Walton Merritt

GRANDMA, MY GUARDIAN ANGEL: After Losing Her Parents as a Baby, Lena Was Raised by Her Beloved Nan Who Became the Centre of Her World — Years Later, Her Grandmother’s Spirit Returns in a Dream to Save Lena from Disaster on the Brink of a New Family’s Beginning

GRANDMA, MY GUARDIAN ANGEL I never really knew my parents. My father left my mum when she was expecting

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“Lydia, have you lost your mind in your old age? Your grandkids are already in school — what sort of wedding is this?” That’s what my sister said when I told her I was getting married. But why wait? In a week, Tolly and I are tying the knot. I had to tell my sister, though I knew she wouldn’t come all the way from the other side of the country. No lavish do for us at sixty — just a quiet ceremony and a meal for two. Tolly insists on doing it properly: he’s the perfect English gentleman, opening doors and helping me with my coat. “I’m not a boy anymore; I want something serious,” he said. For me, he’ll always be young at heart. At work he’s all business, but when he sees me, he lights up and twirls me in the street, and I’m embarrassed, but secretly delighted. “What people?” he laughs. “I only see you.” When we’re together, it feels like we’re alone in the world. But I still have a sister to tell, and I worried she would judge me. In the end, I gathered my courage and called. “Lydia!” she gasped. “It’s only been a year since Victor died, and you’ve already found a replacement?” I knew I’d shock her, but I didn’t expect her to cling to my late husband’s memory. “Who makes these rules anyway? When am I allowed to be happy again without being judged?” “At least wait five years, for decency’s sake.” “So I’m supposed to tell Tolly to come back in five years while I wear black?” Silence. “Even then, someone will gossip. But your opinion matters. If you insist, I’ll call it off.” “I don’t want to be the villain here. Get married if you want — but know I don’t understand or support you. You’ve always had a mind of your own, but I didn’t expect you to go completely off the rails in your old age. Have some sense and at least wait a year.” “And if Tolly and I only have a year left? What then?” Sniffles. “Do what you like. I get it, everyone wants happiness. But you had a good life for years…” “Oh, Tanya! Did you really think I was happy all those years? So did I, until now. Turns out I was just a workhorse. I didn’t know life could be joyful. Victor was a good man; we raised two daughters and now have five grandkids. We worked ourselves into the ground for family, then for our children, then for the grandkids. I look back and see one long slog for everyone else. Other women were off on seaside trips or at the theatre, while I didn’t even have time for the shops! All that kept me going was knowing the kids were cared for. But living for yourself? That was a foreign idea. Now, I know better: I sleep in, stroll to shops, see films, go swimming, skiing — and the family gets on fine! Even raking leaves brings me joy now. I love the rain, because I watch it from a cosy café, not while chasing goats in the yard. Only Tolly showed me the beauty around me. When Victor died, I was lost, waking early out of habit, not knowing what to do next — until Tolly, a neighbour and a friend’s dad, took me to the park, bought me ice cream, and showed me how to watch the ducks. For years, I’d had ducks but never really watched them. And then, hand in hand, Tolly promised to show me how wonderful life could be. He was right. Every day was a new discovery, and soon, I couldn’t imagine life without him. My own daughters disapproved, accusing me of betraying their father, which hurt deeply. Tolly’s children, in contrast, were thrilled he wasn’t alone. I put off telling my sister. When I finally did, Tanya asked, ‘So, when’s the big day?’ ‘This Friday.’ ‘Well, I suppose — best wishes for love in your old age,’ she said stiffly. On Friday, Tolly and I dressed up, bought dinner for two, called a cab — and at the registry office, all our families were waiting: my children and grandchildren, Tolly’s kids, and my sister, holding a bouquet of white roses, smiling through tears. I couldn’t believe she’d come all that way. ‘Well, I had to see who I was giving my sister away to!’ Turns out, everyone had conspired to surprise us. We celebrated our first anniversary recently, and Tolly has become part of my family. Sometimes I still can’t believe how outrageously happy I am — I’m almost afraid I’ll jinx it.”

