Walton Merritt

There Won’t Be a Wedding “Why are you so quiet today?” Tanya asked. “We agreed to pick out bedroom furniture on Saturday, but you seem down. What’s wrong?” Denis knew: it was now or never. He had to say it now. “Tanya… There’s something I need to tell you. About the wedding.” Tanya had been waiting for this conversation. She and Denis had agreed to keep the celebration modest, but she sensed Denis wanted a proper wedding—lots of guests, a photographer, an event planner… She’d been looking forward to this! “Just get to the point, please—I think I know what you’re about to say,” Tanya smiled. But Denis said, “Let’s postpone… Let’s postpone the wedding.” That was not the conversation she’d prepared for. “Postpone?” she gaped, stunned, “What’s brought this on? Why? We were just talking about invitations… You picked them out yourself! We decided who to invite! Have you changed your mind about marrying me?” Like a scene from a drama, she half expected to hear that his feelings had cooled. But Denis didn’t follow the script. “Money’s tight right now,” he muttered. “My pay’s been delayed. We haven’t managed to save. And… We’ve only been living together for six months. Isn’t it a bit soon?” “Too soon?” Tanya choked. “Denis, we’ve been together three years! Three years in a relationship and six months living together is ‘too soon’ for you?” Denis looked less scared now. “Don’t start, Tanya. I don’t want a fight. This is just… a pause. I haven’t changed my mind about marrying you, but a wedding is expensive.” “Fine… Why don’t we just have a registry office wedding and celebrate with friends after?” “Tanya, that wouldn’t be a real wedding.” “Then who cares about a real wedding!” “But you dreamed about it…” “I’ll survive!” He’s coming up with strange excuses. “Tanya…” “Just be honest. Has something happened? Are you unsure about me? Or… did you meet someone else? Because ‘the wedding is expensive’ doesn’t sound convincing.” Denis shook his head. “No, Tanya, I promise. I just want everything to be perfect, you know? And right now, I can’t give us the perfect wedding. And yes—six months. We’re still getting used to each other. Need to see if we’re really compatible…” His words made sense… He was convincing, but Tanya’s intuition protested. Rarely had Denis worked this hard to persuade her of anything. And he himself had insisted on marrying quickly. But she pretended to believe him. After that talk, Denis transformed—not just a boyfriend, but the perfect boyfriend, paying attention to the little things, as if to make amends for the postponed wedding. Always asked Tanya’s preference in shops, always did the dishes himself… But he was gloomy. Not just pensive, but downright gloomy, sighing at night staring at the ceiling, brushing off Tanya’s questions with, “Just tired, that’s all.” Tanya tried not to push. “Later, later, later,” her inner voice whispered. A couple of weeks later, Denis’s parents invited them over. Tanya hesitated but couldn’t refuse. Denis hadn’t brought up the wedding again, and his parents were bound to ask—awkward. They brought up the wedding, of course. “So, when are you going to make us happy?” his mum asked as dad went to watch telly. “We’ve already found a venue for the reception—table for twenty. What date should we book?” Denis sat there just as glum as Tanya. Book what? There’s nothing to book. “Mum, we’ve… postponed it,” he rasped. “Postponed? Why? No money? Denis, mate, why didn’t you think about that sooner?” After dinner, as the men examined yet another broken speaker, Tanya slipped to the bathroom. Spotless in there, like an operating room—not even any cosmetics except shower gel and shampoo. His mum kept all her toiletries in her room; Tanya always wondered how she bothered carting them back and forth. As she dried her face, Tanya heard… The bathroom walls always carried voices. Denis was back in the kitchen, speaking to his mother. And Tanya overheard… “…Denis, have you decided to break up with Tanya?” Tanya froze, towel to her chin. What? She didn’t kid herself—she’d heard that clearly. She pressed her ear against the cold tile. “Mum, I told you. We’ve only postponed the wedding. We’re not splitting up.” “Postponed is just an excuse!” hissed Galina. “I can see how miserable you are. Why do you need her? She isn’t the right wife for you. A wife should listen to her husband, but she… Why marry if you’ll divorce in a year?” “I love her, Mum,” Denis replied. Tanya even had a pang of tenderness. But his mum’s next words put an end to that. “You say you love her? She’s a crafty one, Denis! I told you! Not even your wife yet, and she’s already turned you against us. You don’t help your sister, you rarely come to the house. She’s changing you, and