Walton Merritt

Ever Since I Was a Little Girl, My Parents Told Me I Was Useless and No One Needed Me – How I Overcame My Mother’s Negativity, Moved to London, and Built a Happy Life with My Own Family Against All Odds

Ever since I was a young girl, my parents always told me that nobody needed me and that I was good for nothing.

La vida

029

Natalie, You’ve Been Gone Five Years—You Never Cared How I Was or What Became of Me Natalie and Ben had lived together for over five years. Ben never earned a fortune; his wages were modest, as he worked a regular labourer’s job. Natalie always dreamed of a life of luxury—preferably wealth—so she was thrilled whenever she met men more prosperous than her husband. One day, Natalie’s luck seemed to change: she caught the eye of a wealthy businessman who promised her the world. Swayed by his offers, she left her poor husband behind, eager to begin a glamorous new chapter. Ben was shattered by his wife’s betrayal. He pleaded with her desperately, promising to change—he’d earn more money, quit his job, work day and night, do anything to make her happy. But Natalie was unmoved. She dreamed of sailing on white yachts and shopping in London’s most exclusive boutiques—things her poor husband could never provide. No promises or declarations of eternal love could change her mind. Five years later, as Natalie turned thirty-two, her rich suitor lost interest—there were always younger, more enticing women at his side. He told her she was too demanding and argumentative and finally abandoned her. Penniless in the capital, unaccustomed to working or fending for herself, Natalie decided to go back to her ex-husband. She believed that, since he’d sworn eternal love, he must still be waiting for her. Approaching their old flat, Natalie saw the door open to a stranger—a woman holding a small girl. “Sweetheart, we’ve talked about not answering the door alone,” the woman said to the child. “Who are you looking for?” she asked Natalie. Stunned, Natalie hesitated. “I’m looking for Ben. Is he in?” she managed. “Ben, there’s a woman here asking for you! What’s your name?” the stranger called out, then looked at the guest. “Natalie!” Ben exclaimed, surprised, before turning to his wife. “Love, go inside, I need to talk.” “Who was that?” Natalie asked, watching the woman and child go. “That’s my wife, Olivia, and the little one is my daughter, Maisie,” Ben replied. “You remarried? And have a daughter? You promised me everlasting love, said you’d never love anyone like you loved me!” “It’s been years! I was heartbroken at first, but I realised life didn’t end when you left. Then I met Olivia and fell for her completely. She made me happy. She gave me a daughter.” “And what about me?” “Natalie, you’ve been gone for five years and never cared how I was or what became of me. You left for a wealthier man and a lavish life. Maybe we were never rich, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. Now you’re back—did you expect me to just wait here for you all this time? “I was foolish! I love you!” “Natalie, stop this charade. Please go—I don’t want you here. Your rich boyfriend ditched you so now you’re running back to me? It makes me sick. Please just go.” Natalie broke down in tears, hurt that no one wanted her, while Ben felt satisfied that he had finally moved on and found his own happiness at last.

Natalie, its been five years since you left. You never cared about how I was living, or what became of me.

La vida

018

Natalie, You’ve Been Gone Five Years—You Never Cared How I Was or What Became of Me Natalie and Ben had lived together for over five years. Ben never earned a fortune; his wages were modest, as he worked a regular labourer’s job. Natalie always dreamed of a life of luxury—preferably wealth—so she was thrilled whenever she met men more prosperous than her husband. One day, Natalie’s luck seemed to change: she caught the eye of a wealthy businessman who promised her the world. Swayed by his offers, she left her poor husband behind, eager to begin a glamorous new chapter. Ben was shattered by his wife’s betrayal. He pleaded with her desperately, promising to change—he’d earn more money, quit his job, work day and night, do anything to make her happy. But Natalie was unmoved. She dreamed of sailing on white yachts and shopping in London’s most exclusive boutiques—things her poor husband could never provide. No promises or declarations of eternal love could change her mind. Five years later, as Natalie turned thirty-two, her rich suitor lost interest—there were always younger, more enticing women at his side. He told her she was too demanding and argumentative and finally abandoned her. Penniless in the capital, unaccustomed to working or fending for herself, Natalie decided to go back to her ex-husband. She believed that, since he’d sworn eternal love, he must still be waiting for her. Approaching their old flat, Natalie saw the door open to a stranger—a woman holding a small girl. “Sweetheart, we’ve talked about not answering the door alone,” the woman said to the child. “Who are you looking for?” she asked Natalie. Stunned, Natalie hesitated. “I’m looking for Ben. Is he in?” she managed. “Ben, there’s a woman here asking for you! What’s your name?” the stranger called out, then looked at the guest. “Natalie!” Ben exclaimed, surprised, before turning to his wife. “Love, go inside, I need to talk.” “Who was that?” Natalie asked, watching the woman and child go. “That’s my wife, Olivia, and the little one is my daughter, Maisie,” Ben replied. “You remarried? And have a daughter? You promised me everlasting love, said you’d never love anyone like you loved me!” “It’s been years! I was heartbroken at first, but I realised life didn’t end when you left. Then I met Olivia and fell for her completely. She made me happy. She gave me a daughter.” “And what about me?” “Natalie, you’ve been gone for five years and never cared how I was or what became of me. You left for a wealthier man and a lavish life. Maybe we were never rich, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. Now you’re back—did you expect me to just wait here for you all this time? “I was foolish! I love you!” “Natalie, stop this charade. Please go—I don’t want you here. Your rich boyfriend ditched you so now you’re running back to me? It makes me sick. Please just go.” Natalie broke down in tears, hurt that no one wanted her, while Ben felt satisfied that he had finally moved on and found his own happiness at last.