Linda, have you gone mad in your old age? Your grandchildren are already at schoolwhat sort of wedding

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JUST IN CASE Vera glanced at her weeping colleague, turned back to her computer with indifference, and began typing rapidly. “You’re heartless, Vera,” came the voice of Olga, the department boss. “Me? What gives you that idea?” “You act like if everything’s fine in your personal life, it must be the same for everyone else. Can’t you see she’s devastated? You could at least show a little sympathy, maybe give advice or share your experience, since things are going so well for you.” “Share my experience with her? I doubt Nadine would appreciate that. I tried once, five years ago, when she used to show up to work with black eyes—said it made the road home more visible, I suppose. You weren’t here yet. And no, it wasn’t her man beating her—she said she fell, had accidents. When he ran off, there were no more black eyes. He was the third to leave. I tried to support her, to share my experience, but somehow I ended up the bad guy. Later, our coworkers told me it was a lost cause; Nadine knows best in all things. I was nothing but a jealous homewrecker, ruining her happiness! Back then, she used love spells. Now she’s modern—goes to therapy, works through her traumas. It’s never occurred to her she’s living out the same story each time—the only thing changing is the names. So, forgive me if I don’t offer tissues or sympathy this time.” “Still, Vera, that’s not how you should be.” At lunch, everyone at the table talked only about Nadine’s ex, the scoundrel. Vera ate in silence, then poured herself some coffee and retreated to a corner to scroll through social media and clear her head. “Vera,” said Tania, plopping down beside her. Usually cheerful, Tania’s face was unusually somber. “Don’t you feel even a little sorry for Nadine?” “Tania, what do you want from me?” “Leave her be,” Irina tossed in as she passed. “Vera’s got her beloved Vasily, she lives like a queen—how could she understand what it’s like to be left on your own with a child, with no help, not even child support from that deadbeat?” “Should’ve thought before having kids,” chimed in Tatiana Ivanovna, known as ‘Auntie Tanya’ by the girls—a stalwart of the department. “Vera’s right. How many times has Nadine sobbed while pregnant, he drove her mad, and before that… well.” Surrounding the ever-crying Nadine, the women dished out all sorts of advice. Ultimately, fiercely ‘strong and independent’ Nadine decided to pull herself together. She summoned her mum from the countryside to help with her son and that ungrateful man, while she attempted a comeback—grew out a fringe, microbladed brows, glued on lashes, almost got a nose ring (talked out of it collectively). And off she went. “Don’t worry, Nadine,” encouraged her mates, “he’ll regret it someday—cry his eyes out.” “He won’t cry,” Vera said quietly, mostly to herself, but tipsy colleagues overheard her. “What do you mean, he won’t?” “He just won’t, and he won’t regret it either. And Nadine? She’ll find herself another one just like him soon enough.” “You have it easy, Vera, your Vasily isn’t like that, is he?” “Not at all. My Vasily is the best—doesn’t fight, doesn’t drink, doesn’t cheat—loves me madly.” “Yeah, right, they’re all the same dogs.” “Watch out, Vera, someone will snatch him from you.” “Nah, he’d never leave.” “I wouldn’t be so sure.” “Well, you should.” Tipsy debates broke out—until someone boldly suggested, “Let’s go to your place, Vera, see if your Vasily can resist our charms. Bet you won’t invite us—you’re afraid you’ll lose your perfect Vasily!” “Let’s go then.” “All right, girls—let’s descend on Vera’s and steal her Vasily! Auntie Tanya, are you