not for the better.” Tanya stuck to the wall, horrified. Setting him against his family? When?! She’d always done her best to be polite, even when his dad trashed her new haircut. She’d never deliberately turned Denis against them—in fact, she always encouraged him to stay close. Suddenly it hit her: The postponed wedding wasn’t about money. It was his mum, lying to her face, who was against it! Tanya hurried back in. “Oh, Tanya, there you are! We were just saying you shouldn’t put off the official bit for long. I know you’re young, but I do think life without a marriage certificate is wrong.” How sweet of her. “Of course, Mrs. Smith,” Tanya smiled (using a typically English surname). “We won’t delay for long! As soon as we’ve saved, we’ll be at the registry office. Won’t we, Denis?” “Absolutely, Tanya. We’re practically married already,” he agreed. That night, driving home, Denis reached to hug her, but Tanya kept moving away. She didn’t know how to start the conversation. Should she even ask? If Denis hadn’t dumped her for his parents’ sake, that meant he must love her… But the wedding was still off. “You behaved oddly when your mum started talking,” she finally said, watching the river lights fade. “Me? Nah, she’s just rushing us to marry and—” “Don’t lie. She’s not rushing you to marry. She’s against our wedding entirely. She said I’d turned you against her. She told you to break up with me.” Denis jerked the steering wheel. “So you heard that?” he muttered. “Tanya, Mum’s scared her precious boy will marry and forget her—typical, isn’t it? Don’t take it personally. She’ll get over it.” Tanya didn’t take the mum’s words to heart—the woman just couldn’t let her son go. What worried Tanya was Denis himself. He hadn’t defended her, just agreed to keep the peace. The wedding question hung in the air. Denis kept acting like he’d been sucking lemons, and now, when Tanya hinted at future plans, he gave his usual, “Maybe later…” Then Tanya came across Denis’s unlocked phone. “I’m just checking the time,” she told herself. “I won’t read messages. Just… a quick look.” The latest notification was from his sister, Vera. Vera was only two years younger than Tanya but acted like she was twelve—no job, no studies, still lived with mum and dad (and their money). The message was blunt: “So, I won’t see any money then. You’re under her thumb again. Well, go live with her if some girl means more to you than your family.” Tanya read it twice. ‘Under her thumb.’ And then she remembered… Before the wedding was cancelled, when Vera had rung Denis asking for money again, Tanya couldn’t help saying, “Denis, she’s twenty-seven, still living with your parents, and asking you for spending money. Maybe it’s time she supported herself? Our budget isn’t endless.” She usually kept out of it, but her money went into the same pot—and she hadn’t signed up to subsidise his sister. Denis had agreed, reluctantly: “Yeah, you’re right, Tanya. Enough is enough.” No wonder now who was turning everyone against her. She copied Vera’s message, sent it to her own phone for proof, and put Denis’s mobile back exactly where it was. Denis came in, brushing snow off his coat. “Picked up bread and your favourite chocolate—the one with the nuts. I was thinking, Tanya, maybe I should have—” “Denis,” Tanya interjected. “What, Denis? Were you expecting someone else?” he joked. But Tanya didn’t laugh. “What’s Vera messaging you about?” she asked. Denis remembered: best form of defence is attack. “So you’re snooping in my phone while I’m out?” Classic defensive move—redirect the blame. “Doesn’t matter what I did, Denis. Explain this. Now.” Denis hesitated; his face cycled through anger, then panic. “She’s young—she takes everything to heart,” he said at last. “Takes what to heart? That I asked her to grow up?” “She grew up with me always helping. Now she expects it. Habits are hard to break, especially easy money. Don’t worry, it’ll blow over.” “She turned your parents against me, didn’t she?” “Well… yes,” Denis admitted. “I tried explaining our money is ours, Vera should fend for herself… Mum took that personally: ‘Tanya’s running you, you’ve abandoned your family.’ But I don’t think that.” “But you cancelled the wedding… fine. She turned your family against me. I get it. I can’t talk to them anymore. But what do you think? Do you actually want to marry me? Or are you just putting it off because you’re afraid to tell your mum ‘no’?” “Of course I want to marry you! But I just can’t… Maybe later… when things settle…” So there was her answer. “You know, Denis, I’ve made up my mind… I don’t want to marry anyone who isn’t sure of his feelings, or flinches every time his sister says boo. It’s a good thing we called off the wedding.”

