, when she was two hours late because Lizzie needed new tights! It’s not for me—I don’t care what she thinks of me. But it hurts for Pashka. He’ll grow up and ask, ‘Mum, why is Gran always with Lizzie and never with me?’ What do I say? Her favourite is your aunt, and your dad’s just a free handyman and wallet?” Slava began pacing the kitchen. After ten minutes, he stopped. — “Remember the kitchen renovation for her birthday?” Vera nodded. They’d spent half a year saving for a surprise for Nadezhda Petrovna’s big day. Slava had picked out the units, found a builder, arranged a discount. The cost matched a year’s membership at the city’s best gym with a pool and a personal trainer for Vera. — “No renovation,” Slava said firmly. “I’ll call the showroom tomorrow and cancel. — “Are you serious?” Vera’s eyes widened. — “Dead serious. If my mother only has time and energy for one granddaughter, she can solve her own problems, too. Irina can sort her plumbing, fetch her veg, and cover her debts. We’ll hire you a nanny when you need the gym.” *** The next morning, Nadezhda Petrovna called herself. — “Slava, you said you’d look at my extractor fan this week? It’s broken, the kitchen’s full of smoke. And Lizzie misses her uncle, keeps asking where you are!” Before, Slava’d have already be planning a trip to the DIY store. But not now. — “Mum, I won’t be coming,” he said calmly. — “What do you mean? But the extractor! I’ll suffocate in here!” — “Ask Irina. Or her new boyfriend. I’m busy—Vera’s health comes first, so I’ll be looking after Pasha. My free time is now all for my family.” — “Over this nonsense?” Mum scoffed. “You’re choosing your wife’s whims over your own mother?” — “I’m not abandoning anyone. Just prioritising—like you. Your priority is Lizzie and Irina, mine is Pasha and Vera. Seems fair.” — “How dare you! I did everything for you! Raised you! Made you a decent man! And this is how you treat me?” — “What’s ‘everything’, Mum?” said Slava, evenly. “Helping Irina—with my money? Giving her a break while I worked your garden? Oh, and that kitchen unit we were buying you? That’s cancelled. The funds go to our family. We need a nanny, since Pavlik’s own grandma is too busy for her grandson.” Within seconds, the phone erupted: — “How DARE you! I’m your MOTHER! I gave you everything! You’re bewitched by that Vera! Lizzie’s practically an orphan, she needs me! And your Pashka’s living in luxury, rolling in comfort! Why do you think I should love him? My heart belongs to Lizzie—she means everything to me! Ungrateful! Don’t call again! Don’t dare set foot in my house!” Slava hung up. His hands shook, but he felt strangely relieved. He knew the fallout was only beginning. Now Mum would call Irina, who’d start spewing angry texts, accusing them of greed and cruelty. There’d be tears, threats, guilt trips. And that’s what happened. That evening, when he got home, Vera met him at the door. She’d already heard—her mother-in-law had left a five-minute ranting voice message, calling her, among other things, a “venomous snake.” — “Are we doing the right thing?” she whispered as they sat down. “She’s still your mother…” — “A real mother loves all her children, all her grandchildren. Not just the favourite, using the rest as resources. I let it go for years, thinking it was just her way. But when she said she didn’t care about your health or Pasha, because it clashed with ‘her Lizzie schedule’… No. That’s enough.” ** The row dragged on. Irina and her mother, deprived of their regular handouts, clogged Slava and Vera’s phones—insulting, begging, threatening, trying every emotional lever. They held firm, ignored calls, deleted messages. Two weeks later, Irina turned up in person. She started shrieking on the doorstep, called her brother a “spineless ingrate” and demanded he pay Mum’s bills and fork out for her shopping and medicine. Slava simply closed the door in her face. He’d had enough of being the “dutiful son”.

Mum thinks that Emmas a bit weak, my wife finally got out of me. She reckons we have to help her more

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Came Home Early: A Heavily Pregnant Wife’s Surprise Visit Turns Awkward When Her Husband Prefers a Spotless Flat to Welcoming Her at the Door

Came Home Early “Are you at the bus stop?” Simon’s voice shot up an octave. “

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Don’t Bother Unpacking Your Suitcase—You’re Moving Out Tonight: A Modern British Tale of Marital Betrayal, Christmas Party Troubles, Cheating “Bunnies,” and Divorce with a Dash of Dark Holiday Humour

31 December Today, I realised life sometimes pulls the rug from under you in ways you can’

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Even Good People Get Left Behind

A beautiful thirty-five-year-old woman with sad eyes gazed back at Anna from the mirror. She couldnt