Natalie, its been five years since you left. You never cared about how I was living, or what became of me.

La vida

09

Go Away and Never Come Back — Go, Do You Hear Me? Go and Never Return! Never. With trembling hands, Michael unclipped the heavy metal chain, dragged Berta to the garden gate and, flinging it wide open, tried to push her out onto the road. But she didn’t understand what was happening. Was she really being thrown out? But why? She hadn’t done anything wrong… “Go, please, I’m begging you,” Michael repeated as he hugged the dog tight. “You can’t stay here. He’ll be back any minute and…” Just then, the front door slammed open, and a drunken Victor staggered out onto the porch with an axe in his hand. ***** If people could imagine, even for a moment, how harsh life is for the dogs abandoned to the streets through no fault of their own, perhaps they would look at them with sympathy and compassion, not resentment or disdain, as so often happens. But how can we know what our four-legged friends go through, what trials they must face? How can we possibly understand? Dogs cannot tell us their stories. They cannot complain about their fate. All their pain, they carry in silence. But I will tell you one story—one of love, betrayal and loyalty… And my story begins with Berta, who was unwanted from her very first days. No one really knows what it was about her that displeased her first owner. Maybe just for being born. And he could think of nothing better than to take the then two-month-old puppy to the nearest village and… just leave her by the roadside. Yes, just abandon her—not even in the village where someone might have taken her in, but right on the edge of the road. He drove away with a clear conscience, leaving her in harm’s way, where cars, buses, lorries sped past at terrifying speeds—a single misstep and that was it. Perhaps that’s what he hoped would happen. If not, what chance did she have to survive alone, hungry and thirsty? She was only a baby. But that day luck was on her side. That day, the nameless little pup met Michael. And thanks to him, she lived. It happened on the very day Michael was given a brand new bike for his fourteenth birthday. He couldn’t wait to take it for a spin. “Don’t ride out of the village!” called out his mother, Annie, as Michael cycled off, excitement in his legs. “Alright, Mum! Everything will be fine!” chirped Michael as he whisked away. But of course, he left the village. The roads in the village were full of potholes—awful to ride on, and hard to walk, especially at night. Just a month ago, the city road had been freshly paved, and Michael wanted to feel the wind in his hair. There weren’t many cars out on a weekend morning. So, as he neared the road and prepared to turn back, he noticed a tiny pup running frantically at the roadside—darting toward passing cars, then jumping back just in time. Horrified, Michael pulled over, gently placed his bike in the grass, and approached the trembling puppy. ***** “Mum, Dad, look who I found!” beamed Michael as he entered the house. “Someone dumped her by the road. Can we keep her? Please?” “Michael, did you leave the village? I told you not to!” Annie exclaimed. “Sorry, Mum… I just wanted to ride to the road and back. And look—I didn’t go for nothing. If I hadn’t picked up this pup, she might have died!” “What about you?” sighed Annie. “You could’ve been hit, too. Roads are no place for children.” “I won’t do it again, I promise. But what about the puppy? Can we keep her? Please? It’s my birthday, after all.” “It is your birthday, isn’t it?” Annie shook her head. Michael clutched the puppy tightly, afraid she’d be taken back out to the roadside. “Annie, stop scolding the boy,” Michael’s dad, Victor, interrupted, his mood bright from a few celebratory drinks. “He’s fourteen now. And look, he picked up a fine pup—not a scraggy mutt but a proper one. She’ll look after the yard. Let him keep her. I’ve no problem.” “Well, if Dad says yes, then I do, too,” Annie smiled at her son. “Thank you! You’re the best parents in the world!” Michael was overjoyed. That very day he named the puppy—Berta. At first, he thought she was a boy, but he quickly realised she was a girl—a good girl: kind, gentle, and instantly attached to Michael. The bike was forgotten. From then on, Michael spent every hour with his fluffy four-legged friend. Life at last seemed perfect—Berta safe from death, Michael finally with the dog he’d always dreamed of. His parents were happy to see their son so happy, too. Fairy tale ending? If only. Trouble came—six months later. It started when Victor lost his job and began drinking heavily, spending all the family savings. No pleas or tears from Annie could sway him; they only made him angrier, more cruel, especially with vodka in his blood. He even began hitting Annie, for any or no reason at all. And Annie strictly forbade Michael from interfering. “You could get hurt too,” she would say. “Better not try your luck.” During arguments, Michael escaped to Berta, stroking her, watching the house as his parents fought. Berta would gently lick Michael’s salty cheeks. Once Victor caught Michael playing with Berta and, without provocation, gave him a series of rough cuffs round the head. Michael tried to hold back the tears, tried