Walton Merritt, Author at Trending Link

What If She Isn’t Really My Daughter? Why I Needed a DNA Test to Be Sure Nikita sat thoughtfully watching his wife, Olivia, dote lovingly on their newborn daughter. Yet he couldn’t shake a nagging thought: what if the baby wasn’t really his? Last year, Nikita had been sent away on a month-long work trip, and just weeks after returning, Olivia shared what she thought was wonderful news—they were expecting a child. At first, Nikita was overjoyed. But things changed when Olivia’s sister visited and, in passing, revealed that she too had taken a DNA test on her own son—to put any doubts her partner had about paternity to rest. “Liv, let’s do a DNA test as well—just for peace of mind,” Nikita suggested. Olivia exploded in anger, launching objects around the house, the argument so loud it prompted the neighbours to bang on the wall. “What? What’s so outrageous?” Nikita insisted, feeling his suspicions deepen. Her dramatic reaction only confirmed his fears. “I just want to be sure, that’s all.” “Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?” Olivia cried, hurling another cushion. “I was away for a whole month,” Nikita pointed out. “How do I know what went on here?” He proposed they could get the clinic details from Olivia’s sister. Olivia, fuming, stormed out of the room, slamming the nursery door behind her. *** Nikita vented his worries to his mother, Anne. Over coffee, she quietly sided with him, even hinting at a suspicious incident: a time she had visited while Nikita was away, only for Olivia to take an unusually long time to answer the door—and, when she did, there were men’s shoes in the hallway. Though Anne was careful not to jump to conclusions, her story only stoked Nikita’s paranoia. She urged him to push for the test, if only for his own peace of mind as a father. *** In the end, Nikita got the test done secretly while out with the baby. When the results arrived, he declared: “You can relax—Aria is my daughter. Like I promised, I won’t bring this up ever again.” But Olivia was livid: “Did you really do the test without my permission?” “Yes, I did. I needed to know,” he admitted. “That’s a problem,” she replied sadly. The next day Nikita returned from work to find his wife and daughter gone, their things packed up. On the table lay a single note: “Your lack of trust has destroyed everything. I won’t live with a traitor—I want a divorce. I don’t want anything from you, not the house or even support. I just want you out of our lives.” Enraged, Nikita tried calling Olivia—only for a man to answer, telling him to stop calling. Nikita assumed the worst, convinced she’d already moved on. The divorce was finalised swiftly; little Aria stayed with her mother and never saw her biological father again.

What if shes not really my daughter? Maybe I should do a DNA test. James found himself watching his wife

A New Family Takes Precedence Over the Old One

– Mum, this is Emily, my fiancée Arthur announced as soon as he crossed the threshold, wrapping