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The Long-Awaited Granddaughter Natalie Michaels couldn’t stop ringing her son, who was off at sea again. Still, there was no signal. “Oh, what a mess you’ve made, son!” she sighed anxiously, dialing his number once more. It was all in vain—no signal until he reached the next port, and that might not be soon. And now, of all times… Natalie Michaels hadn’t slept for two nights—this was what her son had done! * * * This story really began years before, back when Michael hadn’t even considered working long voyages. He was a grown man, but love just didn’t work out—nothing ever seemed right with the women he met! Natalie watched with an aching heart as her son’s relationships, with perfectly lovely and respectable girls (in her opinion), fell apart one after another. “You’re impossible!” she’d tell him, exasperated. “Nothing is ever good enough! What woman’s ever going to be able to meet all your standards?” “I don’t get your complaints, Mum. You’re just desperate for a daughter-in-law, and you don’t even care what kind of person she might be!” “That’s not true!” Natalie insisted. “I care very much that she loves you—and that she’s decent!” Her son’s meaningful silences only frustrated her more. How did the baby boy she’d raised, the one who once cried on her knees, suddenly seem to know so much more about life than she did? Who was the real grown-up here? “What was wrong with Natalie, then?” Natalie would demand, switching to another girlfriend’s name if her son stonewalled her. And so it went with Katya, Jenny, and Darina—each new girl, each new disappointment. “You’re impossible to please! You’re always chasing after someone new! Why can’t you just settle down, start a family—give me grandchildren, already?” Eventually, Michael changed professions entirely, joining a friend’s ship crew. Natalie tried in vain to talk him out of it. “Why, Mum? It’s a great opportunity! Do you know how much lads make at sea? I’ll look after us both.” “What good is the money if you’re never around and I don’t see you? I’d rather have a family than your paycheques!” “Families need providing for, too! Once I have kids, I won’t go out to sea anymore—I’ll have to raise them. So now’s the right time to work hard while I can. Everything else will follow!” Michael truly did earn a lot. After the first trip, he renovated the flat. After the second, he opened a savings account in her name. “This is so you never want for anything, Mum.” “I live just fine already! What I don’t have, are grandkids—and time’s passing by. I’m not getting younger, you know!” “Oh, stop it! You’re years off retirement! Don’t be daft!” her son teased. Natalie rarely touched his money, relying on her own modest pharmacy salary for her simple expenses. “Let it pile up on the card. When Michael finally looks, he’ll see how thrifty his mother is!” she thought. They lived this way for years. Back home between voyages, Michael met up with his mates, stayed out late, spent time with women he stopped introducing to his mother. When Natalie complained, he rebuffed her: “It’s so you won’t guilt me later about not marrying them. I just don’t plan on marrying girls like that, Mum!” That stung. Especially when he called her naïve. “You always think too well of people, Mum. You never really got to know any of those so-called fiancées. They always tried to impress you, but they weren’t as they seemed.” His words gnawed at Natalie, making her feel foolish for trusting strangers. But then, one night, she caught sight of him with a new girl and was filled yet again with the fierce urge to see her son settled. She brazenly approached them—Michael, a grown man, blushed scarlet. But a mother is a mother—he had to introduce them. Natalie took to Milly at once. Tall, slim, curly-haired, with an intelligent face and good manners. “Maybe he just needed time,” Natalie thought, elated. “Maybe there was a reason he never settled before. If he hadn’t waited, he wouldn’t have met such a lovely girl!” Michael and Milly saw each other all holiday long, and Natalie hosted the girl several times. She found her bright, lively, and delightful. But as Michael prepared for yet another voyage, Milly disappeared. “We’re not seeing each other anymore, Mum. Please, just leave it alone,” her son said. He left. Natalie fretted, but there was no one to ask about what might have happened. * * * A year went by. Michael was home several times, but always short when asked about Milly. “Good grief, what was wrong with her, then? What could possibly have gone wrong?” Natalie finally burst. “Mum, that’s between me and her. If I broke things off, I had my reasons. Stop prying into my life!” She nearly cried. “But I worry about you, Michael!” “Don’t!” he barked. “And don’t contact Milly, either. And stop nagging me!” Off he sailed again, leaving Natalie to her empty routine. Then, during a shift at the pharmacy, Milly walked in—shopping for baby formula, with a little girl in a buggy. “Oh, Milly, I’m thrilled to see you! Michael told me nothing, just upped and left for sea, and swore me off finding out about you!” Milly looked sad. “Let’s leave it at that, then.” Natalie’s heart raced. “Tell me, dear, did something happen between you? I know Michael—he can be difficult sometimes. Did he hurt you?” “It doesn’t matter,” Milly replied. “I’m not angry at him. We should be going, though—still need groceries.” “When you can, pop in—see me at work! I’m on different shifts.” Milly did come by, and bit by bit, Natalie drew out the story. Milly was pregnant by Michael, but he’d said a child didn’t fit into his life at sea and he wasn’t up for anything long-term. Then he vanished. “Off to sea again, I suppose,” Milly shrugged. “We’ll manage on our own.” Natalie practically dropped to her knees, gazing at the little girl. “So—this is my granddaughter?” “It would seem so,” Milly replied softly. “Her name’s Annie.” “Annie…” * Natalie was beside herself. She coaxed out of Milly that she was struggling—renting alone with a baby and no steady income, thinking of moving back to her own parents out of town. The thought of Annie leaving—her only granddaughter!