to break free, but Victor’s grip was fierce. Suddenly, mild, gentle Berta barked fiercely at Victor—so fiercely he froze. Michael seized his chance and pulled away. But Victor stormed into the house, slurring threats of violence. Michael knew he would be back—with something heavy. What could he do? “Go, do you hear me?” Michael whispered, tears flowing. “Go, and don’t come back! Never.” His hands trembled as he undid Berta’s chain, tugged her to the gate, and tried to push her out. She didn’t understand—was this really goodbye? “Please, you must go,” Michael repeated, hugging her close. “It’s not safe here. Dad will be back and…” At that moment, the door crashed open and Victor, axe in hand, staggered onto the porch. “Michael!” came his father’s enraged roar. “Why did you let the dog go?” “Dad, please, don’t—” Michael stammered, backing away. He wanted to run, but couldn’t leave his mother inside with the madman. “Don’t touch the dog, Dad. Just go sleep it off. You’re not yourself—” “Oh, I’ll show you, you insolent whelp! I’ll deal with that mangy mutt and then teach you some respect!” Victor lurched forward, losing his footing but clinging to the rail, lumbering down the steps. “Hurry!” Michael turned to Berta, looked her in the eyes, kissed her black nose, and with a desperate shove, sent her out into the road. “Run! Run and forgive us… forgive us, Berta. I never wanted this.” Fury twisted Victor’s face as he realised Michael was letting the dog go. Berta looked at Michael one last time before bolting towards the woods—her only chance of survival. “Don’t come back, Berta, or he’ll kill you!” Michael yelled after her. What happened next, Berta never saw. She could only hope her beloved friend and his mother would be safe. ***** Seven years passed—a lifetime for a dog. Seven years Berta waited for a miracle, hoping to see Michael again, but each year hope faded as she never found Michael or Annie. Returning to her old home after six months, she found only a charred ruin of a house. No Michael, no Annie, certainly no Victor. She came back a few times, but always alone. Eventually, Berta wandered from village to village, until an old man found her, outside the very forest she once ran into. “Lost, are you?” the grey-haired, bearded man chuckled. “Want to live with me?” And Berta did. She had no other choice. The old man, though partial to drink, was kind. He fed her well and took her to work with him—as a night caretaker at a cemetery. At first, Berta hated the graves, but in time, she grew used to them—and to Nicholas, her lonely companion. When he drank, he didn’t turn cruel, but wept and confided his heartbreak—about the wife who left, the daughter who wanted nothing to do with him. Berta would snuggle by his feet and listen in silence. And when Nicholas fell silent, Berta remembered the happy days with Michael and Annie—and tried to forget Victor for good. One day, Berta came across Victor’s grave. She sniffed it, not believing it—yet the hateful, bitter scent was unmistakable. “You’re stuck there, are you?” Nicholas said, noticing her halted by the grave. “Victor, it says… Must be the one who drank himself to death in his own house after the family left for the city.” Five years Berta stayed at the cemetery, until Nicholas, too, died, leaving her alone once more. She stayed on. Where else could she go? No one would take in an old dog now. She decided she’d wait for the end among the stones. But then, when the first snow fell, the impossible happened. While searching for food, Berta heard voices—by Victor’s grave. A man and a woman. She crept closer—curious who would visit him. “Told you, Ox,” the man said, “it’s pointless coming here. Why should I care about the grave of a father who made life hell for my mum and me? Forgive him? For what?” “You have to, Michael,” said the woman. “Forgive and let go. Otherwise, you’ll never have peace. Your nightmares will go on forever.” “Maybe you’re right…” Michael sighed, looked at the grave and said, “I forgive you, Dad— for Mum, for myself, for Berta… I just wish I hadn’t had to send my best friend away. I hope she’s alright.” All the while, Berta stood behind Michael, scarcely believing it was him—her beloved person. He was grown, a man now, but she knew him instantly. Would Michael know her? He turned, feeling eyes on his back. “Mike, what is it?” Oksana asked. “It’s a dog,” Michael replied. “Silly—there are lots of dogs at the cemetery.” But Michael stared, stepped closer, hesitated—then stepped closer again. Berta wagged her tail and crept forward. Then they both ran—flinging themselves into each other’s embrace. Oksana barely had time to react before Michael was kneeling, hugging the dog he hadn’t seen in seven years, while Berta licked his cheeks, nose and chin in a joyful frenzy. Her greatest dream had come true at last. ***** Of course, Michael brought Berta home. She and Oksana became fast friends, and soon their little family grew. First three of them, then four—when Berta found a tiny kitten and no one could resist taking him in. Then five, when a baby boy named Nick arrived. Later, Michael rebuilt the house in the village, and every year they spent summers there together. Despite all the pain and trials that life brought, both Michael and Berta found happiness.

