Walton Merritt

The cottage sorts everything out Have you completely lost your senses? I told Mavis you were coming!

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Always Back to Her

Again, to her Are you off to her again? Lucy asked the question already knowing the answer.

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“I Don’t Want a Paralysed Child!” – the Daughter-in-Law Declared and Walked Out… But She Had No Idea What Would Happen Next… In a quiet English village, there lived an old man known to everyone as Dennis. After work in his garden, he’d sit on his bench, recalling days gone by for the local youngsters who gathered to listen. Dennis had long ago lost his wife, Claudia, whose heart was too weak but who risked everything to have a child for him. When she passed, Dennis raised their son alone, taking pride in his devotion that made the village women envy, not mock, Claudia. After his son, now grown, moved away and started a family, Dennis was left alone with memories and dreams of adopting a pedigree dog—perhaps a purebred British sheepdog. He cherished the rare visits and photographs from his son’s family, longing to meet his granddaughter. One day, the village noticed Dennis was far gloomier than usual. He’d received a telegram: his son had died in a tragic car accident, leaving his granddaughter gravely injured in hospital. His daughter-in-law never answered his calls or letters. Desperate, Dennis prepared to travel to the city, but on the eve of his trip, a car pulled up and his daughter-in-law barged into his home, dumping the paralyzed girl on his sofa. “She’s completely paralysed—I don’t want a child like this. I’ll find a new husband and have a healthy baby!” she said, slamming the door as she left. Now, Dennis and his granddaughter were left alone, the girl stricken and silent. The doctors had given up hope, but Dennis refused. He travelled weekly to a distant herbalist, hoping local remedies might help. More than a year passed with little change until, one night, local teens burst into the house and threatened the helpless girl. With quick thinking, Dennis called for his faithful dog—Mick, a massive sheepdog with a fierce loyalty, who drove the intruders out of the house and chased them through the village, pants torn and spirits crushed. That night, the miracle happened. The shock, the excitement, and perhaps the healing herbs worked their magic—the girl sat up in bed and called out for Mick. Little by little, she began to recover. She started speaking, then walking, filling the house with laughter and conversation. Dennis later discovered the dog was his son’s, cast out by the heartless daughter-in-law. But Dennis welcomed Mick into the family, feeling fortune had smiled on them again. So they lived on in their English village—Dennis, his granddaughter, and loyal Mick the sheepdog— never hearing from the girl’s mother again, but together, finally mending.

I dont need a paralysed child muttered the bride, and strode away, her words echoing like distant church bells.

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WITHOUT A HEART… Claudia Weston Returns Home: At 68, She Still Treats Herself to Her Favourite Salon, But a Surprise Visit from a Long-Lost Relative Brings an Emotional Confrontation Over Family, Motherhood, and Secrets Best Left Unspoken

SOULLESS… Claudia Williams came home that afternoon with her hair freshly trimmed and her nails gleaming.