coming?” “No, girls, my Mikhail is waiting for me at home… You lot have fun,” laughed Tatiana Ivanovna. The boisterous party arrived at Vera’s, laughing and bustling in her kitchen. “Let’s cook something quick—Vera’s Vasily is out but will be home soon.” “Don’t bother; he’s picky and doesn’t eat much,” Vera replied, “but yes, you’re right, he’ll be home soon.” The mood calmed, and most left early—only Nadine, Olga, and Tania stayed for tea in Vera’s cosy kitchen, shyly awaiting the mysterious Vasily’s arrival. As they were about to leave, someone came in. “Vasily, my dear Vasily, my sweet boy,” Vera cooed in the hallway. The women’s spirits dropped as a tall, handsome young man entered. Oh—that’s the secret. Vera’s ‘husband’ was much younger than her. “Girls, meet my Denis.” A silent, stunned “Who’s Denis?” echoed in their eyes. “My son, Denis. So, how’s Vasily doing, Den? Was he good?” “Yes, Mum, he’s resting now after the op, but he’ll be up and about tomorrow. Just don’t let him lick—” The women blushed. “We… should go?” “Wait, I haven’t introduced you to Vasily—shh, he’s recovering after surgery. Denis and Lena (my daughter-in-law) took him while I was at work—for the snip, you see, he kept marking the curtains… Come, here he is.” Here’s my Vasily, sleeping. Barely holding in laughter, the ladies ran from the room. “Vera, it’s a cat!” “Of course it is. What did you think?” “But your husband…?” “Oh, I haven’t got one. You all just assumed – I once said I had a wonderful man, Vasily, but didn’t get to finish before you’d invented the rest and bought into it.” “Married young to my first love, dropped out, had Denis. That lasted three miserable years. Parents helped a lot. Tried again closer to thirty, had hopes for family life, but… the fairytale ended quickly. Sent him packing to his mum. Long stretch alone with Denis. Third try was… well, let’s say he left a mark—a black eye from passionate love, he said. Who knew I’d find self-defence skills useful? Denis did martial arts since he was six, and I’d spar with him at home. Gave the ‘Othello’ his just deserts and got out. Denis married. I got lonely, got myself Vasya. We’re happy together. He’s the perfect company—goes to the cinema or on holiday with me, no strings, no demands. Sometimes I cook up a feast, invite him over. He leaves happy, neither of us owes the other anything.” Denis once asked why Vasily didn’t live with us. Why would he? We’re not young lovers. Look at my brother—he and his wife are inseparable after thirty years. That’s not my story. Why force it just to say I’m married? Vasya and I are good together. Right, love?” Vera cooed to her awakening cat. “Warned you, one more curtain incident, and that would be the end of your extra ‘accessory’.” The girls left, full of thoughts—especially Nadine. But Nadine couldn’t do things Vera’s way. A month later, she’d found a new beau and was receiving bouquets at work. Vera and Auntie Tanya smiled quietly. “So, how’s your Mikhail’s paw, Auntie Tanya?” “He’s fine, dear—stepped on something on a walk, but he’s healed now, thank goodness. My grandkids want to take him to a dog show—no need for that, we’re happy without the fuss… Nadine, I see your life’s back on track!” “Yes, Auntie Tanya—some get pets, some collect husbands!” “Well, everyone’s different. Maybe Nadine will have better luck this time.” “Oh, let’s hope so.” “What are you two whispering about?” “About you, Nadine—hoping luck’s on your side now.” “Ladies, I know how it looks, but I just can’t be alone, really.” “Don’t mind us—stop explaining, everyone has their own journey…” As Vera headed to the car park, Nadine called after her. “Vera, could you give me tips on having a cat? What’s better—a boy or a girl?” “Go on, they’re waiting for you… We’ll see—just in case.”

