Walton Merritt

Bittersweet Bliss – Why Don’t You Like That Young Lady? She’s Sweet, Tidy, Smart—and She Loves You, My Son: Elena’s Stern Advice, Denis’s Reluctance, Failed Loves, And the Unexpected Destiny on a Train That Led to an Unassuming Woman, Three Kids, and Their ‘Sunshine Child’—A Story of Difficult, Yet Cherished, Happiness

BITTERSWEET HAPPINESS Whats wrong with this young lady then? Shes a good girl. Well-mannered, tidy, studies hard.

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My Beloved Wife —How have you managed to live with the same wife for so many years? What’s the secret?—my brother would ask me every time he visited. —Love and enormous patience. That’s the whole secret,—I’d always reply. —That recipe isn’t for me. I love all women. Each one is a mystery. As for living with a book I’ve already read—no, thank you,—my brother would smirk. My younger brother Peter married at eighteen; his bride was ten years his senior. Kind-hearted Anna fell hopelessly in love with Peter for life. For Peter, she was little more than a fleeting amusement. Anna became a proper part of her husband’s household—one bustling with relatives—and gave birth to a son, Michael. The newlyweds received a tiny room to themselves. Anna treasured her delicate collection of porcelain figurines—ten rare pieces, all displayed proudly on an old dresser. Our large family knew how precious they were to her. She’d often stand, gazing at them in quiet admiration. Back then, I was only getting ready to start a family of my own, searching for that one special woman to be my wife for life. To my delight, I found her and we’ve now been married for over fifty years. Peter and Anna were married for ten years, but it brought Anna little to boast of. She tried her best to be a devoted wife and loving mother, compliant, gentle, agreeable. Still, something was missing for Peter. One evening, my brother came home the worse for drink. Something about Anna annoyed him—her look, her manner—so he started picking at her, joking crudely, grabbing her arms. Sensing an argument brewing, Anna silently left the room, taking little Michael outside. Suddenly, a terrible crash rang out. Anna knew instantly—it was her figurines. She rushed inside and couldn’t believe her eyes. Her beloved collection lay smashed on the floor, all but one piece miraculously spared. Anna picked up the lone survivor, kissed it, but said nothing to her barbarian of a husband. Only her tear-filled eyes spoke. After that, a deep rift formed between Peter and Anna. I think Anna, in her mind, grew distant from the family. She still did all her wifely duties, kept house well, but it was with effort, without enthusiasm. Peter turned more often to drink. Vulgar women and shady friends began turning up. Anna guessed what was going on, but closed into herself and grew distant, untethered. Peter all but abandoned his family, and Anna—watching his antics—realised you can’t chase the wind across a field. In the end, Anna and Peter quietly divorced—without shouting or blame. Anna took Michael and moved back to her hometown. The sole surviving figurine stood on the dresser, left behind in memory. Peter didn’t mourn. Instead, he dived headlong into a wild, reckless life. He fell in love easily and parted ways even more so. He married and divorced three more times, drank heavily, and partied without restraint. Yet, curiously, Peter was a respected economist at a university, often called to consult in other cities. Even a textbook bore his name. His future looked bright, but alcohol and chaos ruined everything. One day, our family thought Peter had finally settled down and was marrying a “stunning” woman. We attended a modest wedding. The bride had a seventeen-year-old son, and it quickly became clear that Peter and the lad would never get along. They were simply too different. Peter ignored the obvious, but after five years, a furious row between the two ended in divorce. Afterward, a string of fleeting “current” sweethearts—Lila, Natalie, Sarah—flitted through Peter’s life. He adored each one, certain he’d found his forever. But life had other plans: at fifty-three, Peter fell gravely ill. By then, no women were left by his side. Only my sisters and I cared for him as his illness confined him to bed. —Simon, there’s a suitcase under my bed. Fetch it,—Peter whispered, too weak to move. I found a dusty suitcase and opened it. Inside—carefully wrapped in soft cloths—was a collection of porcelain figurines. —I gathered these for Anna. I’ve never forgotten that silent reproach when she saw her smashed collection. She endured so much because of me. Remember my business trips? I bought figurines wherever I could. There’s a false bottom—take the money from there. It’s all my savings. Give it to Anna. Ask her to forgive me. We’ll never see each other again. Promise me you’ll give everything to Anna,—Peter turned to the wall. —Alright, Peter. I promise,—I choked out, knowing I’d soon lose my brother for good. —Anna’s address is under my pillow,—he added, never turning to face me again. Anna still lived in her childhood town. Michael was seriously ill, the doctors perplexed. “Go to Europe,” they said, “perhaps you’ll get help there.” I discovered this from Anna’s letter hidden under Peter’s pillow. Anna and Peter had quietly kept in touch, but only through her letters; Peter never replied. After Peter’s funeral, I set out to fulfill his last request. I met Anna at a quiet railway station. She was delighted to see me: —Oh, Simon, you look so much like Peter! Two peas in a pod. I handed Anna the suitcase, as Peter wished: —Anna, forgive your wayward husband. This is for you. There’s money, and something else from Peter. You’ll see at home. Remember, you were always Peter’s beloved wife. With that, Anna and I parted for good. Some time later, I received a single letter from her: “Simon, thank you to both you and Peter. I am grateful God brought Peter into my life. We sold the figurines for a good price—a true collector bought them. I could never look at them without remembering they once passed through Peter’s hands. It’s a pity he left so soon. With the money, Michael and I moved to Canada, as my sister had long invited us. I had nothing left holding me back. I’d hoped Peter would ask me to stay—he didn’t, but he still saw me as his beloved wife. So he didn’t forget me after all. By the way, Michael is doing much better here, and he is happy. Farewell.” No return address.