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Became the Housemaid When Alvina announced her wedding plans, her son and daughter-in-law were shocked and didn’t know how to react. “Are you sure you want such a big change at your age?” asked Kate, glancing at her husband. “Mum, why such a drastic decision?” Ruslan fretted. “I get it—you’ve been on your own for years and devoted most of your life to raising me, but marrying now seems foolish.” “You’re young, that’s why you see it that way,” Alvina replied calmly. “I’m sixty-three years old and no one knows how much time is left. I have every right to spend what remains with someone I love.” “Maybe don’t rush into marriage,” Ruslan tried to reason. “You’ve only known this George for a couple of months and you’re ready to change everything.” “At our age, there’s no reason to delay,” Alvina argued. “And what’s there to know? He’s two years older, lives with his daughter and her family in a three-bedroom flat, gets a good pension, and owns a cottage.” “Where are you going to live?” Ruslan was puzzled. “We share a place, but there’s no way to fit another person here.” “Don’t worry, George isn’t after our space. I’ll move in with him,” Alvina explained. “It’s a bigger flat, I get along with his daughter, and everyone’s grown up, so there shouldn’t be conflicts.” Ruslan was anxious but Kate persuaded him to accept his mum’s decision. “Maybe we’re just being selfish?” she reasoned. “Sure, it’s convenient having your mum help us with Kira. But she has a right to her own life. If the chance is there, it’s not for us to stand in the way.” “If they just lived together, that’d be one thing—but why get married?” Ruslan didn’t understand. “I can’t believe I might see Mum in a white dress with wedding games.” “They’re old-fashioned; maybe it’s the way they feel safe and confident,” Kate tried to explain. So Alvina married George, whom she’d met by chance on the street, and soon moved in with him. At first, everything was fine; his family accepted her, George was kind, and Alvina believed she’d finally earned her chance to be happy and simply enjoy each day. But soon new realities emerged. “Could you make a casserole for dinner?” asked Inna. “I’d cook it myself, but work’s been crazy. You have more free time.” Alvina took the hint and soon was in charge of all the cooking, along with shopping, cleaning, laundry—even trips to the cottage. “Now that we’re married, the cottage belongs to both of us,” said George. “My daughter and son-in-law never have time to go and the granddaughter’s still small—we’ll handle it together.” Alvina didn’t mind; being part of a large, close family built on mutual help felt good. Her first husband had been lazy and sly, and left when Ruslan turned ten—twenty years passed without a word. But now everything felt right. The chores weren’t a burden, and the tiredness never led to irritation. “Mum, what kind of gardener are you?” Ruslan voiced his concern. “After those trips, I bet your blood pressure goes haywire. Is it worth it?” “Of course! I enjoy it too,” insisted the retiree. “George and I will grow plenty to share with everyone.” But Ruslan had doubts. In all the months, no one invited them over to meet the family—not even once. Ruslan and Kate had invited George, but he never found the time or energy, so they stopped suggesting it. They came to accept that the new relatives weren’t eager for a close relationship, and just hoped Mum was happy. At first, all was well, and Alvina even enjoyed the busy days. But the demands grew. George, arriving at the cottage, would immediately complain about his back or heart, and his caring wife would settle him down, then tackle the branches, rake leaves, and haul rubbish herself. “Borscht again?” George’s son-in-law, Anthony, grimaced. “We had it yesterday. I was hoping for something different.” “I didn’t have time for anything else, and couldn’t get to the shops,” Alvina apologised. “I spent all day washing curtains and rehanging them, got tired and dizzy, so I lay down for a bit.” “I get it, but I still don’t like borscht,” said the son-in-law, pushing away his bowl. “Tomorrow Alvina will make us a feast,” George interjected. Sure enough, next day, Alvina spent hours in the kitchen; dinner disappeared in half an hour. She cleaned up, then did it all again the next day. But now the daughter and son-in-law complained about everything, and George backed them up and blamed her. “I’m not a young girl anymore—I get tired, and I don’t see why I should do everything myself,” Alvina protested. “You’re my wife. It’s your job to keep order in this house,” George reminded her. “But being your wife should give me rights, not just chores,” she replied in tears. She’d calm down, get back to work, and try to keep the peace. But once, she’d had enough. Inna and her husband were off to visit friends and wanted to leave their daughter with Alvina. “Let the little one stay with Grandpa or go with you, because today I’m visiting my own granddaughter,” Alvina said. “Why should we arrange everything to suit you?” snapped Inna. “You shouldn’t—and I owe you nothing,” Alvina answered. “My granddaughter’s birthday is today, as I told you on Tuesday. Not only did everyone ignore that, but you also want to keep me at home.” “That’s just not on,” George fumed. “Inna had plans, and your granddaughter is too young—she’ll be fine if you wish her happy birthday tomorrow.” “She’ll be fine if we all go now to my children, or you look after your granddaughter until I get back,” Alvina said firmly. “I knew nothing good would come of this marriage,” Inna sniped. “She cooks badly, doesn’t keep things tidy, and only thinks of herself.” “After all I’ve done here over these months, you think that too?” Alvina asked her husband. “Tell me honestly, were you looking for a wife—or a housemaid to indulge everyone’s whims?” “You’re making me out to be the villain here,” George huffed. “Don’t start a row for nothing.” “I asked a simple question and deserve an answer,” she pressed. “If you’re going to talk like that, do as you wish, but in my house, that attitude won’t do,” George said grandly. “In that case, I quit,” said Alvina, packing her things. “Will you take your wayward grandma back?” she lugged her bag and a birthday present. “Got married and came back—don’t ask, just tell me: is there room for me?” “Of course!” cried her son and daughter-in-law. “Your room’s waiting. We’re so glad you’re home.” “Glad just like that?” she needed reassurance. “Why else would we be glad for family?” Kate said. Now Alvina knew for sure—she wasn’t anyone’s servant. Yes, she helped out at home and looked after her granddaughter, but her son and daughter-in-law never took advantage or made outrageous demands. Here, she was simply a mum, grandma, mother-in-law, and family member—not a housemaid. Alvina returned for good, filed for divorce herself, and tried not to think back on what she’d been through.