JUST IN CASE I glanced at my sobbing colleague with little more than a raised eyebrow, then turned back

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Granddaughter. From Neglect to Nurture: How Little Olya Found Love and a True Home with her Grandmother, When Her Own Parents Turned Away

Granddaughter. From the very beginning, Molly was little more than a houseplant for her mother, Sharon

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A Blessing from Above… The morning broke gloomy, heavy clouds dragged across the sky, faint thunder rumbled in the distance as the first storm of spring approached. Winter was finally over, yet true spring hesitated to arrive. Blustery winds swept last year’s leaves across the cold ground, grass timidly struggled through hard soil, and tree buds concealed their treasures. Nature ached for rain after a long, snowless winter, as parched earth longed for the coming storm to cleanse and restore life. Only then would real spring begin—abundant and blossoming, like a young woman full of love and tenderness. Birds would sing, gardens bloom, and new life would stir. “Alex, breakfast’s ready!” Victoria’s call cut through the weary silence after a long, tearful night and troubling news—they could not have children. But life goes on. Over coffee and eggs, Victoria recited a poem about longing for spring, for clarity, for renewal. Embraces in the kitchen brought comfort, until thunder crashed and rain poured down—the long-awaited spring downpour, washing away the darkness in their hearts. Days later, they stood nervously at the doors of a children’s home, trembling with anticipation to meet the child they hoped to adopt—a son. Inside, surrounded by orphans, their hearts broke for a blue-eyed, neglected girl called Elaine, who reminded them of Victoria. Despite objections over her clubbed feet and difficult prospects, their compassion overflowed. Consultations and tough decisions followed, but love triumphed—they would make this child their own, no matter the challenges. Endless hospital stays, surgeries, sleepless nights, and sacrifices—including selling their car and unfinished home—led to little Elaine’s transformation. By school age, she was a bright, lovely artist, adored by teachers and friends. Sash and Victoria, once punished by fate, found their lives blessed and thriving—business success, a new home in London, their daughter the pride of her prestigious school. No one suspected the trials they had overcome. No one doubted—for them and their beloved Elaine—she was truly a blessing from above.

Gift from Above That morning was dull and heavy, thick clouds dragging across the sky, with faint rumbles