Go Away and Dont Come Back Go. Do you hear me? I whispered, my eyes full of tears. Go and never come back!

La vida

013

A Silver Beard, A Beautiful Soul: After an English Gentleman from Sheffield Broke My Heart Over a Misunderstanding, I Found Unexpected Happiness and Love with My Good-Natured Neighbour Nicholas in the English Countryside

GREY BEARD, BEAUTIFUL SOUL Youve been lying to me all this time! Im ending our correspondence.

La vida

011

Go Away and Never Come Back — Go, Do You Hear Me? Go and Never Return! Never. With trembling hands, Michael unclipped the heavy metal chain, dragged Berta to the garden gate and, flinging it wide open, tried to push her out onto the road. But she didn’t understand what was happening. Was she really being thrown out? But why? She hadn’t done anything wrong… “Go, please, I’m begging you,” Michael repeated as he hugged the dog tight. “You can’t stay here. He’ll be back any minute and…” Just then, the front door slammed open, and a drunken Victor staggered out onto the porch with an axe in his hand. ***** If people could imagine, even for a moment, how harsh life is for the dogs abandoned to the streets through no fault of their own, perhaps they would look at them with sympathy and compassion, not resentment or disdain, as so often happens. But how can we know what our four-legged friends go through, what trials they must face? How can we possibly understand? Dogs cannot tell us their stories. They cannot complain about their fate. All their pain, they carry in silence. But I will tell you one story—one of love, betrayal and loyalty… And my story begins with Berta, who was unwanted from her very first days. No one really knows what it was about her that displeased her first owner. Maybe just for being born. And he could think of nothing better than to take the then two-month-old puppy to the nearest village and… just leave her by the roadside. Yes, just abandon her—not even in the village where someone might have taken her in, but right on the edge of the road. He drove away with a clear conscience, leaving her in harm’s way, where cars, buses, lorries sped past at terrifying speeds—a single misstep and that was it. Perhaps that’s what he hoped would happen. If not, what chance did she have to survive alone, hungry and thirsty? She was only a baby. But that day luck was on her side. That day, the nameless little pup met Michael. And thanks to him, she lived. It happened on the very day Michael was given a brand new bike for his fourteenth birthday. He couldn’t wait to take it for a spin. “Don’t ride out of the village!” called out his mother, Annie, as Michael cycled off, excitement in his legs. “Alright, Mum! Everything will be fine!” chirped Michael as he whisked away. But of course, he left the village. The roads in the village were full of potholes—awful to ride on, and hard to walk, especially at night. Just a month ago, the city road had been freshly paved, and Michael wanted to feel the wind in his hair. There weren’t many cars out on a weekend morning. So, as he neared the road and prepared to turn back, he noticed a tiny pup running frantically at the roadside—darting toward passing cars, then jumping back just in time. Horrified, Michael pulled over, gently placed his bike in the grass, and approached the trembling puppy. ***** “Mum, Dad, look who I found!” beamed Michael as he entered the house. “Someone dumped her by the road. Can we keep her? Please?” “Michael, did you leave the village? I told you not to!” Annie exclaimed. “Sorry, Mum… I just wanted to ride to the road and back. And look—I didn’t go for nothing. If I hadn’t picked up this pup, she might have died!” “What about you?” sighed Annie. “You could’ve been hit, too. Roads are no place for children.” “I won’t do it again, I promise. But what about the puppy? Can we keep her? Please? It’s my birthday, after all.” “It is your birthday, isn’t it?” Annie shook her head. Michael clutched the puppy tightly, afraid she’d be taken back out to the roadside. “Annie, stop scolding the boy,” Michael’s dad, Victor, interrupted, his mood bright from a few celebratory drinks. “He’s fourteen now. And look, he picked up a fine pup—not a scraggy mutt but a proper one. She’ll look after the yard. Let him keep her. I’ve no problem.” “Well, if Dad says yes, then I do, too,” Annie smiled at her son. “Thank you! You’re the best parents in the world!” Michael was overjoyed. That very day he named the puppy—Berta. At first, he thought she was a boy, but he quickly realised she was a girl—a good girl: kind, gentle, and instantly attached to Michael. The bike was forgotten. From then on, Michael spent every hour with his fluffy four-legged friend. Life at last seemed perfect—Berta safe from death, Michael finally with the dog he’d always dreamed of. His parents were happy to see their son so happy, too. Fairy tale ending? If only. Trouble came—six months later. It started when Victor lost his job and began drinking heavily, spending all the family savings. No pleas or tears from Annie could sway him; they only made him angrier, more cruel, especially with vodka in his blood. He even began hitting Annie, for any or no reason at all. And Annie strictly forbade Michael from interfering. “You could get hurt too,” she would say. “Better not try your luck.” During arguments, Michael escaped to Berta, stroking her, watching the house as his parents fought. Berta would gently lick Michael’s salty