Couldn’t Hold Out Any Longer “I’m filing for divorce,” Vera said calmly, handing her husband a mug of tea. “Actually, I’ve already filed.” She said it as casually as if she were announcing, “Chicken with veg for dinner tonight.” “If I may ask, since when—well, never mind, not in front of the kids,” Arthur said, softening his tone when he saw his sons’ anxious faces. “What did I do wrong? And let’s not forget, kids need a father.” “Do you think I can’t find them another one?” Vera rolled her eyes dramatically and smirked. “What did you do wrong? Pretty much everything! I thought life with you would be like a calm lake, not a raging river!” “Alright, boys, finished eating?” He didn’t want to continue this conversation with the kids around. “Off you go, play. And no eavesdropping!” Arthur called after his sons, well aware of their restless curiosity. “Right, now let’s carry on.” Vera pursed her lips with displeasure. Even now he manages to be bossy! Playing ‘Father of the Year’… “I’m tired of living like this. I don’t want to spend eight hours a day at work, grinning at colleagues and tolerating clients… I want to sleep in, shop at expensive boutiques, get pampered in beauty salons. And you can’t give me that. I’ve given you the best ten years of my life—enough!” “Can we drop the theatrics?” Arthur cut her off dryly. “Wasn’t it you, ten years ago, who moved heaven and earth to marry me? I wasn’t exactly dying to settle down.” “My mistake, it happens.” The divorce was quick and quiet. Arthur reluctantly agreed to leave the boys with their mother, providing he had them every weekend and for holidays. Vera accepted without complaint. Six months later, Arthur introduced his sons to his new wife. Cheery, vivacious Lucy won their hearts at once, and the boys started looking forward to weekends with their dad—a fact that thoroughly infuriated their mother. What irritated Vera even more: Arthur had inherited a substantial sum from some distant uncle, bought a large country house, and was living the good life. He still kept his job, paid modest child support, but took pleasure in clothing his boys himself and showering them with gadgets. And he managed those child support payments with an eagle eye! If only she’d waited just six more months! Had Vera known how things would turn out… Well, she’d have played things differently! Or perhaps it wasn’t too late? ***** “How about a nice cup of tea? Like old times,” Vera flirted, twirling a strand of her hair. Her short dress showed off her figure, her expertly applied makeup easily took off a few years. She’d made an effort and looked stunning. “I haven’t got time,” Arthur replied with a cold glance. “Are the boys ready?” “They can’t find something—give them ten minutes, I know them. Maybe we could celebrate New Year together? The boys spent all afternoon decorating the tree.” “We already agreed in court: holidays are mine. We’re heading to a lovely little village for skiing and snowboarding. Lucy’s organised it all.” “But it’s a family holiday…” “Exactly. We’ll spend it—family style. Make a fuss and I’ll take the boys permanently.” As the door closed behind her ex-husband and their joyful children, Vera smashed the expensive wedding china in fury. Lucy. Always Lucy! Acting as though she’s delighted to see the boys, counting the days until they’re gone—Vera knew what monsters their kids could be! But maybe this could work… Vera smiled slyly. She hadn’t lost yet. Soon Arthur’s money would be under her control again… ***** “What’s all this?” Arthur asked, eyebrows raised at the suitcases on the doorstep. “What do you mean? Kieran’s and Jamie’s things,” Vera nudged the bulging case. “You’ve got your life sorted, so it’s my turn. Let’s face it, there aren’t many men who’ll step up for another bloke’s kids, so from now on, the boys will live with you. I’ve been to the authorities, they’re in the loop—it’s just paperwork now. I’m off on holiday with an exciting new man.” She left a stunned Arthur in the driveway as she sauntered to her waiting taxi. How long would saintly Lucy last—a week? Maybe two? And Arthur would choose the boys over his new wife—get him back, and his money with him. A fortnight passed. Then a month. Then two. No call came asking her to collect the children. And judging by the boys’ chatter, Lucy hadn’t even raised her voice! Could it be? The two little devils had become angels? Impossible! “How are the boys? Not worn out by them yet?” Vera couldn’t resist phoning her ex. “They’re brilliant, no trouble, they listen, always helping,” Arthur’s voice warmed at the mention of the boys. “Real golden lads.” “Really?” Vera was astonished. “They always made trouble for me…” “That’s because you have to spend time with children,” Arthur scoffed. “Instead, you lived on your phone. By the way, just so you know—we’re moving. I’ll bring the boys down for the holidays if you want.” “But… They’re my children too!” “You signed over all rights—you remember? Some mother you are,” Arthur laughed, and hung up. Vera was left gnashing her teeth. She hadn’t won her husband (or rather, his money) back, her new fling was a bust, and even her children would soon be far off. Not that she’d really miss them—she quite liked having her time to herself. Is this fair? Ten years of patience, only to trip just months before the good life… So Unfair…

Couldnt Hold On Im filing for divorce, Mary said calmly as she handed her husband a cup of tea.