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Mother-in-Law Times Two “Well, I never!” exclaimed George, instead of a greeting, as he opened the door to find a petite, sprightly old lady in jeans, her lips curled into a sly grin and her mischievous eyes twinkling under lowered lids. “I recognise her—Valerie Peterson, Irene’s gran. But turning up unannounced, not so much as a phone call…” “Hello, lad!” she greeted him, still smiling. “You going to invite me in, then?” George bustled, “Yes, absolutely, please come through.” Valerie rolled her wheeled suitcase into the flat. Later, as George offered her tea, she directed, “Make mine strong! So Irene’s at work, little Olivia’s at nursery, and what about you? Why aren’t you busy?” “Work sent me on leave,” he answered gloomily. “Two weeks—company policy.” There went his dreams of a peaceful fortnight. With hope, he asked his guest, “Will you be staying long?” “Spot on,” she replied, crushing his hopes, “I’ll be here a while.” George sighed again. He barely knew Valerie Peterson—he’d only glimpsed her at his wedding to Irene, when she’d come in from another city. But his own father-in-law spoke about his mother-in-law in such hushed and nervous tones, anyone could see she was respected—if not downright feared. “Wash the dishes,” she ordered, “and get yourself ready. We’ll have a tour of the town, and you’ll be my guide!” George didn’t even try to protest, not after the tone she’d used. It reminded him of Sergeant Prichard back in the army—a man you never argued with. “You’ll show me the riverside!” Valerie instructed. “What’s the best way to get there?” She looped her arm through his and confidently set off down the pavement, eyes wide with curiosity. “Taxi’s easiest,” George shrugged. Without warning, Valerie tucked her fingers into a ring and whistled piercingly. A passing taxi screeched to a stop. “Do you have to whistle like that? What will people think?” George said, helping her climb into the front seat. “They won’t think anything about me,” she grinned impishly. “They’ll probably think it’s you with no manners!” The taxi driver burst out laughing and clapped Valerie on the hand as if they were lifelong mates. For the rest of the riverside stroll, his sprightly relative regaled George with tales: “You seem a quiet, polite sort,” she said to him. “Your gran probably acts all refined too, but that’s not me. My late husband—Irina’s granddad, bless him—took forever to get used to me. He was a bookish, gentle sort, then I turned up—dragged him up mountains, got him to parachute with me. The one thing he wouldn’t touch was a hang-glider. Terrified! He’d watch the skies while I looped overhead.” To George’s surprise, Irene had never mentioned any of this about her whirlwind gran. It explained a lot. “Ever jumped from a plane yourself?” she asked, eyeing him. “In the army, fourteen times,” George replied with pride. “Good lad!” Valerie nodded approvingly and began to hum: “It’s a long drop down, When the parachute’s slow…” George recognised the song and joined in, their voices blending and driving away his nerves. Afterwards, Valerie suggested a break. “Let’s get something to eat—the aroma from that barbecue hut has me starving!” They sat near a swarthy, hawk-eyed chef skewering meat with the look of a man just as happy to duel with knives. Valerie winked and burst into song: “Gamarjoba, my friend, Wouldn’t it be grand to sing at a wedding?” The chef’s eyes lit up at the unexpected duet, and together they improvised a lively chorus before he bowed gallantly and set down a feast of skewers, flatbread, and fresh salad. He even brought two glasses of icy wine with a flourish. Drawn by the scent, a small grey kitten crept from the shrubbery. “Perfect—you’re just what we need!” Valerie beamed. “Come here, darling.” She turned to the chef: “Sir, could you bring some fresh meat for our little friend?” While the kitten devoured its treat, Valerie chided George: “You’ve got a little girl at home! And no cat? How are you planning to teach her kindness, love, compassion? This kitten stays!” After the outing, Valerie scrubbed the new family pet while sending George shopping for supplies. When he returned, arms laden with litter trays and beds, the flat was ringing with laughter as Irene and Olivia clung to their delighted gran. The kitten—with a regal air—watched from the sofa backrest. Valerie dispensed gifts. “Olivia, a summer set with shorts for you… Irene, nothing boosts a woman’s confidence in her husband’s eyes like lacy knickers…” The next week, Olivia skipped nursery, she and Valerie returning home each day exhausted but glowing from adventures. At home, George and the kitten (now named Lionel) awaited them, and in the evenings, Irene joined for family walks, Lionel in tow. “George, I need a word,” Valerie said seriously one night. “I’m leaving tomorrow—it’s time. Here: after I’m gone, give this document to Irene. It’s my will. She gets the flat and everything in it, you get our family library—some very rare treasures in there…” “Oh, Valerie, honestly!” George protested, but she silenced him. “I haven’t told Irene, only you—my heart’s not well, and it could end suddenly. Best to be ready.” “But you shouldn’t be alone!” “Oh, I’m never alone,” she smiled. “My daughter, your mother-in-law, is just a town away. You look after Irene and raise Olivia well. You’re a good man—reliable. And as for me—well, I’m your mother-in-law squared, aren’t I?” She laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Couldn’t you stay a little longer?” George pleaded. Valerie just smiled and shook her head. The whole family—Lionel included—walked her out for her taxi the next day. Valerie made her trademark whistle and a taxi screeched to a halt. “Come along, son, you’re seeing me to the station!” she commanded, kissing Irene and Olivia before hopping on the front seat. The cabbie stared in disbelief as George loaded the suitcase. “Never seen a proper English lady before?” George muttered. The spry, silver-haired matriarch shook with laughter and high-fived George with a resounding smack as the adventure came to a close.

