Walton Merritt

When the Key Turned in the Lock, His Heart Nearly Burst from His Chest, and His Soul Raced to Meet Her… 🤔 “How many more mistakes can you make?! Your errors are just ridiculous! Look at this!” – Allison Edwards jabbed her immaculate manicure into the monthly report, nearly snapping a nail extension. “Go on! Redo it. And frankly, if you can’t cope – quit!” Her boss, though generally polished and attractive, could morph into a demon when angry. Lisa left the office in silence. Just over an hour left of the workday—she needed to finish, even though her bonus had already been taken away. It felt like she was trapped in an endless string of bad luck, peppered with obstacles. Last week, she’d called her mum only for another row to erupt out of nowhere, ending with accusations, slammed phone, and an ache she could never get used to. Now Lisa was even frightened to call again. Just two days ago, she lost her bank card and had to block it and order a new one. And yesterday, her only companion, Fenella—a year-old calico cat—went after a bird on the balcony and tumbled down from the third floor. Lisa saw Fenella get up, shake herself off, and walk away, but when she went down, the cat was nowhere to be found. A whole day had nearly passed, and still no sign of Fenella. Lisa finally submitted her wretched report and made her way home, too drained to even think about stopping at the shops. Collapsing onto the sofa, she wept bitterly, the tears drying up half an hour later with no relief. Dark thoughts slithered through her mind: What was the point? Her mother didn’t want her, she had no family, and now even her cat was gone. Somehow, her decision made everything easier. “They can break their own nails and run the place to bits for all I care!” she thought grimly. At least she wouldn’t have to go to work tomorrow, or call her mum to beg forgiveness for things she hadn’t done. Strangely, a maniacal giddiness swept over her. And just as she teetered one small step away from it all—a phone rang. An unknown number glowed on the screen. She almost didn’t answer, but the idle thought struck: what if this is the last human voice I ever hear? “Hello?” she said. But there was silence. “Well, you called—are you going to say something?” Her irritation flared. “Good evening…” A deep male voice crackled through the speaker. “Please, don’t hang up.” “Who are you? What do you want?” Lisa snapped, impatient with the interruption to her crucial plan. “I just wanted to hear someone’s voice… I haven’t spoken to anyone all week. I thought if no one answered me, that would be it…” He drew a shuddering breath. “What do you mean? Can’t you just get out and chat to someone in the park? It’s not hard!” Lisa clambered up onto her broad bay window. “I can’t. I live on the fifth floor. My wife left last week…” His voice faltered. “I probably would have left you, too! Man up—what’s your problem?” Lisa had little patience for whatever his complaint was. “I’m in a wheelchair. It’s only been this way for less than a year. Five flights of stairs, no lift… I’m not likely to make it.” His voice grew steadier. “No legs?” Lisa blurted in horror, then immediately regretted it—but the words were out and couldn’t be caught back. “No, just a spinal injury. I can’t walk.” She thought she even heard him exhale and smile. They talked for another half hour. Lisa noted down his address, and an hour later she was at his door, laden with two huge Tesco bags. A young, handsome man in a wheelchair greeted her. “I’m Lisa!” Only now did she realize she didn’t even know his name. “Arthur!” he replied with such warmth and beaming joy, it was as though he’d been waiting for her his whole life. They didn’t live far apart at all. Lisa visited every day, quickly realizing her problems were mere trifles next to his. Troubles that had made her want to give up now seemed tiny. Lisa changed—she became stronger, more determined, more caring as she looked after Arthur. As if by magic, Fenella reappeared, sitting patiently on the doormat when Lisa returned from work. Her boss, Allison Edwards, tried to start up another morning tirade. Lisa didn’t let her finish. “Allison, what right do you have to shout at me and belittle me? I can’t work in this stress. I’m about to get a migraine and go on sick leave—who’s going to cover me then?” The girls in the office snorted with laughter. Her boss turned and left in silence. Mum couldn’t stand the silence any longer and called: “Hello, daughter! Why haven’t you called? Don’t you care how your mum is living? How cold-hearted! So ungrateful! Elizabeth, are you even listening to me?” The woman’s voice rose to a shout. “Hello, Mum. I don’t want to talk to you if you’re going to shout.” Lisa stayed calm and even. “How dare you?! I’m hanging up!” Mum shrieked. “Go ahead…” Lisa replied coolly. Two days later, her mum phoned again. She didn’t apologize—never would—but kept within the bounds of civility. A month later, Lisa moved in with Arthur, renting her own place out. Their friendship blossomed into tenderness, trust, gratitude—perhaps this is how love is born. With the extra income, Lisa hired a massage therapist for Arthur and signed him up for weekend swimming sessions. Miraculously, sensation began to return. Arthur could wiggle his toes. Lisa’s mum fell ill, and Lisa, taking two days’ leave, went to care for her. Arthur waited, missing her desperately. Like a loyal dog, he lay on the sofa for days, waiting. It was February. A blizzard raged that evening. He knew when Lisa’s coach was due, had calculated the time it would take her to get home and climb the steps—but she didn’t come. He positioned himself at the window. The world outside was impenetrable, snow swirling in a blinding wall. Her phone had been out of charge for hours. One hour, two, three slipped by… When the key finally turned in the lock, his heart nearly leapt from his chest, and his soul flew out to greet her. “Arthur, the coach got stuck in a snow drift and we had to wait for rescue… My phone died almost straight away,” she called out, tugging her boots off in the hall. “Arthur!” she rushed into the lounge and stopped in shock. He was on his feet, only a couple of steps from his chair, smiling.