The Default Break-Up: When Meeting the Parents Means Choosing Sides — “Everything will be fine,” whispered Will quietly, trying to sound confident. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and pressed the doorbell. The evening promised to be a challenge—how could it be any other way? Meeting the parents was always a milestone… The door opened almost immediately. Mrs. Alice Preston stood on the threshold. She looked immaculate—her hair neatly styled, a sharply tailored dress, a hint of make-up. Her eyes lingered on Laura, paused at the basket of homemade cookies, and her lips pursed ever so slightly. The gesture was fleeting, almost invisible, but Laura caught it. “Come in,” said Mrs. Preston, her voice lacking warmth as she stepped aside to let them pass. Will entered, avoiding his mother’s gaze; Laura followed, stepping cautiously over the threshold. The flat greeted them with soft lighting and the scent of sandalwood. It was cozy, but almost too perfect. Not a stray item, not a book left askew, not a misplaced scarf. Everything was in its place, every detail screaming order and control. Mrs. Preston led them into the lounge—a spacious room with a large window and thick cream curtains. In the centre stood a massive sofa upholstered in expensive fabric, next to a low dark-wood coffee table. She gestured towards the sofa, inviting them to sit. “Tea? Coffee?” she inquired, still not meeting Laura’s eyes. Her voice was even, emotionless—a formality more than hospitality. “I’d love some tea, thank you,” Laura replied politely, her voice steady and friendly. She placed the cookie basket on the table, neatly untied the ribbon, and lifted the lid. The scent of fresh biscuits quickly filled the room. “I brought some cookies. Baked them myself. Please, help yourself…” Mrs. Preston gave the basket a moment’s glance, then nodded. “Very nice,” she said, making for the kitchen. “I’ll just get the tea.” Once she left, Will leant toward Laura and whispered, “I’m sorry. Mum’s always… reserved.” “Don’t worry,” Laura smiled, squeezing his hand. “I get it. As long as you’re with me, that’s what matters.” While Mrs. Preston prepared the tea, the room fell silent. Laura looked around—the decor was posh and tidy, but felt cold and uninviting. As if this were a showroom, not a home. Mrs. Preston returned with a tray: delicate porcelain cups with a floral pattern, a silver teapot and a plate with the cookies set in a perfect circle. She poured the tea unhurriedly and settled in an armchair opposite, arms crossed. “So, Laura,” she began, scrutinizing the young woman. Her eyes took in every detail—hair, eyes, even how Laura held her cup. “Will tells me you’re in university? Studying to become a nursery teacher?” “Yes, I’m in my third year,” Laura nodded, forcing her hands to stay steady as she put her cup down. “I really enjoy working with children. It’s important—to help them grow, to see them learn.” “Working with children,” Mrs. Preston repeated with faint irony, raising a brow. “Admirable, of course. But you’re aware nursery teachers aren’t exactly well paid? These days, it pays to think ahead—about your future, stability.” Will bristled. “Mum, why always about money? Laura loves her work, that’s what matters. Money will come with time. Supporting each other is more important.” Mrs. Preston turned her head to her son, but made no reply. She sipped her tea slowly, weighing her words. “Passion for your job is wonderful,” she finally said, addressing Laura again. “But the reality is, love alone doesn’t pay bills. Have you thought about where you’ll work after graduation? Any plans for the next few years?” Laura took a deep breath, composing herself. She realised this was more test than conversation. “Yes, of course,” she answered smoothly. “I’m hoping to start in a local nursery, get experience, maybe later take some specialist courses—to work with children with special needs. It won’t be easy, but I feel it’s my calling.” Mrs. Preston nodded silently, gaze unreadable. “I’m not planning to rely on Will,” Laura added. “I want to work and be independent, and believe that we can build a strong relationship—supporting each other not just with money, but by doing things that matter.” “Interesting view,” Mrs. Preston replied, tilting her head. “But have you considered a more lucrative career? With your attributes you could go far in sales, marketing. The pay’s much better.” Will moved to protest, but Laura stopped him with a gesture. She felt it was important to stand her ground. “And what do you do for work?” she asked Mrs. Preston directly. There was a beat of surprise—Mrs. Preston momentarily thrown, then composed herself. “I… I don’t work,” she said after a pause. “My husband provides for us. I manage the home, help him where I can—that’s work too, albeit unpaid.” “I understand,” Laura nodded, growing more resolute. “But if you chose not to work, why insist I must pursue a higher-paid job—giving up what I love—for the sake of money? I’m not asking Will to provide for me.” A heavy silence descended. Mrs. Preston stared at Laura, reassessing her. “My husband wanted me to give up work. He could support us, you see. But Will…” Will shifted uneasily, the tension settling in. “Laura, you know… Mum just wants the best for us, to avoid problems down the line.” Laura looked at him in disbelief. Moments ago he’d defended her; now, he seemed to waver. Her chest tightened—he was doubting her right when she needed him most. “So you agree with her?” she asked evenly. “You think I shouldn’t do what I enjoy? That I should force myself—just for a better salary?” “Well… not exactly…” Will hesitated, fingers twisting nervously. “But Mum’s right about our future. We can’t just live for today. We need to be responsible.” Mrs. Preston