Well, now, isnt this a turn-up! exclaimed George as he opened the door to find a petite, wiry old lady

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Different Lives Igor’s Wife Was Always a Mystery: Striking Natural Blonde with Black Eyes, Fiery in Bed, Dutiful Mother—Until She Found Herself in Photography, Started Traveling the World, Quit Her Legal Career, and Built a Life He Could Never Enter or Understand, Leaving Igor to Grapple with Love, Jealousy, and the Realization That Sometimes, Two People Are Simply Too Different, No Matter How Hard They Try to Stay Together

ALL SORTS OF PEOPLE Olivers wife was always a bit of a mystery. Stunning, yesreal English-rose blonde

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The Snap of a Dry Branch Beneath His Foot Went Unheard by Johnny; In a Split Second, His World Spun Like a Colourful Kaleidoscope, Burst into a Million Shining Stars, and Then Reformed in a Sharp, Burning Pain Just Above His Left Elbow — “Ow…” Johnny Clutched His Injured Arm, Howling in Pain. — “Johnny!” His friend Sally darted to his side, dropping to her knees. “Does it hurt?” — “No, it’s lovely!” he grimaced and whimpered sarcastically. Sally reached out and gingerly touched Johnny’s shoulder. — “Just leave it!” he suddenly snapped, eyes flashing. “It hurts! Don’t touch me!” The frustration hurt twice over. First, the likely broken arm meant weeks in a cast—and endless jokes from friends. Second, climbing the tree was his own idea: he’d wanted to impress Sally with his skill and daring. If the first reason for his resentment was bearable, the second infuriated him. Now, not only had he embarrassed himself in front of her, but she was trying to pity him! No way… Standing abruptly, holding his limp arm close, Johnny set off for the hospital. — “Don’t worry, Johnny, it’ll be okay!” Sally hurried beside him, trying anything to console her friend. “It’ll be alright, Johnny! It’ll all be fine!” — “Just leave me alone,” he stopped, glaring at her, then spat on the ground. “How will it be fine? I broke my arm, can’t you see? Go home, you’re driving me mad!” He strode away, leaving Sally standing with wide grey-green eyes, whispering the same words over and over: — “It’ll be okay, Johnny… It’ll be okay…” *** Mr. John Victor, if we don’t see that money transfer in the next twenty-four hours, we’ll be very disappointed. Oh, and by the way, there’s a weather warning for black ice on the roads tomorrow, so drive safe. You know, accidents happen… nobody’s immune to a bit of bad luck. All the best. The line went dead, leaving silence. John flung his phone aside, grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, and leaned back in his chair. — “Where am I supposed to get that? That payment wasn’t due until next month…” Sighing, he picked up the phone again, dialled, and held it to his ear. — “Mrs. Olga Vass, can we send our partners in the holding company payment for the equipment today?” — “But… Mr. Victor…” — “Can we or can’t we?” — “Yes, but it’ll mess up the rest of this month’s payments…” — “To hell with them! We’ll deal with it later. Wire the money to the holding company today.” — “Okay, but after this—” John hung up before she finished and slammed his fist into the chair’s armrest. — “Bloody leeches…” Something soft and unexpected brushed his shoulder and he jumped in his seat. — “Sasha, I told you not to bother me when I’m working, didn’t I?” His wife Alexandra leaned in, kissed his ear, and stroked his hair. — “Johnny, please don’t get upset, alright? Everything will work out.” — “I’m sick of hearing ‘everything will be okay!’ Haven’t you had enough? What if I’m killed tomorrow, will it all be fine then?” John shot to his feet and pushed Sasha away. — “What were you doing, making soup? Then go do it! Don’t get on my nerves—it’s bad enough already!” She sighed and walked to the door. At the threshold, she paused, then whispered three words, just as always. *** “You know, I’m lying here remembering our whole life…” The old man blinked, his cloudy eyes turning to his aged wife. Her once-beautiful face was lined with wrinkles, her shoulders stooped, her posture no longer proud. Never letting go of his hand, she gently adjusted the drip in his arm, then smiled silently. — “Every time I got into trouble, when I was at death’s door, when the worst happened—always, you’d come and say the same phrase. You can’t imagine how it used to drive me mad—your naïve little mantra. I wanted to strangle you for saying it all the time,” he tried to smile, then was racked by a fit of coughing. When he caught his breath, he continued, “I broke bones, got death threats, lost everything, fell so far hardly anyone climbs out, and all my life, you kept saying, ‘Everything will be fine.’ And not once did you lie to me. How did you know?” — “I didn’t know a thing, Johnny,” the old woman sighed. “You think I was saying it for you? That was for myself, to calm my own nerves. You’re my whole life, silly. When you were in trouble, when things went wrong, my soul turned inside out. I cried rivers, I spent so many nights awake… I just kept telling myself, ‘Let the sky fall, as long as he’s alive, everything will be okay.’” For a moment, the old man closed his eyes, then squeezed her hand. — “Is that it? And I was even angry at you for it. Forgive me, Sasha. I never knew. All my life and I never really thought about you… the fool I am.” The old woman brushed a tear from her wrinkled cheek and bent low over her husband’s face. — “Johnny, don’t you worry…” She paused, looked deep into his eyes, and slowly rested her head on his quiet chest, gently caressing his cooling hand. — “Everything WAS okay, Johnny, everything WAS okay…”