No Wedding After All Why are you so quiet today? I asked Jack, trying to keep things light as we sat

La vida

0127

Blatant Nerve: “Nat, tell me honestly,” Kieran whined, “What’s the cosmic difference who we rent the cottage to—family or strangers? Money’s money.” Natasha finished hanging the laundry on the rack. If only he’d help instead of moaning. “Kol, darling, the difference is that when it comes to family, you can never actually get the money out of them.” “You mean Dave? That’s not fair—he’s my brother! He’ll pay, I promise. He’s not even asking for a discount. He’ll take it for the full price, all summer long, and we won’t have to deal with advertising.” “This is a seaside cottage, Kol. I could fill it in five minutes.” “What I don’t get is why you’re so dead against renting to family?” “With strangers it’s simple: contract, deposit—don’t pay, you’re out, end of. With family it’s always, ‘Oh Natasha, you know the kids… We’ll wire it later… Oops, we broke the telly but you won’t charge us, will you?’ Trust me, I’ve seen it all before. You don’t know how it ends.” Natasha’s parents had let to all the so-called friends and family who happily ‘forgot’ to pay. She’d learned her lesson: no mates or relatives in the rental. “And how did it end?” her husband asked. “With family never paying, or even apologizing! As if, ‘What, it’s so hard to let us have a little holiday?’ Sorry, but the cottage is a business, not a free family B&B.” Recently, Dave had decided a summer by the sea was just what the doctor ordered for his wife and three kids. Work was slow, so why not? Natasha was sure he had no intention to pay. “Dave’s not asking for a favour!” Kieran insisted. “He’ll pay.” They always promise to pay. “Why even risk it? There’s always a queue of people ready to pay the market rate. They’ll sign the contract and I can sleep easy. No friends, no family. Business is business.” Natasha’s logic was airtight, but Kieran had one more card to play. “Fine. You don’t trust Dave—but you trust me, yeah?” She paused. “I do. So?” “If Dave tries to stiff us, I’ll pay you the rent myself,” he blurted. “Brilliant. You’ll pay me from our joint account.” “Um… no, I’ll take an extra job. Evenings, weekends—whatever I earn goes to you, so it’ll be your money, not ours. Deal?” Natasha hadn’t expected it to be this important to him. Maybe she should trust him if he trusted Dave that much… “You’ll talk anyone ‘round,” she said. “It’s all on you then. Alright.” Summer was still months away. Natasha tried to be optimistic. June arrived—and trouble with it. Kieran called Dave every few days, gently nudging about the first month’s rent. Every time, Dave had a reason. “Yeah, Kieran, no worries! Money? Ah, just waiting on a big client, should clear by the end of the month. Sorry, mate, but it’s coming. Don’t stress!” End of June. No money. Natasha gave it a month, no nagging. This was Kieran’s deal. But after another round of stalling, she asked, “Well? Has he paid?” “They haven’t transferred his payment yet. Soon, he promised!” Same old excuse. “Told you—family always have a reason not to pay up,” she sighed. “It’s just bad luck!” Kieran pleaded. “He’s not doing it on purpose. Sometimes you just have to wait!” “Right—until September, when they pack up and say, ‘Thanks for the lovely holiday, we’ll settle up later’?” “Kieran, you promised. Where’s that second job?” He wilted. “Give him a couple more weeks. If nothing comes, I’ll pay—if it means that much to you.” “I didn’t force you to take responsibility. You wanted to. Prove you were right about your brother!” The atmosphere cooled. July, heatwave. Natasha caught Kieran browsing jobs online, but never dialling. “Look at the calendar, Kol. Two-thirds of the summer’s gone, and we’ve seen not a penny.” “It’s just… he still can’t pay. But he will! He promised to give us a bit extra for the inconvenience.” “I don’t believe it. You put your name to it—now it’s your problem.” He mumbled about back pain, none of the jobs were suitable. “Not exactly great ads… I can’t lug boxes with my back.” “Better send your brother to lug boxes, then. You promised. Either look for a job now, or I’ll call Dave and say if I don’t get half the money by Friday, his family’s out by law and I’ll chase what’s owed through court.” Ice-cold sweat. “Don’t call Dave! Everyone’ll look at me like I’m the villain! What would I tell Mum? Suing my own brother? No one will understand.” Dave didn’t want to pay, Kieran didn’t want to keep his word, and now suddenly it was Natasha’s fault. “So much for caring about your own husband! Don’t you mind sending me to work two jobs just to pay you back?” “I never asked, Kieran! You insisted!” “I didn’t know Dave would rip us off!” “I did,” Natasha answered. “Because I’ve seen it before. You just wouldn’t listen.” “I’ve got the message!” He played the martyr. “But you, Natasha, you care more about your precious money than my wellbeing! What if I have a heart attack working extra? Still want your rent?” “I’m not forcing you—I’m just holding to the deal you made.” “FINE! I’ll take another job and pay for Dave—if you care about money more than me! There you go!” The deal crumbled, but Natasha got her way. Kieran did shifts as a courier, shooting wolves’ eyes at her each night. “It’s all because of you,” he muttered once. “All because of me?” “Yes!” “Well, maybe now you’ll understand—you can be generous with my cash, but it’s different shelling out yourself.” Natasha still hoped Dave might find a conscience and pay up himself. Miraculously, he rang—her, not Kieran. Maybe he’d finally transfer the money? “Natasha, I’ve got a small problem…” “I’ve no time for problems, Dave. You owe July and we’re still waiting. It’s Kieran’s problem now, not mine.” “Yeah, Kieran told me! Poor fella. But listen—the car’s broken down and I spent the rent money fixing it. Got to get the family home somehow, but I’ll sort you out… sometime, yeah?” Predictable. Natasha hung up. Kieran saw from her face. “Okay,” he admitted, “I shouldn’t have trusted him so much. But you could cut me some slack! Instead of support you just rub it in…” “Oh, I’m supposed to giggle and say, ‘Never mind, let them have a free holiday while I somehow get by’? You insisted you’d pay!” “Yeah, I did! But I didn’t think you’d let me work myself into exhaustion. Don’t you care about me?” “Does your brother?” “He’s not bad, things just… happened…” “Right. He’s not bad—rips me off, lets you take the blame. But I’m the baddie for demanding what’s mine?” Kieran looked away. Looks like a rocky patch ahead in their marriage.