cheeks. Once Victor caught Michael playing with Berta and, without provocation, gave him a series of rough cuffs round the head. Michael tried to hold back the tears, tried to break free, but Victor’s grip was fierce. Suddenly, mild, gentle Berta barked fiercely at Victor—so fiercely he froze. Michael seized his chance and pulled away. But Victor stormed into the house, slurring threats of violence. Michael knew he would be back—with something heavy. What could he do? “Go, do you hear me?” Michael whispered, tears flowing. “Go, and don’t come back! Never.” His hands trembled as he undid Berta’s chain, tugged her to the gate, and tried to push her out. She didn’t understand—was this really goodbye? “Please, you must go,” Michael repeated, hugging her close. “It’s not safe here. Dad will be back and…” At that moment, the door crashed open and Victor, axe in hand, staggered onto the porch. “Michael!” came his father’s enraged roar. “Why did you let the dog go?” “Dad, please, don’t—” Michael stammered, backing away. He wanted to run, but couldn’t leave his mother inside with the madman. “Don’t touch the dog, Dad. Just go sleep it off. You’re not yourself—” “Oh, I’ll show you, you insolent whelp! I’ll deal with that mangy mutt and then teach you some respect!” Victor lurched forward, losing his footing but clinging to the rail, lumbering down the steps. “Hurry!” Michael turned to Berta, looked her in the eyes, kissed her black nose, and with a desperate shove, sent her out into the road. “Run! Run and forgive us… forgive us, Berta. I never wanted this.” Fury twisted Victor’s face as he realised Michael was letting the dog go. Berta looked at Michael one last time before bolting towards the woods—her only chance of survival. “Don’t come back, Berta, or he’ll kill you!” Michael yelled after her. What happened next, Berta never saw. She could only hope her beloved friend and his mother would be safe. ***** Seven years passed—a lifetime for a dog. Seven years Berta waited for a miracle, hoping to see Michael again, but each year hope faded as she never found Michael or Annie. Returning to her old home after six months, she found only a charred ruin of a house. No Michael, no Annie, certainly no Victor. She came back a few times, but always alone. Eventually, Berta wandered from village to village, until an old man found her, outside the very forest she once ran into. “Lost, are you?” the grey-haired, bearded man chuckled. “Want to live with me?” And Berta did. She had no other choice. The old man, though partial to drink, was kind. He fed her well and took her to work with him—as a night caretaker at a cemetery. At first, Berta hated the graves, but in time, she grew used to them—and to Nicholas, her lonely companion. When he drank, he didn’t turn cruel, but wept and confided his heartbreak—about the wife who left, the daughter who wanted nothing to do with him. Berta would snuggle by his feet and listen in silence. And when Nicholas fell silent, Berta remembered the happy days with Michael and Annie—and tried to forget Victor for good. One day, Berta came across Victor’s grave. She sniffed it, not believing it—yet the hateful, bitter scent was unmistakable. “You’re stuck there, are you?” Nicholas said, noticing her halted by the grave. “Victor, it says… Must be the one who drank himself to death in his own house after the family left for the city.” Five years Berta stayed at the cemetery, until Nicholas, too, died, leaving her alone once more. She stayed on. Where else could she go? No one would take in an old dog now. She decided she’d wait for the end among the stones. But then, when the first snow fell, the impossible happened. While searching for food, Berta heard voices—by Victor’s grave. A man and a woman. She crept closer—curious who would visit him. “Told you, Ox,” the man said, “it’s pointless coming here. Why should I care about the grave of a father who made life hell for my mum and me? Forgive him? For what?” “You have to, Michael,” said the woman. “Forgive and let go. Otherwise, you’ll never have peace. Your nightmares will go on forever.” “Maybe you’re right…” Michael sighed, looked at the grave and said, “I forgive you, Dad— for Mum, for myself, for Berta… I just wish I hadn’t had to send my best friend away. I hope she’s alright.” All the while, Berta stood behind Michael, scarcely believing it was him—her beloved person. He was grown, a man now, but she knew him instantly. Would Michael know her? He turned, feeling eyes on his back. “Mike, what is it?” Oksana asked. “It’s a dog,” Michael replied. “Silly—there are lots of dogs at the cemetery.” But Michael stared, stepped closer, hesitated—then stepped closer again. Berta wagged her tail and crept forward. Then they both ran—flinging themselves into each other’s embrace. Oksana barely had time to react before Michael was kneeling, hugging the dog he hadn’t seen in seven years, while Berta licked his cheeks, nose and chin in a joyful frenzy. Her greatest dream had come true at last. ***** Of course, Michael brought Berta home. She and Oksana became fast friends, and soon their little family grew. First three of them, then four—when Berta found a tiny kitten and no one could resist taking him in. Then five, when a baby boy named Nick arrived. Later, Michael rebuilt the house in the village, and every year they spent summers there together. Despite all the pain and trials that life brought, both Michael and Berta found happiness.