A WIFE OF ONE’S OWN How do you manage to stay with the same wife for so many years? Whats the trick?

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Fed Up With My Mother-in-Law and Wife: That Night, Stepan Came to My Village Surgery—The Strongest, Most Silent Man I Know—And Sat Down in Tears, Broken by the Women at Home. As I Listened, I Realised Sometimes the Only Cure Is Simple Human Kindness.

Fed Up With The Mother-in-Law and the Wife That evening, the quietest, most stoic man in our village

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The Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul: “The Foster Home Has Long Been Calling Your Name! Get Out of Our Family!” I Screamed — My Cousin Dima, Once the Golden Child with Cornflower Eyes, Turned Out to Be the Source of All Our Family’s Heartbreak

THE BITTERNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SOUL Off you go! Youd be better off in a boarding school!

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A Postage Stamp… When Ilya Left Katya: A Tale of Lost Love, Heartbreak, and Healing—How One Family Faced Betrayal, Age-Defying Passion, and Life’s Unpredictable Second Chances

THE POSTAGE STAMP Ians left Katie, my mother sighed heavily, her eyes tired with worry. What do you mean?

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A Husband Worth More Than Bitter Regrets: My Tumultuous Journey from Heartache and Hardship to Reconciliation and Rediscovered Love

A HUSBAND WORTH MORE THAN BITTER RESENTMENTS Graham, that was the last straw! Thats it, were getting divorced!

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A Christmas Eve Miracle – How Paul Forgot His Daughter’s Gift, Found a Kitten Under the Tree, and Discovered the True Magic of New Year’s Night

A Miracle on New Years Eve “Henry, do explain to me how you managed to forget!”