Boundless Cheek Well, Emma, just be honest with me, moaned Nick, What real, cosmic difference does it

La vida

016

“Go Home This Instant! We’ll Talk When We Get There!” barked Max—he had no intention of giving passersby a show. But perhaps he should’ve learned what his wife Varvara—mild-mannered school gym teacher, runaway daughter of wealthy parents, and secret martial arts champion—was truly capable of before his family plotted to ‘teach her a lesson’ behind closed doors. When a seemingly ordinary afternoon turns into a showdown of wills—and rolling pins—Max and his meddling family are about to discover what happens when you mistake strength for submission in an English village where secrets never stay buried.

Go home! Well talk there! I shot at Emily with a huff. Ive no intention of entertaining passersby with a row.

La vida

048

Go home! Well talk there! I shot at Emily with a huff. Ive no intention of entertaining passersby with a row.

La vida

A Mother’s Heart Stan sat at the kitchen table, settled comfortably in his favourite seat, staring at a steaming bowl of his mum’s legendary beetroot soup—aromatic, rich, and just a touch tangy. His spoon moved from bowl to mouth in soothing rhythm, but his mind drifted. Life had changed so much in recent years—now he could enjoy breakfast at trendy cafés, lunch at Michelin-starred spots, and dinner wherever top chefs played with molecular gastronomy. Oysters from France, truffles from Italy, Wagyu from Japan—whatever he fancied, he could have. Yet none of it quite compared to the simple perfection of his mum’s soup. Sauces, rare spices, fancy plating—it all seemed empty set against the food of his childhood. In Mum’s soup, there was something more than just ingredients or method; there was care, the warmth of hands, memories of carefree days. Stan knew: however many restaurants he visited, whatever delicacies he tasted, nothing would ever top Mum’s kitchen. As he mused, Maria entered with a fresh cup of tea, carefully placing it before him. She looked worried—troubled, even. “Stan, when do you have to set off?” He looked up, smiled. “Tomorrow morning. My car’s packed in, so I’m getting a lift with a mate.” He studied his mum. He liked how she looked—healthy, relaxed, pink-cheeked and cheerful. No one would guess she was over fifty, though she’d crossed that milestone long ago. “It’s just a couple of hours, don’t worry,” he added, trying to calm her nerves. Maria froze, grip tightening on the edge of the table like she needed to steady herself. Silence ticked by, broken only by the old wall clock. “With a mate,” she repeated, almost whispering. Colour drained from her face. “No, Stan, I don’t want you going with him.” Stan frowned—he hadn’t seen his mum like this in ages. Usually calm and collected, she was clearly shaken. He set his spoon down and watched her intently. “You don’t even know who I’m talking about,” he tried to say lightly, though an edge of worry crept into his tone. “It’s just Jack—a good driver, always careful. Solid German car, even the reg’s lucky—triple seven.” Maria moved slowly towards him, never breaking her gaze. She took his hand—her fingers cold against his warmth. “Please, son,” her voice trembled, but she was firm. “Just book a taxi, won’t you? I really can’t settle.” “What if the driver bought his licence off eBay?” he joked weakly. “Honestly, don’t worry. I’ll call you as soon as I arrive—promise. Before you even get the chance to miss me.” Stan kissed her cheek, feeling her anxiety seep into him. He hugged her tight, lending the reassurance she needed. For a moment she clung to him, soaking up the comfort, then quietly stepped away. “It’ll all be fine, Mum,” he promised, gazing into her eyes. “I swear.” Later, leaving the house, Stan walked slowly along the familiar street. It was calm, the air fresh and cool. Street lamps spilled warm pools of light across the pavement. Home wasn’t far—just a few minutes on foot. He tried not to dwell on Mum’s worried eyes, but her face wouldn’t leave his mind. Back in his flat, everything was quiet and cozy. He headed for the bedroom, where his overnight bag waited, packed and ready. He double-checked—nothing forgotten. Bag by the door, alarm set: quarter to ten. “Up at six. Don’t sleep in,” he reminded himself. Undressing, Stan got into bed, switched off the lamp. For ages he lay awake, listening to the city beyond the window, running over his morning routine in his mind—coffee, breakfast, check the presentation again—until, at last, sleep took hold. ***************** Morning didn’t go as planned. Bright sun streamed through the curtains and he squinted awake, unsure what had roused him. He checked the clock—five to nine. “Shit!” He shot up, heart pounding. Snatching the alarm from the side, he hurled it across the room. He’d slept in. “Why didn’t Jack call me?” he muttered. His phone sat on his bedside table—powered off. That was odd; it had been charging overnight. Frowning, he powered it up. Instantly, messages flooded in. First, a text from Jack at 8:00am: “Stan, where are you? Been waiting fifteen minutes. If you’re not downstairs in ten, I’ll have to head off—can’t