turned to Laura, hands still folded, voice softer but insistent. “Laura, do you seriously expect my son to give up his dreams? He’s always wanted to be a journalist, to travel, write—his job is his passion. Will he have to abandon all that, just to provide for a family?” Laura began to reply, but Will jumped in. “Mum, I—” “No, Will. Answer honestly,” Mrs. Preston cut him off. “Are you ready to give up your dreams for this girl? To forget travel, interesting assignments, the work you love?” Will was silent. He looked at Laura, who refused to speak, letting him decide. Inside, he was torn—one part wanted to reassure Laura that together they’d make it, the other feared his mother was right. “I… I don’t want to give up my dream. But I also don’t want to lose Laura. We can find a way for both our careers. We’ll support each other.” Mrs. Preston sighed but gave no further argument. She relaxed back, signalling she’d said her piece. “How funny,” Laura said, not hiding her disappointment. “So Will can keep his dreams, but I must give up mine? I must find a high-paid job while Will just enjoys life? Doesn’t that seem unfair?” Will looked down, hands shaking so the teacup rattled. His thoughts chased each other—they couldn’t please everyone. “Well… maybe you’ll both have to compromise…” he muttered. “Compromise?” Mrs. Preston scoffed. “You know that’s impossible. You either commit to your career or…” She fell silent, her meaning plain. Will bit his tongue; he wanted to protest that people do combine careers and family now, but Mum’s look, as always, made him feel small. “Well, I think that’s enough for today,” Mrs. Preston concluded, standing gracefully. “It’s getting dark and our area gets rough in the evenings. Best you head home, Laura. Will—we need to talk. Now!” It was less suggestion, more decree. Will made a feeble protest. “Mum, maybe I can walk Laura to the bus stop—” “Absolutely not!” she snapped without looking back. “I’ll worry. Stay here.” Will slumped, resigned. Once his mother had decided, there was no point arguing. “Sorry, Laura,” he whispered, eyes lowered. “Maybe Mum’s right. I can’t walk you out. Get a taxi, okay?” Laura just nodded. She put her cup down, collected her things and stood. “Okay,” she said blandly, though inside she seethed with hurt and disappointment. “I’ll go then.” She straightened her cardigan, as if to armour herself. No more forced smiles—she just wanted to leave this house, this perfection that made her feel so out of place. “Thank you for the tea,” she said with measured politeness, and let the icy note show. No more trying to please—only formal courtesy. “Goodbye,” Mrs. Preston replied, still not looking at her. Laura walked to the door, moving calmly despite the tension. At the threshold, she glanced back—Will was slumped, head down, unmoving. He didn’t raise his eyes or try to stop her, or say a word. His silence drew the final line in her mind. Outside, she breathed the cool evening air. Some tension faded. Anger, hurt and disappointment battled inside, but one thing was clear: Will would always choose his mother. Even if it meant choosing against her. She walked, first slowly, then faster, as if she could outrun her thoughts. But they dogged her—”He didn’t defend me. He didn’t stand up for my choices.” She clenched her fists, determined not to cry. At home, she locked herself in, took off her shoes and sat in the hallway. The quiet soothed her. She let herself exhale and allow the storm to subside. She realised—this was not the end of the world. It was just the end of a story, one that perhaps never should have begun. With tomorrow would come new opportunities. And she knew she’d manage. ******************* The next day, Laura ignored Will’s calls. She needed time to decide what she wanted. Even if they stayed together, she’d always have to compete with his mum. And Will… would always hesitate. Every choice, every decision would have to pass through Mrs. Preston’s filter. The future looked bleak. Days went by, Laura drifting through her studies and routines on autopilot. She tried not to think of Will, but the memory of their last conversation, his silence, haunted her. After a few days, coming home from class, Laura spotted a familiar face near her building. “Laura!” She turned. Will stood by the gate, hunched, hands in pockets, avoiding her eyes. “We need to talk,” he began, staring at the pavement. “Mum told me… really, she thinks you’re not right for me.” Laura raised her eyebrows. Inside she braced herself, but kept her voice calm. “And what do you think?” she asked. Will shuffled his feet. “She’s my mum,” he finally said. “I don’t want to upset her.” It sounded less like a conviction than an excuse. “So you agree with her?” Laura asked, though she already knew. “I’m not saying I agree,” Will said quickly, “but she’s family. I can’t just turn my back.” He stopped, hoping Laura would rescue the conversation. She was silent, thinking: What if this never changed? What if every decision always meant choosing between me and his mum? “Do you want to be with me?” she finally asked, meeting his gaze. Will hesitated, mouth opening, but no words came. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, unable to give her the answer she needed. Laura nodded, as if confirming what she’d long suspected. She didn’t demand anything more; she simply turned and headed inside, leaving Will on the pavement. That evening, Laura walked through quiet, autumn-scented streets. For the first time in days, she laughed. The sound was light, almost care-free. Looking up at the scattered lights, she realised: whatever lies ahead, she can face it. She no longer needed to fit anyone’s expectations. She was free. And that was the most important thing of all.