Became a Maid When Dorothy decided she was going to get married, her son Oliver and his wife Emily were

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“No One Chased Them Away,” We Told Both Sides—”They Simply Didn’t Want to Stay! Let Them Come Over! We’ll Be Glad to See Them”—Or How an English Shepherd Saved a Young Couple’s Peace from Invasive Relatives, Persistent Doorbells, and Endless Family Drama

No one asked them to leave, I would say, whenever Mum or Sandra called to find out what happened.

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“Hello… Is that you, Vasya? – No, this is Olena… – Olena? Who are you? – Excuse me, but who are you? I’m Vasyl’s girlfriend. Is there something you wanted?… Your husband isn’t here, he’s held up at work… My head started spinning, I noticed drops of red on the floor. A sharp pain gripped my stomach—I could barely move… I knew the baby was about to arrive. My husband Vasyl has spent the last five years working abroad—first driving lorries in Germany, then working in renovations in Poland. He left for money’s sake. We have two sons and always wanted to give them the best future. We realised we’d get nowhere if we stayed in England. You know, life there started looking up for my husband. Each month he’d send us food parcels—canned goods, pasta, oil, sweets—and deposit money in my account so I could put it aside and earn some interest. We managed to save enough to buy our elder son a flat. It seemed everything was perfect. But a few months ago, something felt off in my body. I thought it was the menopause, but the signs pointed elsewhere—I gained weight, was constantly sleepy and hungry, and my moods kept swinging. All the online advice screamed ‘pregnant.’ Pregnant at 45? I doubted it, until two bright lines appeared on the test stick. I didn’t want to tell my sons or daughters-in-law about the baby. What for? So they could laugh and call me mad for having a child at my age? I decided to hide the pregnancy—luckily, with winter approaching, big, warm coats disguised my growing belly. I didn’t want to have this baby. Some might say I’ve no faith, but I’m 45, no longer young. I already have sons and grandchildren—I want to devote myself to them, not nappies. Plus, we can’t afford another child—Vasyl would have to go abroad again, but I can’t cope without him. Doctors said it was too late and risky for an operation—I might not survive. So I convinced myself all would be well. Maybe, I thought, Vasyl would be delighted about the new baby. I decided to ring him on Skype and share my news, only turning on the mic, not the camera. “Hello, Vasyl…” “This isn’t Vasyl. It’s Olena.” “Olena? Who are you?” “Excuse me, who are you? I’m Vasyl’s girlfriend. Did you want something? Your husband isn’t here, he’s still at work.” I hung up and burst into tears. Turns out, a man can betray you anywhere, with anyone. I wanted to file for divorce and throw out all his things. But in my heart, I hoped my husband would return when he heard about the baby. He was due home in February for the boys’ birthdays and had arranged time off. I even dreamt we’d walk in the park, Vasyl holding our daughter’s hand and me holding the other. He arrived on Valentine’s Day. I prepared a romantic dinner, lit candles, played music—created a cosy atmosphere. “Vasyl, I’ve got a surprise for you. I’m pregnant. They say it’s a girl.” “You wretch!” my husband shouted. He turned red with rage, flipped the plates onto the floor, pounded on the table. “So while I’m working like a horse, you’re sleeping with other men? Now you want to saddle me with some bastard?” “Vasyl, let me explain…” “Get away, I don’t want to see you!” He shoved me and my stomach struck the table’s edge. I collapsed. Vasyl stormed out, grabbed his bag, and slammed the door. My head spun, I saw red droplets on the floor. My stomach cramped with pain, and I could barely call for an ambulance. The baby was coming. When the paramedics arrived, I was already holding our daughter. She lay quietly in my arms, not crying, fast asleep. “So, Mum, are you coming with us?” “No. Take the baby. I don’t want her.” “What do you mean?” “I said, take her! This child has destroyed my family! Maybe someone will love her, but it won’t be me. Please, just take her away—I don’t want to see her.” With no regrets, I handed the baby to the medic. They checked me over—no tears, a smooth delivery. Once the ambulance left, I cleaned the house, showered, and went to bed. None of my children know I gave my daughter away. Every day I go to church and pray she’ll grow up healthy and find a loving family, because I know I can’t cope. I don’t want the burdens of motherhood again. I only wish for Vasyl to return home, but he’s back in Germany and only speaks to our sons. Call me mad if you want, but I’m choosing my husband over my child. God will judge me.