When the key finally turned in the lock, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest, his soul seemed to

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The Rented Bride: When Her Wedding Is Cancelled, Polina’s Shocking Decision Leads Her from Heartbreak and London Dreams to Love, Intrigue, and Unexpected Family in an English Country Home

THE BRIDE FOR HIRE The wedding’s off! I startled my parents with those words one evening over supper.

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I Grew Up Trying Not to Disappoint My Mum – and Without Realising, I Started to Lose My Marriage My mother always seemed to know best. Even as a child, I learned to read her moods by her voice, the way she closed a door, the hush in our home. If she was happy, everything felt right. If not, I’d clearly done something wrong. “I don’t ask for much,” she would say, “just don’t let me down.” That “just” weighed heavier than any rule. When I became an adult and got married, I thought my life was finally my own. My husband was calm and patient, someone who avoided arguments. At first, my mum liked him. Then she began to have opinions about everything: “Why are you home so late?” “Don’t you think you’re working too much?” “He doesn’t help you enough.” At first, I laughed about it. I told my husband she was just worrying. Then I started making excuses for her. Then, I started accommodating her. Without realising, I was living with two voices in my head. One quiet, reasonable, wanting closeness – my husband’s. The other, my mother’s, always certain, always demanding. When my husband wanted us to go away alone, my mother suddenly became unwell. When we had plans, she needed me. When he told me he missed me, I’d say, “Please understand, I can’t leave her.” And he understood. For a long time. Until, one night, he said something that unsettled me more than any argument: “I feel like there are three of us in this marriage, and I’m the third.” I lashed out. I defended her. I defended myself. I said he was exaggerating, it wasn’t fair to make me choose. But the truth was, I had already chosen. I just hadn’t admitted it. We stopped talking. We fell asleep back to back. We spoke about chores, but never about us. And when we argued, somehow my mum always knew. “I told you,” she would repeat, “men are all like that.” And I believed her. Out of habit. Until I came home one day, and he was gone. He hadn’t left in anger – just his keys and a note: “I love you, but I can’t live with your mum between us.” I sat on the bed, not knowing who to call first – my mum or my husband. I phoned my mum. “Well, what did you expect?” she said. “I told you…” That’s when something in me broke. I realised I’d spent my whole life afraid of disappointing one person… and lost another who only wanted me by his side. I don’t blame my mother entirely. She loved me the way she knew how. But I was the one who failed to set boundaries. I was the one who confused duty with love. Now I’m learning something I should have learned long ago: Being a child doesn’t mean staying small forever. And a marriage can’t survive when there’s a third voice between you. Have you ever had to choose between not letting down a parent and saving your own family?

I grew up with a constant desire not to disappoint my motherand somewhere along the way, I began to lose