The Default Break All will be well, Harry whispered under his breath, hoping his voice sounded braver

Forgiveness Will Never Come – Have you ever thought about finding your mother? The question caught Vicky so off guard that she actually flinched. She was in the middle of spreading out her work papers on the kitchen table—a stack so precarious it threatened to topple at any moment, and she held it in place with her palm. Now, she froze, slowly lowered her hands, and glanced up at Alex. Genuine bewilderment shone in her eyes: where had he even gotten such an idea? Why would she try to find the woman who, with a careless gesture, nearly ruined her life? – Of course not, – Vicky replied, keeping her voice as even as possible. – What a silly idea. Why on earth would I do that? Alex looked slightly embarrassed. He ran a hand through his hair, as if gathering his thoughts, and smiled—a little forced, already regretting the question. – It’s just… – he began, choosing his words carefully. – I’ve heard that people from care homes often dream of finding their birth parents. So I thought… If you ever wanted to, I’d be happy to help. Really. Vicky shook her head. Her chest tightened as if someone invisible was squeezing her ribs. She took a deep breath, trying to keep a sudden wave of irritation at bay, and looked at Alex again. – Thanks for the offer, but there’s no need, – She said firmly, raising her voice a little. – I will never look for her! To me, that woman has long ceased to exist. I’ll never forgive her! It sounded harsh, but what else could she say? Otherwise, she’d have to dredge up a whole heap of unpleasant memories and pour out her soul to her fiancé. And while she loved him—truly loved him—there were things she wasn’t willing to share. Not even with those closest to her. So she turned back to her documents, pretending she was busy. Alex frowned, but didn’t press further. He was visibly uncomfortable hearing such a sharp answer from Vicky. Deep down, he just couldn’t fathom her position! For him, a mother was almost sacred—it didn’t matter if she’d been involved in his upbringing or not. The simple fact that a woman had carried a child for nine months, given it life, already elevated her in his eyes to something near celestial. He sincerely believed there was an unbreakable bond between mother and child, nothing—not time nor circumstance—could destroy. But Vicky not only didn’t share this belief, she rejected it, flat-out and without the slightest doubt. To her, it was simple: how could you want to meet the person who’d treated you with such cruelty? Her so-called “Mum” hadn’t simply put her in care—it was much worse. Far more painful. Once, in her teens, Vicky had finally dared ask the question that had gnawed at her for years. She’d approached the head of the children’s home, Mrs. Taylor—a strict but fair woman, whom the children both feared and respected. – Why am I here? – Vicky asked in a quiet but steady voice. – Did my mother die? Or did she lose her rights? Something serious must have happened, surely? Mrs. Taylor stilled. She was sorting documents on her desk, but after Vicky’s question, slowly set them aside. There was a pause, as if weighing each word; then she sighed heavily and motioned for Vicky to sit. Vicky sat, clutching the chair tightly, anxiety churning inside her. She already sensed she was about to hear something that would forever change her understanding of her past. – She lost her parental rights and was prosecuted, – Mrs. Taylor began, slowly, picking her words. She looked at Vicky calmly, though her eyes betrayed concern: she had to tell a twelve-year-old a bitter truth that most would rather hide. She could have softened the facts, but she’d decided—Vicky needed to know. However cruel, it was better than ignorance. She paused to collect her thoughts, then continued: – You came to us at four and a half. It was reported by a passerby—they saw a little girl, wandering alone down the street. You were tiny, confused… Later we learned a woman had left you on a bench at the train station and boarded a commuter train. It was autumn, wet and cold, and all you had was a thin coat and wellies. After hours outside, you landed in hospital. You had a terrible cold; it was a long recovery. Vicky sat as if turned to stone. Her fists clenched, her face impassive—but her eyes grew darker, clouds gathering in their depths. She said nothing, but Mrs. Taylor saw her absorbing every word, even as her world was turning upside down. – Did they find her? Did she say why? – Vicky finally asked, barely above a whisper, fists still tight. – They found her and she was prosecuted. Her excuse… – Mrs. Taylor paused, then gave a bitter smile. – She said she had no money, then a job came up. But—detail—the employer wouldn’t allow children on-site; you were a hindrance. She decided it was easier to leave you and start a new life. Vicky’s hands loosened, dropped onto her knees. She stared ahead, seeing nothing, her mind drifting to that autumn morning she didn’t even remember. – I see… – she managed, in a flat, nearly lifeless voice. Then, meeting Mrs. Taylor’s eyes, she added: – Thank you for your honesty. In that moment, Vicky knew with absolute certainty: she would never look for her mother. Never. The fleeting, occasional curiosity—maybe, someday, to look her in the eye and ask ‘why?’—evaporated entirely. Leaving a child outside… She couldn’t make sense of it. Could a mother truly have no conscience or compassion? Anything could have happened to a four-year-old alone on the street. “It’s not human, it’s monstrous,” Vicky thought, pain and anger building inside. She tried—she truly did—to find an excuse. Maybe her mother was desperate? Had no choice? Maybe she’d thought it was best for Vicky? But every theory collapsed in the face of cold reality. Why not officially hand her to the council? Why not take her to care properly? Why abandon a tiny child, alone, in the cold? No explanation fit. Nothing eased the pain or turned the betrayal into necessity. It looked the same every time: a calculated, cold-blooded decision to get rid of a child as if she were an unwanted thing. With every turn of these thoughts, her resolve hardened. No. She wouldn’t look for her. Wouldn’t ask questions. Wouldn’t try to understand. Nothing now could change what was done. Forgiving that was beyond her strength. And with that decision came a strange, almost physical sense of freedom… ******************** – I’ve got a surprise for you! – Alex positively glowed, like he’d just won the lottery. He stood in the hall, rocking from foot to foot, clearly itching to reveal whatever he’d planned. – You’re going to love it! Come on! We can’t keep someone waiting! Vicky froze in the doorway, cold cup of tea in hand. She shot Alex a puzzled glance, then cautiously set her mug aside. What was this surprise? And why, despite his excitement, did unease coil in her chest? Like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. – Where are we going? – she asked, steadying her voice. – You’ll see soon! – Alex grinned wider, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the door. – Trust me, it’s worth it. Vicky followed, her anxiety only sharpening. As they headed for the park, she tried to guess. Tickets to a show? Meeting an old friend? None of her ideas seemed likely. In the park, she immediately noticed a woman sitting alone on a bench. She was neatly dressed: a dark coat, scarf, small handbag on her knees. Her face seemed oddly familiar, but Vicky couldn’t quite