afford the delay.” Another: “You coming? Call me.” Then: “I’m going. Sorry mate, can’t wait.” Stan froze. Jack had come, waited, called… but he’d slept through it all. Mum’s worried face popped up again—she’d begged him not to go with Jack. Not that it mattered now. He jumped out of bed, panic rising. No time left—maybe book a taxi, or hire a car instead? As he reached for the phone, he saw dozens of missed calls—all from Mum, one after another. Dread clenched his stomach. Not daring to stop for anything else, he grabbed his keys and ran, heart hammering. Please let everything be okay. When he reached Mum’s house, the door was left ajar. He rushed inside, barely catching his breath. “Mum, are you alright?” he called, anxious and loud. Maria was in the sitting room—a picture of distress, eyes red from crying, face drawn with worry. She stared at him in disbelief. “Stan… is it really you?” Her voice trembled as she got up from the sofa. “Oh, thank God…” Stan’s own nerves jangled. He’d never seen his mum like this. He hurried to her, gently holding her hands. “What’s happened, Mum?” he asked softly but firmly. “Why are you so frightened?” Just then, the telly behind them droned with grim news: “There has been a major crash on the A34 outside Oxford. Four vehicles involved—tragically, only one survivor, the driver of an Audi…” Stan turned to look—the images onscreen were terrifying: smashed-up cars, scattered belongings, blue lights. Then he spotted it—a white Audi, number plate 777. His stomach dropped. Jack’s car. Now he understood. Mum had seen the accident, recognised Jack’s car, and when Stan didn’t answer his phone… she’d feared the worst. “Mum, it’s me, I’m alive,” he said as calmly as he could. He sat her down, then darted to the kitchen for a glass of water. “Here, drink this. You can see me—I’m right here. Everything’s fine.” Maria clung to his sleeve, trembling as she pressed herself close, overcome with silent sobs. “Stan, I was so frightened…” her voice cracked. “They said on TV only the Audi driver survived. And you weren’t answering the phone—I kept calling and calling…” He hugged her tightly, soothing her as best he could. But realising she needed more, he pulled out his phone and dialled 999. “Ambulance, please,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “My mother’s had a bad shock—her heart, I think. Here’s the address…” After the call, he held her hand, keeping her calm until the blue-lights arrived. Ten minutes later a paramedic arrived, quickly assessing Maria and suggesting a hospital stay—her age and stress levels were worrying. Stan agreed immediately—he would take her to a private clinic: better care, more comfort. Soon, Maria was settled in a quiet hospital ward, under careful observation. Stan remained by her side, holding her hand, trying to project a calm he did not feel. The days drew out in gentle routine—doctor’s rounds, checks, and new treatments. Maria slowly improved; Stan camped beside her bed each night. One golden evening as the sun set, Maria spoke softly, as though she’d carried the words for ages. “You know, I always worried you’d leave and not come back.” Stan gazed at her, seeing not only a loving mum, but the woman who’d spent years carrying secret fears. “Why?” he asked gently. “You were always fiercely independent,” she said, smiling at the memory. “Even at five, you’d tie your own laces—never let me help! At school you packed your own bag, never forgot a book. I was proud, truly—but sometimes, I felt I was losing you. You became grown up so fast; I was left behind.” He squeezed her hand comfortingly, struck by the depth of her love—and her fear. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “You’ll always be the most important person in my life. I just never realised… I’m sorry.” She stroked his cheek, her touch as gentle as in childhood. “It’s enough that you know now,” she said. Stan squeezed her hand. “Mum, I’ll never leave you. You’re the most precious thing I have,” he whispered with heartfelt conviction. Maria smiled, a little shaky, but brighter. Tears sparkled—tears of relief, not worry. She squeezed his fingers, testing the reality of his presence. “I just want you to be happy,” she said. “To have a family, children—to know you’re loved and never alone.” Stan thought of Lena—a kind, thoughtful girl from work. For weeks he’d wanted to mention her to Mum, always holding back. “There is someone,” he finally admitted, shy, but then confidence steeled his words. “Her name’s Lena. She’s different—understands me without words.” Maria’s eyes brightened. “Tell me about her—how did you meet?” He told her—little stories, memories, slowly sharing a side of life he’d kept private until now. “I think she’s the one,” he finished, smiling. “I just worried you’d think I’d forget you, that everything would change…” Maria laughed, a warm, gentle sound. “Silly boy. I’ll only ever be happy if you find your happiness. I’ve never stopped you living your own life. But remember—you’ll always have your mum, who loves you, no matter what.” Stan grinned—truly, deeply for the first time in days. “I’ll never forget, Mum. And thank you… for understanding.”