11 February I picked up the phone, hands trembling, dialling Toms mobile. Hello Tom It isnt Tom.

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Wow, Dad, what a welcome! Why bother with a spa retreat when home is practically ‘all inclusive’? When James handed Eva the keys to his flat, she realised: victory was hers. Not even Leonardo DiCaprio waited for his Oscar like Eva waited for her James—complete with her very own nest. Desperate and thirty-five, Eva found herself throwing sympathetic glances at stray cats and scoping out craft shop windows more often. Then appeared James—single, having spent his youth on his career, healthy eating, the gym, and other nonsense like soul searching, and childless to boot. Eva had been wishing for this since she was twenty, and somewhere up above, they finally understood she wasn’t joking. “My last business trip of the year, and after that I’m all yours,” James said, handing over the treasured keys. “Just don’t be startled by my bachelor’s den—I only come home to sleep,” he added, hurrying off to another time zone for the weekend. Eva grabbed her toothbrush, her face cream, and set off to check out the bachelor pad. The problems started right at the door. James had warned the lock sometimes stuck, but Eva hadn’t thought it was this bad. She spent forty minutes storming the entrance: pushing, pulling, carefully inserting the key—trying every trick her schoolyard mates taught her back in the day. All the noise opened a neighbour’s door. “Why are you trying to break into someone else’s flat?” a concerned woman asked. “I’m not! I’ve got the keys!” snapped Eva, wiping sweat from her brow. “And you are? I’ve never seen you before.” “I’m his girlfriend!” Eva declared, hands on hips, but only a crack in the door met her challenge. “You?” the neighbour replied, surprised. “Yes, me. Is that a problem?” “No, it’s just… well, he’s never had anyone over (which made Eva love James even more). And then suddenly, you…” “What do you mean, ‘you’?” Eva frowned. “None of my business, sorry,” the neighbour said, closing her door. Determined, Eva jammed the key in with all her heart, nearly twisting the whole doorframe. The door finally opened. James’s entire world stood revealed, and Eva’s soul froze. Of course, single men are often a bit ascetic, but this was a true monk’s cell. “Poor thing, you’ve either forgotten or never known true comfort,” Eva whispered, surveying the humble abode she’d now be frequenting. At least the neighbour hadn’t lied—a woman’s touch had never graced these walls, floors, or kitchen. Eva was first. Unable to resist, Eva dashed to the nearest shop for a pretty shower curtain and bathmat, oven mitts, and kitchen towels. Naturally, this led to more purchases… To the curtain and mat joined handmade soap, air fresheners, practical containers for cosmetics. “Adding little touches to his place isn’t overstepping,” Eva assured herself, as a second trolley joined the first. The lock gave up resisting—no longer even functioning properly, like a hockey goalie without his mask. Realising what she’d done, Eva worked until midnight with kitchen knives to remove the old lock, and the next morning dashed out for a replacement. Of course, the knives needed replacing too. Then forks, spoons, a new tablecloth, chopping boards, coasters—soon, curtains were next. At Sunday lunchtime, James rang: the trip was extended by two days. “I’ll be thrilled if you make my flat a bit warmer and cozier,” he said, grinning as Eva confessed to a few liberties with his decor. By then, coziness was arriving by the truckload, all sorted and filed, years’ worth tucked away in Eva finally unleashed. By the time James returned, only a lone spider by the vent remained from the old place. Eva almost chased it off, but seeing its startled eight eyes, decided it was better left as a symbol of respecting another’s property. James’s place now looked like he’d been happily married for eight years, got disillusioned, and found happiness again regardless. Eva hadn’t just taken over the apartment, but made sure everyone in the building knew she was the new lady of the house. The lack of a ring was purely technical. Neighbors were