place it. Maybe Alex’s relative? Or colleague? Alex led them straight to the bench. As they drew close, the woman looked up and gave a slight, nervous smile. At that moment, Vicky felt something shift inside—she knew at last why the face was familiar. It was her own, older by thirty or forty years. – Vicky, – Alex’s voice rang out ceremoniously, as if announcing something on a stage, – I’m thrilled to say: after a long search, I found your mum. Are you happy? Vicky froze, feeling the world halt. How could he? She’d made it so clear she never wanted to see this woman! – Darling! You’ve grown so beautiful! – The woman surged to her feet, arms outstretched. Her voice trembled with emotion, her eyes gleamed, as if she were truly glad to meet her daughter. But Vicky jerked back, putting space between them. Her face turned to ice, her gaze steely. – It’s me, your mum! – The woman persisted, ignoring or not seeing Vicky’s reaction. – I’ve been searching so long! I’ve been thinking about you, worrying all this time… – It wasn’t easy! – Alex added, his voice full of pride. He stood just behind, beaming. – I called in friends, phoned agencies, tracked down leads… But I’m so happy it worked! His words were cut off by a sharp, unmistakeable slap. Vicky’s hand had flown without thinking. Her eyes brimmed with tears—grief and fury mingled. Staring at her fiancé, bewildered, she silently demanded: How could he? Hadn’t she told him a thousand times she wanted nothing to do with her mother? – What is wrong with you? – Alex gasped, clutching his cheek. He hadn’t seen that coming. – I did this for you! I just wanted to help, to do something good… Vicky was silent, unable to speak—rage and hurt churning inside her. The man she trusted had pulled the rug from under her feet, breaking her single inviolable rule: don’t touch her past. The secrets she’d hidden so carefully now dragged out into daylight, all because of his “good intentions.” The woman glanced helplessly between them, as if seeking an escape. She wanted to say something but fell silent when she saw Vicky’s face. – I never asked you to find her, – Vicky murmured at last. Her voice was level, though she shook inside. – I made it very clear—I don’t want this! And you went ahead anyway! Alex dropped his hand from his cheek, but had nothing to say. He searched her face for any softening, any hint she might forgive—but he saw only cold resolve. – I said I don’t want to hear about that woman! – Vicky’s voice trembled with fury. Her look wasn’t mere hurt—it was a deep, festering wound now ripped open. – That ‘mother’ left me on a train station bench when I was four! Alone! Where anything could have happened! Do you really think I could ever forgive that? Alex went pale, but stood his ground. He straightened, determined: – She’s your mother! Doesn’t matter what she did! Mother is mother! At this, the woman stepped forward, voice tentative, as if trying to excuse herself but not believing it: – You were ill a lot, I couldn’t afford medicine – she started, choosing every word. – This was a chance to earn! I would have come back for you, I swear! Once things worked out… Vicky whipped around, her gaze icy. – Come back for me from where? The graveyard? – Her words were cutting but she could no longer hold back. – You could have told Social Services you were struggling! You could have left me at a hospital if I was that ill! But not on the street! Not in the cold, not alone and defenceless! Alex, desperate to stem the swelling conflict, tried to take her hand. His fingers wrapped around her wrist but she wrenched away. – The past is past, you have to move forward, – he insisted, almost pleading with her—and himself. – Didn’t you always say you wished you had family at your wedding? I made your wish come true… Vicky fixed him with a look so full of disappointment that Alex actually took a step back. – I invited Mrs. Taylor, the care home head, and Mrs. Grant, my key worker, – her voice was quiet but steady. – They are my real family! They were there for me when it mattered. They supported me, cared for me. They are the only family I need! She jerked her arm free, and without a backward glance, ran from the park. Her feet carried her blindly through alleys and flowerbeds, away from the conversation, the words, the man she’d trusted most. Inside was a storm so powerful she could barely breathe. She’d never expected betrayal like this from the man she loved. She’d held nothing back from him. She’d told him the raw truth of her childhood, not softening the edges. He’d nodded, listened, said he understood. And yet, he’d still found that woman. Still brought her. “Doesn’t matter what she did, she’s your mother”—those words ricocheted in her head, stoking fresh bitterness. “Never!” Vicky swore to herself. She would never let that woman into her life. Never pretend. Without slowing, she left the park and wandered the streets, barely noticing where she was. Her thoughts tangled; her mother’s face kept flashing before her eyes—older now, anxious, trying to smile. Vicky clenched her fists, pushing it away. She only wanted to get far from all of them. She didn’t even return for her belongings at Alex’s flat. Luckily, there weren’t many things left: a couple of bags, a few personal items—the real move was planned after the wedding. Most of her stuff was at her council flat anyway. That made it easier. Above all, she couldn’t go near that place right now with her emotions so raw and every memory of Alex hurting anew. Her phone vibrated over and over—Alex calling again and again. She saw his name but ignored it. She feared that if she answered, she’d snap, say things she’d regret. Best to wait for the anger to cool a little first. But Alex didn’t give up. Besides calls, he left several voicemails. His voice was sharp, almost angry: – Vicky, you’re acting like a child! I tried to make things right, and you… You’re just ungrateful! This is a tantrum, pure and simple! The next message was even more forceful: – I’ve made up my mind. Linda will be at the wedding. End of story. I won’t be swayed by your moods. We’ll keep family ties, and our kids will call her Grandma. That’s normal, that’s right! Vicky listened to the messages at a bus stop, feeling herself shrink inside. She switched off her phone and looked up at the sky. Her world had just cracked, and she couldn’t see how it would ever mend. She stared at her screen, where Alex’s last messages sat unread. His words still echoed in her mind—absolute, unyielding, leaving no room for compromise. “Linda will be at the wedding. Full stop.” The lines hammered into her memory with every beat of her heart. She opened her messages, typed a brief, clear reply. No ambiguity: “There will be no wedding. I don’t want to see either of you—ever.” She pressed send. Watched the delivery tick, then slowly set her phone down. Almost instantly, the screen lit up—Alex was calling again. Vicky didn’t move. Then more messages came, but she didn’t even read them. Instead, she opened her contacts, found her almost-husband’s number, and blocked it without hesitation. Peace descended—no more buzzing, no alerts, no attempts to break through. Silence wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, bringing a rare moment of calm. Maybe, later, she’d regret her decision. Maybe… But now, in this moment, it was the only right thing. She felt the storm inside her subside, leaving only tired, quiet clarity. This was how it needed to be. She had no future with someone who could do something like this…

