Walton Merritt

“Come on, love, will you open that gate? Guests are waiting!” Barbaras voice, sharp and clear

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My Mother-in-Law Decided to Rifle Through My Cupboards While I Was Out—But I Was Ready For Her

Why do you have pillowcases from different sets on your bed? The words, from Susan Hartley, slipped out

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The New Girl Who Tried to Steal My Job: A Tale of Office Betrayal, Homemade Pastries, and Loyalty in the English Logistics Department

Miss Sophia Allen, please meet our newest colleague. This is Emily, shell be joining your team.

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Mum, Give Us a Smile Arina never liked it when the neighbours would pop round and ask her mum to sing them a song. “Anna, give us a tune – your voice is so lovely! And you’re a great dancer too!” her mum would start singing, the neighbours would join in, and sometimes the whole group would be dancing in the garden. Back then, Arina lived with her parents and her little brother, Tony, in their house in a small country village. Her mum was always cheerful and welcoming, sending the neighbours off with, “Come round again – that was lovely, such a good time,” and the neighbours would promise to return. But for some reason, Arina always hated her mum singing and dancing. She felt embarrassed, though she could never quite explain why. She was in Year 5 at the time and once said to her mum: “Mum, please don’t sing and dance…I feel so awkward.” Even now, as an adult and a mum herself, Arina still doesn’t know why she felt that way, but her mum, Anna, replied: “Don’t be ashamed when I sing, Arisha – be glad! I won’t be able to sing and dance forever, only while I’m still young…” Arina, of course, didn’t understand then – life isn’t always so full of joy. When Arina was in Year 6 and her brother was in Year 2, their dad left them for good. He packed his things and walked out. Arina never knew what happened between her parents. When she was old enough, she finally asked: “Mum, why did Dad leave us?” “You’ll understand when you’re older,” her mum replied. Anna couldn’t tell her daughter yet that she’d caught her husband at home with another woman – Vera, who lived just a few doors down. Arina and Tony were both at school, and Anna had only come home after work because she’d forgotten her purse. The front door was unlocked, even though her husband should have still been at work – it was only about eleven in the morning. She walked in and found them both in the bedroom, not the least bit ashamed. There was a row that night, after her husband came back from work, but the children didn’t hear it – they were playing outside. “Pack your things, I’ve put them in a bag in the bedroom,” Anna told her husband. “I’ll never forgive your betrayal.” Ivan knew she meant it, though he tried to explain: “Anna, it was just a mistake, can’t we forget it and move on? We’ve got the kids…” “I said leave,” were her final words before she stepped out into the garden. Ivan took his things and left. Anna, hidden around the side of the house, watched, but she never wanted to see him again – the betrayal had cut too deep. “We’ll manage, somehow, with the kids,” she thought, and cried. She never forgave him. So Anna was left alone with two children. She knew it would be hard, but not how hard – she only realised that later. She had to work two jobs. During the day she cleaned floors; at night she worked in a bakery. She was always exhausted – the smile disappeared from her face forever. Although her dad had left, Arina and Tony still saw him; he and Vera only lived four houses away. Vera had a son the same age as Tony – they were in the same class. Anna never stopped the children seeing their father, and they visited him often, playing at his house or in his garden, but always came home to eat. Vera never fed them or made them welcome – playtime was fine, though. Sometimes, Vera’s son would come over to Arina and Tony’s house, and the neighbours would look surprised. Anna would feed all the children – she never minded her former husband’s stepson being there. But Arina never saw her mum smile again. She was kind and caring, but grew quiet and withdrawn. Sometimes Arina, coming home from school, would be desperate for her mum to talk to her, so she’d tell her stories about what happened at school. “Mum, guess what – Genka brought a kitten to class and it kept meowing during lessons! The teacher couldn’t work out where the noise was coming from, and told Genka off, thinking it was him. Then we said, ‘It’s in his bag,’ and she sent Genka – and the kitten – out, and called his mum in!” “Hmm. I see…” was all her mum would say. Arina saw that nothing made her mum happy any more. She even heard her crying at night, staring for ages out of the window, lost in her thoughts. Only when Arina got older did she understand. “Mum must have been completely exhausted, working two jobs and barely sleeping. And she probably didn’t have enough vitamins either. She did everything for me and Tony. We were always dressed well, our clothes were clean and ironed,” Arina often remembered. Back then, she’d plead, “Mum, please smile… I haven’t seen your smile for such a long time.” Anna loved her children, very much, but in her own way. She didn’t hug them often, but sometimes praised them for doing well at school and not causing her trouble. She was a good cook, there was always delicious food on the table, and the house was spotless. Arina felt her mum’s love most when she braided her hair – her mum would gently stroke her head, but always with a sadness, as though the burden had bent her shoulders. Anna’s teeth started to fall out early, and she never replaced them. After finishing school, Arina didn’t even consider going off to study – she didn’t want to leave her mum alone, and besides, studying elsewhere would cost money. She got a job as a shop assistant near home, to help her mum out. Tony was growing fast, always in need of new clothes and shoes. One day, a man named Michael came into the shop. He wasn’t local – he was from a village eight miles away. He liked Arina at once, even though he was nine years older. “What’s your name, gorgeous?” he said with a grin. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I’ve not seen you before when I’ve stopped by.” “Arina. I haven’t seen you before either.” “I’m from a village eight miles from yours. Michael’s my name.” That’s how they met. Michael started coming to see Arina regularly in his car, picking her up after work. They went for walks, sat chatting in his car, and he even took her to meet his mother, who was unwell. Michael had split up with his wife – she’d moved to the county town with their daughter, unwilling to look after her mother-in-law. Michael had a good-sized house and a big smallholding. When Arina visited, he was generous: the table was loaded with sour cream, meat, and sweets. She liked it there. “Arina, will you marry me?” Michael asked one day. “I really like you. I’ve got to be honest though: Mum will need looking after, but I’ll help.” Arina was quietly delighted, though she didn’t show it. After all she’d been through, looking after an ailing mother was no hardship. Michael waited anxiously. “Why not – at least I’ll eat my fill of meat and sour cream,” she thought. “Alright, I’ll marry you,” she said out loud. Michael was over the moon. “Arisha, I’m so happy – I love you… I doubted you’d agree, you being so young and me an older, divorced man. But I promise: I’ll never hurt you, and we’ll have a happy life together.” Michael worked hard and helped with everything at home. After the wedding, Arina moved to his village. Truthfully, she was ready for a change. By now, Tony had grown up, studying car mechanics at college in the county town, only coming home on weekends and holidays. Time passed. Arina was truly happy with her husband. She gave birth to two sons, one after the other. She didn’t work – there were enough chores at home, what with the children and the smallholding (Michael’s mum died two years into their marriage). Michael was still a generous husband, doing most of the heavy work. “Don’t carry those heavy buckets – that’s my job,” he’d say to his wife. “You milk the cow, feed the chickens and ducks, I’ll take care of feeding the pigs.” Arina knew Michael loved her and adored their children. She never had a big home or lots of stock with her mum, but she knew how to manage, and Michael appreciated everything she did. “Arina, let’s take your mum some meat and sour cream and milk. She has to buy everything, and we have our own, all home-grown.” Anna always accepted the gifts gratefully, but she never smiled, not even with her grandsons. They visited often, but Arina always felt sorry for her, not knowing how to bring her mum back to life. “Arisha, maybe you should speak to the vicar for advice – he might know what to do,” Michael suggested, and Arina jumped at the idea. The vicar promised to pray for Anna, and said, “Ask God to send your mum a good person to meet,” so Arina prayed as hard as she could. One day Anna asked her daughter, “Love, could you lend me some money? I want to get my teeth sorted.” “Oh Mum, I’d pay for everything for you!” Arina replied, delighted. But she knew her mum would insist on paying her back, which she did. Not long after, Arina hadn’t managed to visit her mum because Michael was busy helping his Uncle Nick, who was moving from the county town to their village after splitting with his wife, and needed help with paperwork for his new house. Sometimes Arina went with Michael to visit Nick, but one day Michael came home and said, “You know, I think Uncle Nick wants to get married – I heard him talking on the phone…” “And why not?” Arina agreed. “He’s still young – with a nice house, what good is it staying alone?” Soon Nick himself invited them for a visit. “I want you round. I’ve met my first love – we were at school together. She’s coming here tomorrow – pop down for tea the day after.” Two days later, with gifts in hand, Arina and Michael went to see Nick. But as Arina walked in, she froze in disbelief – her own mother was standing there, smiling shyly. Anna looked so much brighter and happier than before. “Mum! I’m so happy for you… but why didn’t you say anything?” “I didn’t want to jinx it, in case nothing worked out.” “Uncle Nick, why did you keep it quiet?” “I was afraid Anna might change her mind… But now we’re happy.” Arina and Michael were overjoyed – Anna glowed with happiness and couldn’t stop smiling. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and for your support. Wishing you all the best in life

Mum, Give Us a Smile Emily never liked it when the neighbours popped over and, before long, were nudging

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Elderly Woman Shares Heartbreak as She Reveals the Last Time She Saw Her Son Was Over Six Years Ago – “When Did Your Son Stop Speaking to You?” I Asked My Neighbour… and in That Moment, My Heart Broke: After His Wife Turned Me Away From Their Home, He Took My Money for a Flat and Never Called Again – Now, After Raising Him Alone, I Face Old Age Without My Only Child

The pensioner said the last time she saw her son was more than six years ago. How long has it been since

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My Sister Wants Me to Move Out of Our Own Flat Because She’s Expecting a Baby—Is It Really Fair for Her to Ask This?