A Mother’s Heart Simon found himself seated at the kitchen table, in that corner where the table’

La vida

048

Alex, Have You Lost Your Mind? You’re Leaving Me for a Girl Young Enough to Be Your Daughter? After 15 Years of Marriage, Tanya’s World Is Turned Upside Down—But a Makeover, a Girls’ Night Out, and an Unexpected Twist at Her Ex’s Wedding Change Everything!

Graham, I just dont understand you. Have you gone completely mad? What does it mean, Im leaving?

La vida

028

When Hope Thompson Fell Ill: How Only Her Granddaughter Natalie Stepped Up While Her Daughters Came Home for Village Delicacies—and Why Everything Changed When Hope Sold the Farm and Set Natalie Free to Chase Her Dreams

Edith Leonard suddenly fell ill. Not a single one of her daughters visited while she was bedridden.

La vida

0412

“Who Do You Think You Are to Tell Me What to Do!” — Mrs. Zoe Peterson Threw a Rag Right in Her Daughter-in-Law’s Face. “You Live in My House and Eat My Food!” Tamara Wiped Her Face and Clenched Her Fists. Three Months Married, and Every Day Feels Like a Battlefield. “I Cook, I Clean, I Do the Laundry! What More Do You Want?” “What I Want Is for You to Keep That Mouth Shut! Stray! Turned Up Here with Someone Else’s Child!” Little Ellie Peered Fearfully Out from Behind the Door. Just Four Years Old and Already Knows—Grandma’s Mean. “Mum, That’s Enough!” — Stephen Came in from the Yard, Dirty After Work. “What Now?” “She’s Rude to Me! I Told Her the Soup’s Too Salty, and She Answers Back!” “The Soup’s Fine,” Tamara Said Wearily. “You’re Just Picking on Me.” “There! You Hear That?” Zoe Wagged Her Finger in Tamara’s Face. “Says I’m Picking on Her! In My Own Home!” Stephen Moved to His Wife and Put an Arm Around Her. “Mum, Stop. Tamara’s Worked Hard All Day, and You Just Nag.” “Oh, So Now You’re Against Your Own Mother! I Raised You, Fed You, and This Is What I Get!” The Old Woman Stormed Out, Slamming the Door. Silence Fell in the Kitchen. “I’m Sorry,” Stephen Stroked Tamara’s Hair. “She’s Gotten Impossible as She’s Aged.” “Stephen, Maybe We Should Rent Somewhere? Even Just a Single Room?” “With What Money? I’m a Tractor Driver, Not a CEO. Barely Enough to Eat as It Is.” Tamara Snuggled Into Her Husband. He Was Good, Kind, Hardworking. But His Mother—She Was a Real Nightmare. They’d Met at a Village Fair. Tamara Sold Her Knitted Goods, Stephen Was Buying Socks. They Got Talking. He Said Right Away He Didn’t Mind She Had a Child—He Loved Kids. Their Wedding Was Modest. From Day One, Mrs. Zoe Peterson Disliked Her Daughter-in-Law. Tamara Was Young, Beautiful, With a University Degree in Accounting, While Her Son Was an Ordinary Tractor Driver. “Mum, Come for Supper,” Little Ellie Tugged at Her Mother’s Skirt. “Just a Minute, Sweetheart.” At Dinner, Mrs. Peterson Pushed Her Plate Away with a Flourish. “I Can’t Eat This. It’s Fit for Pigs the Way You Cook.” “Mum!” Stephen Pounded the Table with His Fist. “Stop It!” “What? I’m Just Being Honest! Look at Sylvia—What a Homemaker! But This One!” Sylvia, Mrs. Peterson’s Daughter, Lived in the City and Only Visited Once a Year. The House Was in Her Name, Though She Hardly Lived There. “If You Don’t Like My Cooking, You Can Cook for Yourself,” Tamara Said Calmly. “Oh, You!” The Mother-in-Law Jumped Up. “I’ll—” “That’s Enough!” Stephen Stood Between the Two Women. “Mum, Calm Down or We’re Leaving. Right Now.” “Where to? Out on the Street? The House Isn’t Yours!” It Was True. The House Belonged to Sylvia. They Were Allowed to Stay Out of Pity. *** A Precious Burden Tamara Couldn’t Sleep That Night. Stephen Held Her Close and Whispered: “Hold On, Love. I’ll Buy a Tractor. Start a Business. We’ll Save Up for Our Own Home.” “Stephen, That’s So Expensive…” “I’ll Find an Old One and Fix It Up. I Know How. Just Keep Believing in Me.” In the Morning, Tamara Woke Up Feeling Sick. She Rushed to the Bathroom. Could It Be? The Test Showed Two