—nearly broke Natalie’s heart. “You and Annie should come stay with me! I’ll help with everything, you’ll get a regular job, we have more than enough! Michael sends so much money, I can’t spend it all anyway. Annie deserves the best!” “What would Michael say?” “Who cares? If he can walk away from his own child and say nothing, it falls to me to put things right! When he comes home, he’s getting a piece of my mind, I can promise you!” So they moved in together. Natalie doted on Annie, rearranged shifts to spend more time with her. Milly found a job, working late, grateful to leave Annie in safe hands. At home, Natalie looked after her as if she were her own. Michael’s leave approached. Natalie imagined greeting him—grandchild in arms—demanding apologies to Milly. Milly grew nervous, dreading being thrown out once Michael returned. “He’ll never let us stay, I knew I shouldn’t have moved in!” Milly fretted. “He’ll say it’s all about the money. I’d rather go home to my parents than impose on your kindness.” “Nonsense! I own this flat—I decide who lives here! Let him try stopping me!” Milly protested, but Natalie insisted: “This is what I’m thinking—we should immediately transfer this flat to Annie. That way there’ll be no questions in future; it’ll be hers, even if Michael never marries. Especially since he’s not even listed on Annie’s birth certificate,” Natalie said gently, and Milly nodded, embarrassed. They went to the solicitor to arrange this, but were told Michael had to remove his name from the ownership first. Natalie was annoyed, but with Michael due back in days, she tried to be patient. Milly grew increasingly absent, working late, gathering her things into a hidden suitcase. Natalie confronted her. “You’re not moving out, are you?” “I’m sorry, Natalie—I have to go! Once Michael’s back, it’s better if we’re not in the way…” “You’re not going anywhere, not with my granddaughter!” Natalie replied firmly. “If you need anything, you’ve got the card, and the pin’s written down. Buy whatever Annie needs! And spend more time with her—you’re not a stranger here.” Milly was silent. Two days until Michael’s return. * On the morning of his arrival, Natalie went to Milly’s room to watch Annie sleep, but Milly was gone. Only Annie lay peacefully in her cot. “Where could she be? She’s never gone to work this early before…” Natalie went about preparing her son’s favourite foods. She pictured the reunion—her son apologising, Milly back any minute. Then the doorbell rang. Michael walked in, stunned to see his mother holding a toddler. “Hi, Mum. Who’s this? What on earth happened while I was gone?” “You should know better than anyone, shouldn’t you!” Natalie fixed him with a hard look. “Let me introduce your daughter, Annie! Now, what do you have to say for yourself?” “What? I don’t have any children! Mum, have you lost your mind? What’s all this about Milly?” Infuriated, Natalie filled him in on everything, scolding him fiercely. Michael clutched at his head. “Oh, Mum, you’re so— You never learn!” “Don’t you call me a fool again! I—” “She’s not my child, Mum! Milly lied to you, and you— You’re too trusting! That’s all she wanted—your money. What did she take?” “Nothing! I never—” “Check your accounts, Mum—I bet Milly’s already halfway across the country with them!” “She’s out at work!” Natalie protested. They argued until Michael finally agreed to wait and confront Milly together. Annie played unaware as Natalie continued defending Milly’s character. “When she comes back, you’ll see—she’s wonderful!” “So wonderful she’s conned you already!” Michael replied. “We’ll settle this with a DNA test!” Natalie insisted. Night came, then morning. Milly never returned. Neither the pharmacy nor any of the workplaces she’d mentioned had heard of her. Her things were gone—from the wardrobe, from the flat, but Annie’s remained. “My God. She’s just left her own daughter behind?” Natalie wept. “She seemed so trustworthy! Why didn’t you warn me what she was like?” “I didn’t want to worry you, Mum—you always see the good in people. I heard stories about her, but I didn’t want to break your heart.” They went to the police—no trace of Milly was ever found. She had disappeared, save for the bank card, later recovered at a train station. With Milly gone, Annie was allowed to stay with Natalie. The DNA test confirmed Michael wasn’t Annie’s father, but by then Natalie had fallen in love with the little girl and couldn’t part with her. She and Michael decided to raise Annie as their own. Milly was officially stripped of parental rights, and after endless forms, Natalie was granted guardianship of Annie—returning to work, finding a nursery, and providing a loving home. A year later, Michael returned from a voyage with news. “Mum, meet my wife—Sophie. We’re moving in together.” A nervous glance toward Annie’s room, but Sophie only smiled. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Michaels. Michael told me everything, and I admire you so much! I’d be honoured to help raise Annie with you.” Michael added, “I’m finishing up at sea, and Sophie and I will adopt Annie soon. It’ll finally be official.” Overjoyed, Natalie set the table, wiping a happy tear from her cheek. “My prayers have been answered! Come in, everyone—let’s celebrate our family!”

The Long-Awaited Granddaughter Margaret Brown was pressing redial on her sons phone for the hundredth time.