The snap of a dry twig beneath his foot went unnoticed by Jack. Suddenly, his world spun like a kaleidoscope

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My Husband’s Mistress: Milla’s Fateful Visit to “Coffee Paradise,” a Meeting with the Other Woman, and the Shocking Truth Behind Ten Years of Marriage

The Other Woman Emily sat in her car, staring at the glowing face of the sat nav. She checked the address

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“We’ll Just Stay Until Summer!”: How I Kicked Out My Pushy In-Laws, Changed the Locks, and Reclaimed My Own Flat The intercom didn’t just ring—it howled for attention. I glanced at the clock: 7 AM on a Saturday. My one morning to finally catch up on sleep after closing my quarterly report, not to play hostess. My husband Igor’s sister, Svetlana, looked ready to storm the Bastille on the intercom screen, with her three scruffy kids looming behind her. “Igor!” I barked, not picking up. “Your family. Your problem.” He stumbled from the bedroom, pulling on shorts backwards: if I was speaking in that tone, his family had officially reached the bottom of my patience. While he muttered into the handset, I stood in the hallway, arms folded across my chest. My flat—my rules. This three-bed in the centre of London was mine alone for years before marriage. The last thing I wanted was relatives treating it like a boarding house. The door flung open, and my fragrance-infused, immaculate hallway was invaded. Svetlana, loaded with bags, didn’t even greet me. She nudged me aside as if I were a piece of forgotten furniture. “Oh, thank God, we made it!” she sighed, dumping her bags on my Italian tiles. “Alina, what are you doing standing there? Put the kettle on, the kids are starving after the journey.” “Svetlana,” I said flatly, and Igor shrank into himself, recognising Defcon 1. “What is going on?” “He didn’t tell you?” She widened her eyes. “We’ve got a massive renovation! Pipes, floors ripped up—it’s unliveable. We’ll just stay here for a week. Loads of space, you’ll hardly notice us.” I glared at Igor. He inspected the ceiling—execution imminent. “Igor?” “Come on, Alina, she’s my sister. Can’t have the kids in a building site. One week, promise.” “One week. Seven days. You feed yourselves. Kids don’t run riot, don’t touch the walls, and stay away from my office. Silence after ten, understood?” Svetlana rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you’re like some prison warden. Fine. Where do we sleep? Hope it’s not the floor!” And so the chaos began. A week turned into two, then three. My lovingly designed flat became a pigsty—muddy shoes everywhere, fat stains on my countertops, crumbs, sticky patches. Svetlana took over like she owned the place. “Alina, why’s the fridge empty?” she whined one evening. “The kids need yogurt, and we’d love a steak. You earn well—you can look after family!” “You’ve got a card and shops, use them,” I replied, not glancing up from my laptop. “Tesco delivers 24/7.” “Miser,” she muttered, slamming the fridge. “Can’t take it with you when you’re dead, you know.” But things reached breaking point when I came home early and found my nephew bouncing on my Tempur mattress and his sister drawing on the wall—with my limited edition Tom Ford lipstick. “Out!” I roared, scattering kids everywhere. Svetlana bolted in, shrugged at the carnage: “They’re just kids—who cares about a mark on the wall? You can wash it off. And that lipstick? You’ll buy yourself another. Listen, the builders are useless—so we’re staying until summer. It’ll be fun, you two just rattle around here anyway!” Igor