Lines. “Stephen!” She Burst Into the Room. “Look!” He Rubbed His Eyes Sleepily, Looked at the Test, and Suddenly Jumped Up, Spinning Her Around. “Tamara! Darling! We’re Having a Baby!” “Shhh! Your Mother Will Hear!” But It Was Too Late. Mrs. Peterson Stood in the Doorway. “What’s All the Noise?” “Mum, We’re Having a Baby!” Stephen Beamed. The Mother-in-Law Curled Her Lip. “And Where Will You All Live? It’s Crowded Enough With You Here. If Sylvia Returns, You’ll Be Out on Your Ear.” “We Won’t Be Thrown Out!” Stephen Frowned. “This Is My Home Too!” “It’s Sylvia’s House, Remember? I Signed It Over To Her. You’re Just Lodgers.” The Joy Evaporated. Tamara Slumped onto the Bed. A Month Later, Tragedy Struck. Tamara Was Lifting a Heavy Bucket (No Running Water in the House). Sudden Pain, Bloodstains on Her Trousers… “Stephen!” She Cried. A Miscarriage. The Doctor Said It Was Overexertion, Stress. She Needed Rest. But How Do You Rest Living With a Mother-in-Law Like That? Tamara Lay in the Hospital, Staring At The Ceiling. She Couldn’t Take Any More. She Wouldn’t. “I’m Leaving Him,” She Told Her Friend Over The Phone. “I Can’t Go On.” “Tamara, What About Stephen? He’s Good.” “He Is. But His Mother… She’ll Be The Death Of Me.” Stephen Rushed To Her After Work, Covered In Dirt And Exhaustion, A Bunch Of Daisies In Hand. “Tamara, My Love, I’m So Sorry. It’s All My Fault. I Didn’t Take Care Of You.” “Stephen, I Just Can’t Live There Any More.” “I Know. I’ll Take Out a Loan. We’ll Rent a Flat.” “They Won’t Lend To You. Your Wage Is Too Low.” “They Will. I’ve Found a Second Job. Night Shift At The Farm. By Day On The Tractor, By Night Milking Cows.” “Stephen, You’ll Collapse!” “I Won’t. I’d Move Mountains For You.” Tamara Was Discharged a Week Later. At Home, Mrs. Peterson Met Her At The Door: “Well, Didn’t Keep It, Did You? I Knew It—Too Feeble.” Tamara Walked Past In Silence. Her Mother-in-Law Wasn’t Worth Her Tears. Stephen Worked Like a Man Possessed. Tractor By Day, Farm By Night. He Slept Three Hours A Night. “I’ll Take a Job Too,” Tamara Said. “There’s an Opening For An Accountant.” “The Pay’s Pennies.” “Pennies Add Up.” So She Took The Job. Mornings, She Took Ellie To Nursery. Then Off To The Office. Evenings, Collected Her Daughter, Cooked, Did Laundry. Mrs. Peterson’s Nagging Continued, But Tamara Learned To Tune Her Out. *** Their Own Corner and a New Life Stephen Continued Saving For The Tractor. He Found An Old, Broken-Down One For Next To Nothing. “Take The Loan,” Tamara Said. “Fix It, We’ll Earn Our Own Money.” “What If It Doesn’t Work?” “It Will. You’re Brilliant With Your Hands.” The Loan Came Through. They Bought The Tractor. It Sat In The Yard Like a Heap of Junk. “Well That’s Just Grand!” Mrs. Peterson Laughed. “Junkyard’s Where That Belongs!” Stephen Worked On The Engine In Silence. Night After Night, After The Farm, Only the Flashlight for Company. Tamara Helped—Handing Tools, Holding Parts. “Go Rest. You’re Exhausted.” “We Started This Together, We’ll Finish Together.” A Month Went By. Then Two. The Neighbours Laughed—Fool Of A Tractor Driver, Buying a Heap of Scrap. But One Morning, The Engine Roared To Life. Stephen Sat At The Wheel, Not Quite Believing Their Luck. “Tamara! It’s Running! It Works!” She Rushed Out, Throwing Her Arms Around Him. “I Knew You Could Do It! I Always Believed In You!” The First Job—Ploughing Mr. Smith’s Vegetable Patch. Second, Delivering Firewood. Third and Fourth—The Money Started Coming In. Then, Tamara Once More Felt Sick In The Mornings. “Stephen, I’m Pregnant Again.” “This Time, You Don’t Lift a Thing, Do You Hear? I’ll Do It All!” He Wrapped Her In Cotton Wool. No Heavy Lifting. Mrs. Peterson Grumbled: “Delicate, Aren’t We! I Had Three Kids and Never Complained! And Her?” But Stephen Was Adamant. No More Overdoing It. In The Seventh Month, Sylvia Arrived with Her Husband and Big Plans. “Mum, We’re Selling The House. Got a Good