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THE LAST LOVE “Irochka, I really have no money! I gave my last bit to Natasha just yesterday! You know she’s got two kids!” Utterly distressed, Anna Foster put down the phone. She would rather not recall what her daughter had just said to her. “How did it come to this? I raised three children with my husband, tried to give them everything. Got them all through university, well-settled in good jobs. Yet now, in my old age, I have neither peace nor help.” “Oh, Frank, why did you leave me so soon? It was all easier with you,” Anna thought wistfully of her late husband. Her heart seized painfully; her hand instinctively reached for her medicine: “Just one or two pills left. If things get worse, I won’t have anything to help myself. I should get to the chemist.” Anna tried to stand, but dropped straight back into her chair; her head spinning violently. “It’s fine, the tablet will kick in soon, and I’ll feel better.” But as time passed, she wasn’t feeling any better at all. Anna dialled her younger daughter. “Natasha…” – she barely managed to say. “Mum, I’m in a meeting, I’ll call you later!” Anna tried her son. “Charlie, I’m not feeling well. I’m out of my medicine. Could you maybe after work…” – but her son didn’t let her finish. “Mum, I’m not a doctor, and neither are you! Call an ambulance, don’t wait!” Anna sighed heavily, “Well, he’s right, after all. If this doesn’t pass in half an hour, I’ll have to ring for an ambulance.” She carefully settled back in her chair and closed her eyes. Silently, to calm herself, she started counting to a hundred. A noise sounded distantly. What was that? Oh yes, the telephone! “Hello!” Anna answered, her mouth barely moving. “Anna, it’s Peter! How are you? I felt uneasy and just needed to ring you!” “Peter, I’m not well.” “I’ll come now! Will you be able to open the door?” “It’s always open these days, Peter.” Anna let the phone slip from her hand. She didn’t have the strength to reach for it. “Well, let it be,” she thought. Memories from long ago flashed before her eyes, like a film; she was a first-year student at the London School of Economics. Two dashing young officers, somehow clutching balloons. “How silly!” Anna had thought back then, “Such grown men, with balloons!” Oh yes, it was the ninth of May! Victory Day, a parade, joyful crowds. And there she was with her own two balloons, between Peter and Frank. She’d chosen Frank, simply because he was braver, while Peter seemed more reserved, almost shy. Their destinies diverged: she left with Frank for a posting in the country, while Peter was sent off to Germany. They met again years later, back in their hometown, when both men had retired. Peter had lived alone, never marrying, no children. People asked why he’d never settled down… He’d just wave them off, joking, “I’ve no luck in love—maybe I should start playing cards!” Anna could now hear unfamiliar voices nearby, a conversation. With effort, she opened her eyes. “Peter!” Standing next to him was presumably the paramedic. “She’ll be all right soon. Are you her husband?” “Yes, yes!” The medic gave Peter some instructions. Peter never left Anna’s side, holding her hand until she finally began to feel better. “Thank you, Peter! I feel so much better already.” “Good. Here, have some tea with lemon!” Peter busied himself in the kitchen, fussing over Anna. Even as she improved, he was nervous to leave her alone. “You know, Annie, I’ve loved only you all my life. That’s why I never married anyone else.” “Oh, Peter, Frank and I had a good marriage. I respected him deeply. He loved me. You never said anything back in the day. I never really knew how you felt. Still, what good does it do to talk about it now—all that is in the past.” “Anna, how about we spend what time we have left happily, together? However much we’re granted, let us be happy!” Anna rested her head on Peter’s shoulder and took his hand. “Let’s do it!” she laughed joyfully. A week later, finally, her daughter Natasha called. “Mum, you called—what was up? Sorry, I got caught up and completely forgot to ring back—” “Oh, that’s all sorted now. Since you’ve called, I wanted to tell you myself so it won’t be a shock— I’m getting married!” Silence on the line, just the sound of Natasha gasping, searching for words. “Mum, are you alright? The registry office has probably marked you as a permanent absentee, and here you are talking about getting married? Who is this lucky gentleman?” Tears pricked Anna’s eyes, but she managed to steady her voice. “That’s my business.” She hung up. Turning to Peter, Anna said, “Well, that’s done. The children will all come storming round tonight, be ready for a battleground!” “We’ll manage! We’ve survived worse!” Peter chuckled. That evening, all three arrived together: Charlie, Irene, and Natasha. “Well then, Mum, introduce us to your Casanova!” Charlie sneered. “No need for introductions; you know me,” Peter said, coming out from the other room. “I’ve loved Anna since we were young, and after seeing her so unwell last week, I realised I couldn’t bear to lose her. I asked her to marry me, and she kindly accepted.” “Look, you overgrown clown, have you lost your mind? At your age, talking love?!” Irene shrieked. “What ‘age’ would that be, exactly?” Peter asked calmly. “We’re not even seventy. There’s plenty of life in us both, and your mother is still a beauty!” “I take it the plan is to snatch up her flat, is it?” Natasha inquired, all lawyerly bravado. “Children, for goodness’ sake, what’s the flat got to do with anything? You all have your own homes!” “Regardless, we all have a share in this flat!” Natasha shot back. “I don’t want anything! I’ve always managed for myself!” Peter replied. “And be respectful to your mum, will you? I won’t sit here listening to rudeness!” “And who are you to open your mouth, you aged playboy? Who asked for your opinion?” Charlie blustered. But Peter didn’t budge. Standing tall, he looked Charlie squarely in the eye. “I am your mother’s husband, whether you like it or not!” “And we’re her children!” Irene shouted. “Yes, and first thing tomorrow, we’ll have her sent to a care home or an institution!” Natasha echoed. “Oh, not on your life! Come, Annie, we’re leaving!” The two of them walked out, hand in hand, never once looking back. It didn’t matter to them what anyone thought—they were happy and free. A lone streetlamp lit their way. The children watched them leave, unable to fathom: what kind of love could possibly exist at seventy?