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He Hated His Wife. Truly Hated Her… They Had Spent 15 Years Together—Fifteen Years of Waking to Her Every Morning, But Only This Past Year Did Her Habits Begin to Deeply Irritate Him, Especially One: Stretching Out Her Arms in Bed and Saying, “Good Morning, Sunshine! Today Will Be a Wonderful Day.” What Seemed an Ordinary Phrase and Her Thin Hands and Sleepy Face Only Filled Him With Aversion. She Would Rise, Walk to the Window and Gaze Out Before Undressing for Her Morning Routine. In the Early Days of Their Marriage, He Had Adored Her Body and the Freedom With Which She Moved, Yet Now the Sight of Her Awoke Only Anger. More Than Once, He’d Wanted to Urge Her to Hurry, But Managed Only to Snap: “Hurry Up, I’m Tired of This!” She Took Her Time, Living Each Moment With Awareness, Knowing About His Longstanding Affair—Even Knowing the Other Woman. Time Had Numbed the Sting of Betrayal, Leaving Only Sadness and a Lingering Sense of Her Own Unimportance. She Forgave His Aggression, His Carelessness, His Attempts to Relive His Youth—Yet She Refused to Let Him Disrupt Her Steady, Mindful Life. This Had Been Her Way Since Discovering She Was Ill. Month by Month the Illness Consumed Her, and Soon It Would Win. Her First Impulse Was to Tell Everyone the Truth—to Ease the Weight of It, To Share Out the Pain—But She Lived Through the Harshest Nights Alone, And the Next Day Decided to Remain Silent. With Each Passing Day, She Gained the Quiet Wisdom of Someone Who Faces the End. She Found Solace in a Little Village Library After a Ninety-Minute Journey, Slipping Each Day Between Shelves Labelled ‘Mysteries of Life and Death’ and Searching for Answers in the Books. He, Meanwhile, Went to His Mistress’s Home—A Place That Was Vibrant, Warm, Familiar. For Three Years He’d Loved Her Wildly, Jealously, and Felt He Couldn’t Breathe Without Her. That Day, He Made Up His Mind to Divorce: Why Torment All Three Any Longer? He Didn’t Love His Wife—He Hated Her. Here, He Thought, He’d Find Happiness Anew. He Tried to Recall What He’d Once Felt for His Wife and Failed—He Felt Sure She’d Always Irritated Him. As a Symbol of His Decision, He Tore Her Photo From His Wallet Into Tiny Pieces. They Agreed to Meet at a Restaurant—the One Where Six Months Ago They Had Celebrated Their Fifteenth Wedding Anniversary. She Arrived First. He Drove Home Before the Meeting, Hunting for the Divorce Papers, Growing More Agitated as He Searched. In One Drawer He Found a Dark Blue Folder, Sealed. He’d Never Seen It Before. Squatting on the Floor, He Ripped Off the Tape—Expecting Anything, Even Blackmail Material, But Found Instead a Stack of Medical Tests, Declarations, Hospital Letters—All in Her Name. A Jolt of Dread Ran Through Him: She Was Ill. He Googled Her Diagnosis, Staring at the Chilling Words: ‘Six to Eighteen Months.’ It Had Already Been Six Months Since the Tests. All He Could Hear Was ‘Six to Eighteen Months’ Rolling Over in His Mind. She Waited for Him Forty Minutes. Her Calls Went Unanswered. She Paid the Bill and Left. It Was a Glorious Autumn Day; The Sun Gentle, Warming Her Soul. “How Beautiful Life Is, How Wonderful It Feels to Be Alive Beneath This Sun, Beside the Woods.” For the First Time Since Discovery, She Allowed Herself to Feel Self-Pity. She’d Had the Strength to Hide the Awful Truth from Her Husband, Parents, Friends—Trying to Spare Them, Even at the Cost of Her Own Life. That Life Would Soon Only Be a Memory. As She Walked, She Watched the Joy in Other People’s Eyes—Ahead of Them Was Winter, but After Winter Always Came Spring. She Would Never Know That Feeling Again. Grief Swelled Within Her and Broke Free in Endless Tears… He Prowled Through the House. For the First Time in His Life, He Felt Sharply—Almost Physically—The Fleetingness of Life. He Remembered His Wife as a Young Woman, When They First Fell in Love and Held Such Hope. Had These Fifteen Years Ever Existed? Suddenly It Seemed They Had All Their Happiness Still Ahead of Them—Youth, Life, Joy… In Her Final Days He Showered Her With Tenderness, Stayed by Her Side Day and Night, and Knew an Extraordinary Happiness. Terrified That She Would Leave, He Felt He’d Trade His Own Life Just to Prolong Hers. If Anyone Had Reminded Him That a Month Ago He’d Hated Her and Planned to Leave, He Would Have Sworn, “That Wasn’t Me.” He Saw How Hard It Was For Her to Say Goodbye; How at Night She Cried, Believing Him Asleep. He Understood There Was No Crueller Fate Than Knowing One’s Own End. He Watched Her Battle for Life, Clinging to Any Hope, No Matter How Mad. She Died Two Months Later. He Covered the Road to the Cemetery With Flowers. He Wept Like a Child as Her Coffin Was Lowered—He Felt He’d Aged a Thousand Years… At Home, Beneath Her Pillow, He Found a Note—Her Wish for New Year’s: “To Be Happy With Him To the Last of My Days.” They Say New Year’s Wishes Always Come True. It Must Be So, For That Same Year He’d Written: “To Be Free.” Each Had Received Exactly What, Secretly, They Had Wished For…

He cannot stand his wife. He resents herdeeply. Theyve spent fifteen years together. Fifteen years of