stood mute. Useless. I said nothing, just walked away to avoid a murder charge. Later, Svetlana left her phone on the table to go shower. A message flashed up: “Svetlana, next month’s rent received, tenants happy, want to extend until August? – Marina Lettings.” And a bank notification: “+£800 received.” Click. It all made sense. No renovations—she was renting her place and living free off me: free food, no bills, making a profit. Genius—on my dime. I photographed her screen, hands steady, rage replaced with icy clarity. “Igor, get in here,” I called. He read the photo. Red, then white. “Maybe it’s a mix-up?” “The real mix-up is you not kicking them out yet. You’ve got a choice. Either by tomorrow lunchtime she and the kids are gone, or you all are. Take your mother, too, for good measure.” “But where will they go?” “Don’t care. Under a bridge or The Ritz, if they can afford it.” Next morning, Svetlana left for ‘shopping’—probably with her rent money—leaving the kids with Igor, who took them out. “Take them to the park. All day.” “Why?” “Because I’m about to fumigate the place for parasites.” Once they’d left, I made two calls: one to a locksmith, one to the local police. Hospitality over. Time for a purge. By the time Svetlana returned, loaded with Selfridges bags, the locksmith had changed the locks and her stuff was bagged—five heavy rubbish sacks and two suitcases. She found me and a police officer at the door. “What’s this?” she screeched. “Alina, are you mad? These are my things!” “Exactly. Take them and go. Hotel’s closed.” She bolted for the door, blocked by the constable. “Do you live here? On the tenancy register?” “I’m… my brother’s sister. We’re guests!” She turned red and purple, dialled Igor frantically—straight to voicemail. “You have no right! We have nowhere to go! I have children!” “Don’t lie. Say hi to Marina. And ask if your tenants want to extend to August, or if you’ll need to evict them to live in your own place?” Air left her like a punctured balloon. “You… how?” “You might want to lock your phone, businesswoman. You lived off me to save for a new car? Clever. Now listen: take your bags and get out. I ever see you or your kids near my building again, I’ll inform HMRC about illegal letting. And the police: I’m missing a gold ring, easy to find in your bags if they feel like a search.” (The ring was in my safe, but she didn’t know.) “You evil cow,” she hissed. “God will judge.” “God’s busy. I’m finally free—and so is my flat.” She scrambled for her bags, swearing, fumbled for a taxi as the constable watched. When the lift doors closed behind her and her shattered plans, I thanked the officer. He grinned. “Call if you need me—or just get good locks.” Lock clicked behind me—delicious, solid. The cleaner was nearly finished. Igor returned alone, looked round like he expected a trap. “She’s gone,” he said. “I know.” “She was screaming about you—” “Don’t care what the rats say as they’re thrown off the ship.” I drank a perfect coffee in blissful silence. My kitchen, my fridge, my rules. No lipstick murals left, no shouting, no chaos. “Did you know about the letting?” I asked. “Never! I swear. If I had—” “If you had, you’d have kept quiet. Listen, Igor. This was the last time. One more stunt like this from your family and your bags will be right beside theirs. Understood?” He nodded, pale and fast. He knew I wasn’t joking. The coffee was hot, strong, and—finally—enjoyed in perfect, peaceful silence in my own flat. My crown didn’t pinch. It fit perfectly.

Well stay here till summer, all right!: How I Kicked Out My Husbands Cheeky Family and Changed the Locks