THE LAST LOVE Emily, I really dont have any money! I gave the last of it to Helen just yesterday.

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Olga Spent All Day Preparing to Celebrate the New Year: Cleaning, Cooking, and Setting the Table for Her First New Year Away from Her Parents and with Her Beloved for the First Time—But When Her Older, Penny-Pinching Boyfriend Tolik Showed Up Drunk with His Rowdy Mates, Her Dreams of a Romantic Night Collapsed, and She Learned Some Hard Truths About Love, Family, and Herself

Olivia had spent the whole day preparing for New Year’s Evecleaning, cooking, laying out the table

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VIC, PLEASE DON’T TAKE THIS PERSONALLY, BUT I WANT MY DAD TO WALK ME DOWN THE AISLE. HE’S MY REAL FATHER, AFTER ALL. A DAD’S A DAD. AND YOU… WELL, YOU KNOW, YOU’RE JUST MY MUM’S HUSBAND. IT’LL LOOK BETTER IN PHOTOS IF I’M WITH DAD. HE LOOKS SO DISTINGUISHED IN A SUIT. Victor paused, teacup in hand. He was fifty-five, with the calloused hands of a long-haul truck driver and an aching back. Opposite him sat Alina. The bride-to-be. Gorgeous. Twenty-two. Victor remembered her at five, when he first came into their lives—how she’d hidden behind the sofa and shouted, “Go away, you’re a stranger!” But he’d stayed. He taught her to ride a bike. Sat by her bed when she had chickenpox, while her mum Vera was exhausted. He paid for her braces—selling his motorcycle to do so. Paid her university fees—working double shifts and risking his health for it. And her “real dad”, Igor, came by every few months. Brought her a teddy bear, took her out for ice cream, told tall business tales and disappeared again. Never paid a penny in support. “Of course, Alinka,” Victor said softly, setting his cup down with a clink. “Real is real. I understand.” “You’re the best!” Alina kissed his bristly cheek. “By the way, the restaurant needs the rest of its deposit. Dad said he’d send it, but his accounts are frozen for some tax reason. Could you lend me a hundred grand or so? I’ll pay you back… from the wedding money.” Victor silently walked to the old sideboard, took an envelope from under a pile of linen. It was for repairs to his battered old Toyota. The engine was knocking, the overhaul overdue. “Take it. No need to pay me back. It’s my gift.” The wedding was extravagant. At a country club. A flower arch. An expensive master of ceremonies. Victor and Vera sat at the parents’ table. Victor wore his only suit, a bit tight in the shoulders. Alina was radiant. Down the aisle, Igor led her. Igor looked dashing: tall, tanned (just back from Turkey), in a razor-sharp tux. He strode proudly, smiled for the cameras, pretended to wipe away a tear. Guests whispered, “Such elegance! She’s her father’s image!” No one knew the tux was rented—paid for by Alina herself, secretly. At the banquet, Igor grabbed the microphone. “Daughter!” his baritone dripped honey. “I remember the first time I held you—you were a tiny princess. I always knew you deserved the best. May your husband carry you through life as I did!” Applause. Tears. Victor hung his head. He didn’t recall Igor ever carrying Alina—just not turning up to collect her from the hospital. As the party raged, Victor slipped out to smoke, his heart acting up from the noise and heat. Round the veranda in the shadow, voices drifted. Igor, speaking on his phone. “It’s all good, Serge! The wedding’s a blast. Suckers are paying, we’re just partying. Daughter? Sure, she turned out cute. I already chatted up her fiancé—wealthy, dad’s in the council. Hinted I could use some backing for my business—he’s biting. After the drinks I’ll squeeze him for a couple hundred thou ‘as a loan’. Alinka? She’s a lovesick fool, hero-worships her daddy. I threw her two compliments and she melted. Her mum, Vera, is there with her loser driver. Looks ancient. Man, glad I ditched her when I did.” Victor froze. His fists clenched. He wanted to smash that smug face. But he didn’t move—because he saw, in the ivy’s shadow, Alina herself. She’d stepped outside for air. She heard every word. Standing there, hand pressed to her lips, perfect make-up running. Staring at the “real dad” Giggling on the phone, calling her “a resource” and “idiot”. Igor ended the call, straightened his bow tie, beamed, and returned to the party. Alina slid down the wall, wedding dress crumpling on the dirty tiles. Victor came quietly. He didn’t say, “I told you so.” He didn’t gloat. He just took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. “Up you get, sweetheart. You’ll catch cold on