Go Away and Dont Come Back Go. Do you hear me? I whispered, my eyes full of tears. Go and never come back!

La vida

09

Granddad It Happened One Summer Evening: Heading Home from Practice, I Saw an Old Man Fallen on the Pavement. Everyone Passing By Thought He Was Drunk and Avoided Him, but He Was Reaching Out for Help, Mumbling Unintelligibly. My Mum Always Taught Me to Lend a Hand Where I Can, so I Approached and Asked, “Do You Need Help?” He Couldn’t Answer Coherently, Just Reached Out to Me. A Woman Walking Past Warned, “Stay Away, He’s Drunk and Dirty, You’ll Catch Something!” I Noticed His Hands Were Covered in Blood and Fear Rose Up in Me. He Tried to Tell Me What Happened but Only Managed Mumbles—He Pointed to a Bag Beside Him Full of Broken Beer Bottles. That’s Why His Hands Were Bleeding. I Cleaned His Hands with Wet Wipes Before Helping Him Up—Not Wanting to Get Blood All Over My Clothes, If I’m Honest… Once His Hands Were Clean, I Helped Him to His Feet and Tried to Ask His Address, but He Couldn’t Respond Properly. Instead, He Signalled Where to Go and Led Me to a Block of Flats in the Same Estate. He Pointed at the Intercom and Indicated Two Numbers—I Realised It Was His Flat Number. I Buzzed the Flat and a Woman’s Alarmed Voice Came Through. The Old Man Mumbled Again, and Seconds Later a Man and Woman Rushed Out. They Checked Him Over First, then the Man Thanked Me and Carried the Old Gentleman Inside. The Woman Was Eager to Thank Me and Insisted I Wait, Suddenly Remembering Something. She Darted Up the Stairs and Returned with a Massive Basket of Raspberries from Their Own Garden—She Boasted About Them. I Tried to Refuse, but She Was Insistent. She Explained How Distraught They Were When They’d Arrived Home from Their Allotment and Found Grandpa Missing. Here’s the Thing: During the War, He’d Been Captured by the Germans. Holding an Important Post, He Injured His Own Tongue to Stop Himself Talking. With No Sanitation in the Camps, He Developed an Infection and Lost Half His Tongue—Now He Can Hardly Speak, Only Makes Noises Like a Deaf-Mute. Teens in Our Estate Started Drinking Beer in the Playground, Smashing Bottles Everywhere. Even After We Complained to Police, Nothing Changed—Kids Kept Getting Cut. Ever Since My Daughter Sonya Sliced Her Foot, Grandpa Has Been Picking Up the Glass to Keep the Playground Safe for Children, Despite His Bad Legs. We Tried Everything to Stop Him—Even Hiding the Keys—but He Still Slipped Out. Last Time He Fell, He Lay Five Hours on Cold Ground Before Anyone Helped. We Were About to Start Searching When You Called Downstairs. Thank You. After Hearing Her Story, I Was Left Speechless. She Pressed Raspberries into My Hands, and I Bowed—Yes, Bowed—to Her, Words Failing Me. On The Way Home, I Burst Into Tears. Why Is It Like This in Our Country? Why Do We Only Think of Ourselves? To Everyone: If You See Someone Fallen and Unable to Get Up, Don’t Assume the Worst. Approach and Offer Your Help—They Might Truly Need It. Especially to Young People: Let’s Remember We’re HUMANS, Not ANIMALS!

Granddad It was a summers evening, and I was on my way home after sports practice. The air felt thick

La vida

013

CHOOSE: YOUR DOG OR ME! I’M SICK OF THAT MANGY MUTT! — DECLARED HER HUSBAND. SHE CHOSE HER HUSBAND, LEFT HER DOG IN THE WOODS… AND THAT EVENING HE SAID HE WAS LEAVING FOR ANOTHER WOMAN

CHOOSE: ITS EITHER YOUR DOG OR ME! IVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS MONGREL! DECLARED HER HUSBAND. SHE CHOSE HIM