skeptical at first, but then just shrugged: “Whatever you say, it’s your business.” *** On James’s homecoming, Eva prepared a true home-cooked meal, dressed herself in dazzling attire, placed air fresheners at every corner, dimmed the shiny new lights, and began to wait. James was running late. When Eva felt her festive outfit digging painfully into the spots she’d spent months toning at the gym, someone started turning the new lock. “It’s a brand new lock, just push—it’s not locked!” Eva called out, a little embarrassed but with sultry intent. She feared no judgement—she’d done a brilliant job decorating, surely she’d be forgiven anything. Just then, Eva got a text from James: “Where are you? I’m home. The flat looks exactly the same. My mates were sure you’d cover everything in cosmetics.” Truth be told, Eva saw the message much later. At that moment, five complete strangers entered the flat: two young men, two school-aged kids, and an elderly gentleman, who straightened at the sight of Eva and smoothed what hairs he had left. “Blimey, Dad, what a reception! Why that spa, when home’s got all the trimmings?” said one young man, earning a swift slap from his wife for staring. Eva stood in the hallway with two full glasses, rooted to the spot. She wanted to scream, but was paralyzed. Somewhere in the corner, the spider chuckled. “Sorry, who are you?” Eva squeaked. “The owner, love. And you—here for the clinic visit, a dressing change? I said I could manage, you know,” replied the old man, eyeing Eva’s nurse’s uniform. “Err… Adam, your place is really cozy now,” the young wife peered in. “Not like the tomb you had before. And you, dear—what’s your name? Isn’t Adam a bit old for you? Though he’s respectable, has his own place…” “E-E-Eva…” “Well, Adam, must say you pick your people well!” Judging by his twinkle, Adam thought it a fine turn of events. “But where’s James?” Eva whispered, nervously draining both glasses. To be continued “I’m James!” shouted the eight-year-old boy. “Easy, son, not yet,” his mother sent him and the other child out to the car. “S-s-sorry, I seem to have the wrong flat,” Eva managed, recalling the struggle with the lock. “Is this Lilac Avenue, eighteen, flat twenty-six?” “No, it’s Beech Street, eighteen,” Adam replied, rubbing his hands together, ready to unwrap his unexpected gift. “Right,” Eva sighed tragically, “my mistake. Make yourselves at home; I need to make a call.” She grabbed her phone and darted to the bathroom, barricading herself, wrapping up in a towel. There she finally read James’s SMS. “James, I’ll be right there, just popped to the shop,” Eva texted. “No worries, I’ll wait. Grab a bottle of red if you can,” James sent. Eva intended to bring some red, but more in spirit. Tucking the mat and shower curtain under her arm, she waited until the strangers headed for the kitchen, then dashed out. She hastily packed up, and ran from the flat. *** “I’ll explain later,” Eva promised James on arrival, brushing past him in a daze. She went straight to the bathroom to swap the curtain and mat, then crashed on the sofa, sleeping off the stress—and the red—until morning. When she woke, a stranger waited for an explanation. “Excuse me, what’s this address?” “Butterfield, eighteen.”

Blimey, Dad, talk about a welcome party. And why bother with a spa weekend when youve got all-inclusive

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“I Couldn’t Leave Him, Mum,” Whispered Nick – The Story of Fourteen-Year-Old Nick, Misunderstood by All, Who Finds Purpose and Friendship by Saving an Injured Stray Dog Called Rusty

I couldnt leave him, Mum, whispered Michael. Do you understand? I just couldnt. Michael was fourteen

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Circumstances Don’t Just Happen—People Make Them: You Created the Situation That Left a Living Creature Out in the Cold, and Now You Want to Change It When It Suits You Oleg’s Ordinary Winter Evening Turned Into an Unexpected Friendship—How a Stray Dog Called Lada Transformed His Life, and How He Had to Fight to Keep Her When Her Former Owner Came Back

Circumstances dont simply arisethey’re made by people. You created the circumstances in which you