the tiles.” Alina looked up, shame and heartbreak in her eyes—so raw she wished she could disappear. “Uncle Vic…” she whispered. “Dad… Vic… He…” “I know,” Victor said calmly. “Don’t worry, come on. It’s your wedding. The guests are waiting.” “I can’t go in!” she sobbed, smearing mascara. “I betrayed you! I invited him, shoved you in the corner! I’m so stupid. God, I’m so stupid.” “You’re not stupid. You just wanted a fairy tale,” Victor held out his hard, warm, rough hand. “But sometimes the ones writing fairy tales are crooks. Come on. Wash up, fix your nose, then go dance. Don’t let him see he broke you. This is your day, not his.” Alina re-entered, pale but holding her head high. The MC announced, “And now—the father-daughter dance!” Igor gleamed and strode out, arms wide. The hall fell silent. Alina took the microphone. Her hand shook but her voice was clear. “I want to change tradition,” she said. “My biological father gave me life, and I thank him for that. But a father–daughter dance isn’t just with the one who gave you life, it’s with the one who protected it. With the one who nursed my scraped knees. Taught me not to quit. Gave up everything so I could stand here in this dress.” She turned to the parents’ table. “Dad Vic. Come dance with me.” Igor froze, smile faltering mid-step. A ripple of whispers swept the room. Victor stood, red with embarrassment. He made his way out—awkward, pigeon-toed, suit too tight. Alina hugged him and pressed her face into his shoulder. “Forgive me, Daddy,” she whispered as they shuffled to the music. “Please forgive me.” “It’s all right, little one. It’s all right,” Victor soothed, stroking her back with his heavy, gentle hand. Igor stood a moment, realising the show was over, then quietly slunk to the bar, and before long slipped out of the reception altogether. Three years later. Victor lies in hospital. His heart ultimately failed him—a heart attack. He lies beneath a drip, weak and pale. The door opens. Alina enters, holding the hand of a tiny boy, not yet three. “Grandad!” shouts the little one, running to the bed. Alina sits beside Victor, kissing his calloused hand again and again. “Dad, we brought you oranges. And soup. The doctor says things look good—you just rest and don’t worry. We’ll get you back on your feet. I even booked a place for you at the spa.” Victor smiles. He doesn’t have millions. Only an old car and a bad back. But he’s the richest man in the world. Because he’s Dad—with no “step” in front of it. Life put everything in its place. Pity that sometimes the price of seeing clearly is humiliation and regret. But it’s better to realise it late than never: fatherhood isn’t about a name on a certificate, but about the hand that lifts you when you fall. The Moral: Don’t chase pretty packaging—inside it’s often empty. Value those who are quietly there for you on ordinary days, who give their shoulder without asking anything back. Because when the music ends and the party’s over, the only one left at your side is the one who genuinely loves you, not the one who just loves being in your spotlight. Did you have a stepdad who became closer than your real father? Or do you think blood is everything? 👇👨‍👧

Ben, please dont take this the wrong way. But I want my dad to walk me down the aisle. After all, hes

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A Parent’s Unbreakable Love: An Emotional Taxi Ride, a Heartfelt Family Gathering, and the Fierce Instinct to Protect When Danger Strikes

Ellie let out an exhausted yet contented sigh as she bundled her two little ones into the back seat of the taxi.

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I Miss Him—I’ve Never Missed Anyone Like This Before, Even Though I Wasn’t Truly Happy With Him and There Were Things I Didn’t Like: From a Facebook Encounter, Late-Night Messages, and a Park Hug That Felt Like Home, to Unraveling Truths, Financial Strains, and Painful Goodbyes—My Honest Story of Loving, Learning, and Letting Go

I miss him. Ive honestly never missed anyone in this way before, and I cant put my finger on why especially

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My Mother-in-Law Called My Children Rude, So I Banned Her from Ever Setting Foot in Our Home

And those elbows? Who told you to rest your elbows on the table like that? In polite company, youd be

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The Mother-in-Law’s Unexpected Arrival: A Visit That Turned Everything Upside Down

The Mother-in-Laws Unexpected Arrival: A Visit That Turned Everything Upside Down I walk into my sons