La vida

09

There’s Still Work to Be Done at Home… Granny Val Struggled to Open the Garden Gate, Slowly Shuffled to the Door, Fumbled with the Old Rusty Lock, and Stepped into Her Cold, Untended Cottage, Sitting Down by the Lifeless Hearth It Smelled of Emptiness, Though She’d Only Been Away Three Months—Cobwebs Hung from the Ceilings, the Antique Chair Creaked in Protest, and the Wind Howled in the Chimney, As if the Cottage Was Scolding Her: “Where Have You Been, Mistress? Whom Did You Leave Me With? How Are We Supposed to Survive the Winter Now?!” “Hold on, my dear, just a moment—let me catch my breath… I’ll light the fire soon, we’ll get warm…” Just a Year Ago, Granny Val Bustled Around Her Old Cottage, Whitewashing, Painting, Hauling Water—Her Petite, Spry Figure Bowing Before Icons, Busy at the Hearth, Flitting Through the Orchard Where She Was Forever Sowing, Weeding, and Watering The Cottage Loved Its Mistress Back—Floors Creaked Joyfully, Windows and Doors Flung Open at Her Touch, the Oven Baked Pies as if Cheered On by Her Presence: It Was Good, Val and Her Old Cottage Together Widowed Early, She Raised Three Children—One a Merchant Navy Captain, Another a Military Colonel, Both Living Far from Home, Rarely Visiting Only Her Youngest, Tamara, Stayed in the Village, Chief Agronomist, Always at Work; She’d Pop In on Sundays, Fill the House with Pies and Laughter—Then Another Week Apart Her Comfort Was Her Granddaughter, Sweet Svetlana, Who Truly Was Raised by Granny’s Hands And What a Beauty She Became! Tall and Proud, With Grey Eyes and Thick Fair Hair Flowing Past Her Waist—Village Boys Were Spellbound Whenever She Walked By, Her Elegance Remarkable for a Country Girl Granny Val Was a Looker in Her Own Youth, But Comparing Old Photos to Svetlana’s Grace—It Was Shepherdess to Queen Smart as Well; She Finished Agricultural College in the City, Returned to Work in the Family Village as an Economist, Married the Local Vet, and the Young Couple Was Given a New Brick House—A Proper Little Manor for Those Times But While Granny’s Cottage Was Surrounded by a Lush Garden, Svetlana’s New Place Had Little More Than Three Lonely Stalks—She Was Not Made for Gardening, Cocooned by Granny from Every Draught and Chore Then Came Her Own Little Boy, Vanya—No Time for Gardens Now Svetlana Begged Granny to Move In: “Come live with us, it’s warm, spacious, no need to stoke a fire…” When Granny Turned Eighty, Her Health Faltered—Her Lively Legs Refused Their Duty; She Finally Agreed to Move But After a Few Months, She Overheard Svetlana: “Granny, I love you, but you just sit! You’ve always worked, and now you rest while I manage everything—I hoped you’d help…” “But, sweetheart, I can’t anymore… my legs won’t carry me…” “Hmph… Funny how you aged as soon as you moved in…” Soon After, Granny Was Sent Back to Her Cottage—Her Failure to Help Weighing Heavy on Her Spirit Her Steps Grew Feeble, Crossing from Bed to Table Became a Feat, Her Beloved Church Now Out of Reach Father Bernard, Their Vicar, Came to Visit His Once-Energetic Parishioner—He Found Her Bundled in a Worn Cardigan and Scarf, Writing Letters to Her Sons: “I’m doing ever so well, my dearest boy—everything’s grand, thank God!” Yet the Pages Were Blotched with What Could Only Be Tears Father Bernard Drafted the Neighbour, Anna, to Look After Her; Anna’s Husband, Old Sailor Uncle Pete, Would Bring Granny to Church by Sidecar When He Could Meanwhile, Svetlana Fell Ill—She’d Long Blamed Her Stomach, But It Turned Out to Be Cancer. In Six Months, She Was Gone Her Husband, Lost in Grief, Took to Drinking at Her Grave, Little Vanya Left Dirty and Alone Tamara Took the Boy In, But Her Agronomist Duties Left No Time for Childcare—So Vanya Was Sent to Boarding School Determined Not to Let Her Great-Grandson Go, Granny Val Arrived with Uncle Pete’s Help: “I’ll take Vanya myself—he won’t go to a home while I live.” Neighbours Judged Her, Wondering If She’d Lost Her Mind—How Could an Old Woman Care for a Young Boy? Father Bernard Braced for the Worst—But Found the Cottage Warm and Clean, Vanya Listening to Fairy Tales, and Granny Dancing Around the Kitchen, Baking Treats for the Vicar’s Family Later, Father Bernard Told His Wife, Alexandra, Who Pulled Out Her Old Blue Journal, and Read the Story of Her Own Great-Grandmother—Who On Her Deathbed, Hearing Her Newborn Great-Grandchild Cry, Got Up, Soothed the Baby, and Decided She Simply Couldn’t Die Just Yet As the Old Song Goes: “It’s Far Too Soon for Us to Pass—There’s Still Work to Be Done at Home!” His Wife Concluded, Smiling: “My Great-Granny Vera Loved Me Too Much to Go. She Lived Another Ten Years, Helping My Mother Raise Me—Her Beloved Great-Granddaughter.” Father Bernard Smiled Back—For Clearly, There Will Always Be Work to Be Done at Home