There Will Be No Forgiveness “Have you ever thought about trying to find your mother?”

Twelve Years Later: A Mother’s Tearful Plea to Reunite with Her Estranged Son Hits Daytime TV, but Is It True Grief or Something More?

Twelve Years Later Please, the woman nearly wept, someone, help me find my son! I need nothing else in

Born Son “Len, you won’t believe it! Matvey and I have decided to fly to Turkey again next year!” My stepdad was glowing with happiness. “He says he has to stay at that hotel with the sea view again. What can I do—he’s my own son, after all!” He made sure to clarify—his “own” son. “I’m happy for you,” she replied, remembering how good life had been before Matvey entered the picture, “Your own son… You always told me we were a family. That it didn’t matter whether I was your biological daughter or not.” He did say that. That she was his daughter, whether or not she was blood. “There you go again, Len! Of course you’re my daughter, no question! You know I love you just like my own. But Matvey…” He didn’t even realize he was proving her point. “Matvey’s a son. And I’m just an acquaintance, I guess.” “Len, come on! You are like family to me!” “Like family… Did you ever take me to the seaside? In all these fifteen years you’ve called yourself my father?” He hadn’t. Arthur used to say there was no difference between her and Matvey, but Lena could hear in everything he did for his son that the difference was enormous. “It just never worked out, Len. You know money was tighter back then. You’re not a child, you know how much two weeks in a five-star resort costs… It’s expensive.” “I understand,” Lena nodded. “It’s costly to bring me. Yet Matvey, whom you met just six months ago, you want to buy a flat for with a mortgage, so he’ll have a place for his wife. Am I right in thinking those expenses are less concerning when it’s your son?” “I’m not buying any flat. Who told you that?” “People who care.” “Tell your sources not to spread rumours.” A flicker of hope lit in Lena. “Really, you’re not?” “Of course not. Oh, guess what! Can you guess where we’re going Saturday?—Actually, let me just say it—go-karting! He used to take part in races at uni, and I thought I’d join in for the fun.” “Go-karting,” Lena repeated. “Sounds exciting.” “It sure does!” “Can I join you?” The question slipped out before she could think. Arthur, clearly unwilling, started to stammer: “Uh, Len… Honestly, you’d be bored. It’s a lads’ thing, really. Matvey and I, you know, we’ve got to talk about our father-son stuff.” It hurt. “So you’d find it fun, but not me?” “It’s not like that…” Arthur fidgeted nervously. “We’ve never even met until recently. We’re trying to catch up. We just want to go, the two of us. Can you understand?” You can understand. “Understand” had become the cruelest word in their new vocabulary. She was supposed to understand that being biological mattered more than being adopted. She was supposed to accept her place—out on the sidelines. Matvey really was good. He’d grown up without a father, and in spite of everything, excelled at everything, everywhere. Smart, handsome, kind. “Dad, I helped out at the animal rescue. Fixed the kennels.” “Dad, did you know I graduated with honours?” “Dad, look! I repaired your phone.” He wasn’t just a son—he was the perfect son. That evening, after Arthur had visited a little while and gone back to his, Lena sifted through old photographs… Arthur’s wedding to her mum (who had died five years back, leaving Lena and Arthur alone). Here they are at the summer cottage… Here’s Lena graduating from school… Nothing would ever be the same. *** “Len, are you awake? I’ve got a question. It’s urgent.” Her stepdad turned up at eight in the morning. “What’s so urgent?” Lena swept her fringe back and put the coffee on. “It’s about the flat for Matvey.” “So it’s true?” she breathed out. “I’m sorry, but yes… it’s true.” “And you lied to me.” “I didn’t want you to worry. But I need your advice! I think I need to act quickly. He’ll get married sooner or later. While he’s young, it’d be good to get him settled. I remember how it was for me…” “Then go get a mortgage,” Lena said through gritted teeth, completely uninterested in the flat for Matvey. Matvey truly had it good! “Yes, yes, I know. But you’re aware of my credit history… And Matvey, he deserves help from the father he never had.” “So what are you getting at?” “Will you help—if I ask?” “Depends what you mean.” “Let me explain. I’ve got £20,000 for a deposit, but the bank won’t give me a loan. They’ll