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She Got My Mother-in-Law Back on Her Feet—But I’m Furious Because I Didn’t Weed the Vegetable Patch —“What are you doing here?”—My mother-in-law shouted, standing in the middle of the vegetable beds. “There’s never been such disgrace here before! I never had to hide behind a child—I had seven and not a single weed in my garden!” Her shout brought the neighbours, who flocked to the fence like crows and eagerly discussed everything they heard. Seeing her audience, my mother-in-law enjoyed the moment. She said her piece, while I stood there speechless. At last, worn out from ranting, she took a breath and declared loudly enough for all the neighbours to hear: I didn’t say a word. I calmly walked past my mother-in-law, hugging my child closer. Once inside, I went to the wardrobe and neatly sorted everything my mother-in-law was supposed to take that evening and the following morning into a special box. Without even folding anything, I tossed my son’s and my own things into a bag. I left without saying another word to her. Three days later, my mother-in-law called: —“What did you do with all those things the professor put together for her? I asked a neighbour to buy a few, but she said one jar is terribly expensive. And those with foreign writing—we absolutely don’t use or trade those. So what am I supposed to do? You’ve left, taken offence for some reason, and I’m here on my last legs!” I didn’t answer. I turned off my phone and took out the SIM card. That was it—I couldn’t do it any longer, not physically, not emotionally. A year ago, just before my son was born, my husband lost control of his car on an icy road. I vaguely remember taking him on his final journey, how the ambulance took him, and how the next morning, I became a mother… I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything. Nothing seemed important or worthwhile without my beloved husband. I fed and rocked my son mechanically, because that’s what I was told to do. The phone broke through my numbness. “Your mother-in-law is in bad shape. She won’t survive long without her son, apparently.” My decision was instant. After leaving hospital, I immediately sold my flat in London. I invested part of the money into building a new home, so my son would have something of his own when he grew up. And I went to save my mother-in-law. This past year, I didn’t live—I merely existed. I barely slept, caring for both my mother-in-law and my little boy. The baby was restless, and my mother-in-law needed my constant attention. Thank goodness I had money. I brought in the best specialists from across the UK to see her. I bought everything they prescribed, and at last, my mother-in-law returned to normal life. At first, I wheeled her from room to room, then around the garden. In the end, she regained so much strength she began walking on her own—then— I don’t want to know or hear from her again. She can find out everything she needs for her recovery herself. At least I was wise enough not to spend all the money on her. My son and I moved into our new flat. I never thought it would come to this. I wanted to live my life with my husband’s mother, as I’m an orphan. But now, I just want peace. At least I’ve learned: not everyone deserves good treatment. Some people care much more about a spotless vegetable patch.

I managed to get my mother-in-law back on her feet. But Im still fuming because I never weeded the vegetable beds.

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For Two Years, Maria Was Nothing More Than the Nurse for Her Mother-in-Law Maria managed to marry a highly respected English gentleman—her friends were green with envy. Her husband owned his own business, a luxurious house in the countryside, and an impressive collection of cars—all by the age of thirty-two. Maria, meanwhile, had just finished university and spent a year teaching. That summer, they wed. After the wedding, her husband insisted she quit her low-paid job, stay home, and prepare for motherhood. Maria didn’t protest. Their first year of marriage seemed a fairy tale. Maria and her husband travelled, acquiring cherished memories and expensive souvenirs. Yet Maria had nowhere to wear her new clothes. Her friends worked long hours and spent weekends with family. Her husband was constantly out at social events, never inviting her along. Maria grew bored. Unable to conceive, her feelings for her husband faded. After completing her daily chores, she wandered the empty house, wondering about her future. Another year passed. Her husband was seldom home, returning late, exhausted and irritable. He admitted business was not as successful as he’d hoped. He first told Maria to spend less, then demanded a full account of every purchase. He calculated every penny, insisting they could live well on half the money. Worried, Maria wanted to return to work but couldn’t find employment in her field. She decided to enroll in a course, but just then, her husband’s mother fell ill. Maria was expected to care for her—and did so for two years, as her husband moved his mother into their home. Maria did everything, while her husband started coming home even less. When the mother-in-law passed away, Maria’s husband became more distant, barely speaking to her and staying at work late into the night. Maria only figured out what happened after visiting her late mother-in-law’s old flat—the one she hadn’t been to in ages. Behind closed doors, she heard a baby crying. Surprised, she rang the bell. A young woman answered. Maria discovered her husband had started another family before his mother’s illness and then settled the new family into his mother’s flat. For Maria it was a shock. She knew she could never save her marriage. She left for another city to stay with her aunt, taking almost nothing—just a small handbag. She didn’t want a single item to remind her of her marriage or how badly life had turned out…

For two years, Emily was nothing but a caregiver to his mother. Emily managed to marry a very distinguished man.