Offer. You’re Moving In With Us.” “And Them?” Mrs. Peterson Nodded To Stephen and Tamara. “Well, What About Them? They’ll Have To Find Somewhere Else.” “Sylvia, I Was Born Here, This Is My Home!” Stephen Protested. “So? It’s My House. Did You Forget?” “When Do We Have To Leave?” Tamara Asked Calmly. “A Month.” Stephen Boiled With Rage. Tamara Rested A Hand On His Shoulder—Quiet, Don’t Argue. That Evening, They Sat Together In Silence. “What Are We Going To Do? The Baby’s Due Soon.” “We’ll Find Somewhere. As Long As We’re Together, That’s What Matters.” Stephen Worked Like A Madman. The Tractor Roared From Dawn To Dusk. In A Week, He Made As Much Money As Usually Took A Whole Month. Then Mr. Michaels, A Farmer From The Next Village, Rang. “Stephen, Selling My Cottage. It’s Old, But Solid. Cheap, Too. Want To Take A Look?” They Went That Very Day. The Cottage Was Indeed Old, But Sturdy—Three Rooms, A Range, A Shed. “How Much?” Mr. Michaels Named His Price. They Had Enough For Half. “How About Instalments?” Stephen Suggested. “Half Now, The Rest In Six Months.” “All Right. You’re A Reliable Lad.” They Came Home Elated. Mrs. Peterson Met Them At The Door: “Where Have You Two Been? Sylvia’s Brought The Papers!” “That’s Fine,” Tamara Said Calmly. “We’re Moving Out.” “Where To? The Pavement?” “To Our Own Place. We Bought It.” The Mother-In-Law Froze. Didn’t Expect That. “Lying! Where’d You Get The Money?” “We Earned It,” Stephen Hugged His Wife. “While You Were Wagging Your Tongue, We Were Grafting.” They Moved Within Two Weeks. Not Many Possessions—What’s Yours In Someone Else’s House? Ellie Ran Round The Rooms, The Dog Barked. “Mum, Is This Really Our House?” “It Is, Darling. Genuinely Ours.” Mrs. Peterson Arrived The Next Day. She Stood On The Threshold. “Stephen, I’ve Thought It Over. Maybe You Could Take Me In? The City Air’s Stifling.” “No, Mum. You Made Your Choice. Live With Sylvia.” “But I’m Your Mother!” “A Mother Doesn’t Call Her Grandchild ‘Someone Else’s’. Goodbye.” He Closed The Door. Hard, But The Right Thing To Do. Matthew Was Born That March. A Strong, Healthy Boy. He Yelled Loudly and Made His Demands Known. “Just Like His Dad!” The Midwife Laughed. Stephen Cradled His Son, Afraid To Breathe. “Thank You, Tamara. For Everything.” “No, Thank You. For Not Giving Up On Us. For Believing.” They Settled Into Their New Home. Planted A Garden, Got Chickens. The Tractor Earned Its Keep. Evenings Were Spent On The Porch; Ellie Played With The Dog, Matthew Slept In His Cot. “You Know What?” Tamara Said One Sunset. “I’m Happy.” “Me Too.” “Remember How Bad Things Once Were? I Thought I Would Break.” “You Didn’t. You’re Strong.” “We’re Strong—Together.” The Sun Set Behind The Woods. The House Smelled Of Fresh Bread And Milk. A Real Home. Their Home. A Place Where No One Could Insult, Throw Them Out, Or Call Them Outsiders. A Place To Live, Love, And Raise Their Children. A Place To Be Happy. *** Dear Readers, Every Family Faces Their Own Trials, And Overcoming Them Isn’t Always Easy. Tamara and Stephen’s Story Is Like a Mirror—We See Both Our Struggles And The Strength That Helps Us Rise Above. So Life Goes On: From Hardship To Joy, Then On Again—Until Fate Smiles. What Do You Think—Should Stephen Have Broken Away From His Mother Sooner? Or Was He Right To Persevere for So Long? And What Does ‘Home’ Mean To You—Just Bricks And Mortar, Or The Warmth Of Family? Share Your Thoughts—Life Is A School, And Every Lesson Matters!

And who do you think you are, telling me what to do! barked Mrs. Margaret Whitmore, flinging a wet cloth

La vida

The Shaggy Guardian Angel

The Shaggy Guardian Claire stepped cautiously backwards, her eyes fixed on the enormous dog sitting calmly

La vida

021

All’s Fair in the Family: The Night Grandma’s Pension Disappeared and Accusations Tore Us Apart

Alls Fair in Family and Inheritance The entire flock of relatives descended upon the house, each one