Theres always work to be done at home… Granny Edith fumbled with the squeaky old gate, shuffled

La vida

06

Love Isn’t for Show Annie stepped out of the cottage with a full bucket of pig feed, her face stormy as she passed her husband, Henry, who had been fiddling with the old well for three days running. He’d decided he wanted it carved and fancy—beautiful, as though he had nothing better to do! She bustled about looking after house and livestock while he stood with a chisel in hand, covered in shavings, grinning at her. What kind of husband had God sent her? He never uttered a tender word, never slammed his fist on the table, just quietly worked away. On rare occasions, he’d simply glance at her and gently run his hand along her thick, honey-blonde braid—his sole display of affection. Oh, how Annie longed for more: for pet names and sweet nothings… Lost in thoughts of her lonely woman’s lot, Annie nearly tripped over old Buster, the family dog. Instantly, Henry darted over, caught his wife, and shot the dog a stern look: “Watch where you’re going, Buster—you’ll end up tripping the missus.” Buster lowered his eyes, tail tucked, and shuffled off to his kennel. Annie was amazed, not for the first time, at how animals seemed to understand her husband. She’d asked Henry once about it, and he’d just replied, “I love animals, and they love me right back.” Annie, too, dreamed of love—love that swept her off her feet, with whispered words at night and flowers on her pillow each morning. But Henry was always so reserved, barely affectionate… Sometimes she even doubted whether he loved her at all. “God bless, neighbours!” came a cheery voice over the fence—it was Victor, their neighbour. “Still fussing with your well, Henry? Who needs all those carvings anyway?” “I want our children to grow up with an eye for beauty,” Henry replied. “Well, you’ll need to have some first!” Victor winked at Annie. Henry’s eyes grew sad; Annie hurried inside, embarrassed. She wasn’t in a rush to have kids—after all, she was still young, beautiful, and maybe wanted to live for herself a little longer. Besides, her own husband was hardly the dashing type. And Victor—tall, broad-shouldered—now, he could make your heart flutter! He’d greet her near the gate, voice gentle as summer rain: “My little dove, my darling sun…” Annie’s knees would turn to jelly, but she’d always run from him. When she married Henry, she’d vowed to be faithful; her parents, together for decades, had taught her to cherish her marriage. Yet why did she yearn to catch Victor’s eye just for a moment? Next morning, as Annie led the cow to pasture, she ran into Victor at the gate. “Annie, dearest, why do you keep avoiding me? Are you shy? I can never get enough of your beauty—it makes my head spin.” He whispered, “Come see me at dawn. When your Henry leaves for fishing, just slip over, and I’ll shower you with all the love you could wish for.” Annie flushed, cheeks burning, heart racing… but hurried past him in silence. “I’ll be waiting,” he called after her. All day, Annie couldn’t stop thinking about him—Victor, with his smouldering gaze, promising her all she ever wanted. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to cross that line. Not yet… Maybe never. There were still long hours till dawn. That evening, Henry fired up the bathhouse—and even invited Victor to join. Victor happily agreed, saving himself the trouble of heating up his own. The two men swapped stories, laughing and thwacking each other with birch branches. After their steam, they relaxed in the changing room; Annie poured them a jug of homemade cider and arranged snacks, then dashed off for some pickled cucumbers in the cellar. As she came back and reached the door, she overheard voices from inside and paused: “Why so hesitant, Henry?” Victor said quietly. “Come along next time—you won’t regret it. Widows like those, they’ll smother you with affection… And the beauties there! Unlike your Annie—she’s a plain little mouse.” “No, friend,” came Henry’s quiet yet steady reply, “I want none of that. I won’t even think of it. And my Annie isn’t a little mouse—she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. There’s not a flower or berry to match her. When I look at her, I can’t even see the sun—just her eyes, her slender form. My love for her is like a river in flood. I just ache because I can’t speak the words to tell her how much I love her. She feels hurt, I know, and I’m frightened of losing her. I couldn’t live a day without her—I couldn’t even breathe…” Annie stood frozen, heart pounding, a tear sliding down her cheek. Suddenly she lifted her head, strode in, and loudly declared, “Victor, go keep those widows company—we’ve got more important things to do here at home. We don’t yet have anyone to gaze on the beautiful carvings Henry’s making. Forgive me, my dearest, for my foolish thoughts—for my blindness. Happiness was in my hands, and I nearly missed it. Come on, we’ve wasted enough time…” And at dawn the next day, Henry didn’t go fishing.

Love Not for Show I remember the days when Annabel would step out of our cottage, arms straining with