give one to you, though. You’ve got a clean record. We’ll put it in your name, I’ll pay it off. Honestly.” Any illusion that “there’s no difference between you two” crumbled. There was a difference. No one’s putting Matvey’s name on the line. “So Matvey gets the flat, and I get the debt? That about right?” Arthur shook his head with such wounded sincerity, as if Lena had suggested it herself. “What do you mean! I’ll make all the payments. I’m not asking you to, just to have your name on it. Think about it…” “You know, Arthur, I’m not thinking about whether to get a mortgage or not—I’m thinking about how you don’t see me as your daughter anymore. You’ve got a son now. You’ve known him six months, me fifteen years, and all that matters is that he’s family.” “That’s not true!” Arthur flared. “I love you both!” “No. Not the same.” “Len, that’s not fair! He’s my own…” Curtain. She was no longer his daughter. Adopted, convenient, sufficient—until the real thing came along. “I see,” Lena tried to be civil. “I can’t, Arthur. I’ll need to buy a flat myself. I definitely can’t manage two mortgages.” Arthur seemed to only now remember she was without her own home. “Oh, right, you’ll need one at some point… But you could help for a couple years. I’ve got the deposit. Not much more to add.” “No. I’m not putting anything in my name.” She never expected Arthur to understand. “Fine,” he said. “If you can’t help as a daughter… then I’ll sort it myself.” Whether he ever truly saw her as his own or not didn’t matter now. Now she only saw Arthur in photographs. One evening, scrolling through her news feed, she saw it. A photo at the airport. Arthur and Matvey, both in pale jackets. Arthur with his hand on Matvey’s shoulder. Caption: “Off with Dad to Dubai. Family—the most important thing.” Family. Lena put her phone down. She suddenly remembered a moment from childhood, long before her mum married Arthur. She was five. They lived simply, and her doll—her grandmother’s gift—broke. She cried. Her biological father had said, “Len, why do you care about rubbish? Don’t bother me.” She was never allowed to bother him. His main interest was a bottle. Lena never really had a father—but she’d thought Arthur had made up for it… Before long, Arthur tried again to convince her. “Len, I think we need to work on your trust issues…” “What trust issues, Arthur? I said no.” “You just don’t get it. Matvey… he never knew me. No father growing up. I need to make it up to him. He’s a grown man—he needs a place. And you don’t even have to do anything, just put your name down. I promise, you won’t spend a penny.” “Who’s going to fill in my gaps, then…” And that, unexpectedly, made him angry. “Lena, enough! I don’t want an argument. I love you, truly! But you’ve got to see… Matvey is my real family. You’ll understand if you ever have kids. Sure, I love you differently, but it doesn’t mean I don’t need you.” “I’m needed. As a resource.” “Len, calm down! Don’t exaggerate.” “You switched to him in just six months, Arthur,” Lena said. “I’m not asking you to choose. The choice was obvious. You spoke the truth: Matvey’s your flesh and blood. And I… I never was.” Six months passed. Arthur didn’t call. Not once. One day, scrolling her feed, she saw a new photo. Arthur and Matvey in the mountains. Arthur in stylish ski gear. Caption: “Teaching Dad to snowboard! Sure, he’s a bit old for this, but with a son—anything’s possible!” Lena stared at the picture for a long moment. She reached for her desk to finish her report, when a message arrived from an unknown number. “Hi, Lena. It’s Matvey. Dad gave me your number—he can’t bring himself to call. He found a way to sort the flat without your help, but he worries about you. And he wants you to come visit over the bank holiday. He can’t explain it, but he really wants you there.” Lena typed and erased her reply several times, then settled on— “Hi Matvey. Tell Arthur I’m so glad everything’s working out for him. I’m thinking of him too. But I can’t visit. I’ve got my own plans for the bank holiday. I’m off to the seaside.” She didn’t add that she’d bought her own ticket—nor that it wasn’t Turkey but Brighton. And she was going with a friend, not her father. Lena hit send. And realised she could be happy without him.

My Own Flesh and Blood Liz, you wont believe it! Matt and I have decided to go back to Spain next year!

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

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

“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.