Long ago, Mum and Dad bought a cosy two-bedroom flat for me and my sister. They used to say that one

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My Husband’s Ex-Wife Demanded I Babysit Their Grandchildren—So I Gave Her the Response She Deserved — “Oh, come on, it’s not that difficult, is it? It’s only three days. Katie’s in a desperate situation—a last-minute trip to Spain, she hasn’t had a real break in ages, and, well… you know, my blood pressure’s bad, and my back is totally knackered from gardening at the allotment. And David—he’s their proper grandad. It’s his duty to help.” The voice on the phone was so loud David didn’t even need to put it on speaker. Helen, who was stirring a vegetable stew at the stove, could hear every word. That voice—high-pitched with a hint of demanding petulance—she’d have recognised anywhere. Lorraine. The first and, unfortunately, unforgettable wife of her husband. David shot Helen an apologetic look, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear while slicing bread—crooked slices, as always, whenever he was nervous. — “Lorraine, hang on—” he tried to get a word in. “What’s this got to do with Katie’s holiday? Helen and I had plans for the weekend…” — “Oh, what plans could you possibly have?” Lorraine butted in, not bothering with formalities. “A spot of weeding? A museum? David, these are your grandchildren—Oliver and Daniel. They need a good male role model, not a load of mollycoddling. You haven’t seen them in a month. Don’t you have a conscience? Or has your precious new missus completely henpecked you?” Helen put down her spoon and turned off the gas. “New missus.” She and David had been married eight years. Eight happy, peaceful years—if you ignored the regular visits from “Hurricane Lorraine.” First there were demands to up maintenance for their fully-grown daughter, then constant requests for handouts, repairs, dental treatment, even a new car. David, always gentle and decent, paid up for years, still haunted by guilt over leaving the marriage—even though Katie had already turned twenty and the two of them had been living as flatmates for years. “Lorraine, don’t talk about Helen like that.” David’s voice was firmer now, but embarrassment lingered. “This isn’t about her. We just need a bit of notice. The boys are only six—they need watching every second, and we’re not getting any younger…” — “Exactly!” Lorraine sounded triumphant. “Old age is a booby prize, and moving around keeps you youthful. Chase after the grandkids, it’ll do you good! Anyway, Katie’ll drop them off tomorrow for ten. I can’t, you know my back—and don’t argue, David. They’re your family.” There was a click and the dial tone echoed in the room. David set the phone down and exhaled heavily, not meeting Helen’s gaze. The kitchen fell quiet; only the ticking clock filled the air. Outside, an evening shower rattled against the windowsill. Helen tidied imaginary crumbs with a napkin. — “So, tomorrow at ten, then?” she asked, her voice steady. David finally looked up. His eyes begged forgiveness. — “Helen, I’m so sorry. You heard her—like a sledgehammer. Katie’s flying out, Lorraine claims she’s crippled… What else can they do? They’re my grandkids.” — “David,” Helen sat opposite him and laced her fingers, “these are your grandkids. Not mine. I’m fond of them, but let’s be honest—they don’t even call me by name. To them, I’m ‘that lady,’ just as Granny Lorraine taught them. Every visit ends with chaos, because Katie believes in zero rules for kids.” — “I’ll handle them myself!” David assured her. “Really. You won’t have to lift a finger. I’ll take them to the park, the cinema, the amusements—just, if you could cook something simple, soup or meatballs. They do love your cooking, even if they’d never admit it.” Helen smiled sadly. She knew how it would go. David would last two hours before collapsing on the sofa. Then it would be her, left in charge of two six-year-olds bouncing off the furniture and ignoring every word (“Granny Lorraine says anything goes because Grandpa’s in charge”). — “We’ve got theatre tickets Saturday,” Helen reminded him. “And we planned to go to the allotment—to get the roses ready for winter.” — “The theatre isn’t going anywhere. The tickets can be returned… and the roses… Oh, Helen, please. Just this once. I’ll have a word with Katie, make sure it never happens again.” “Just this once.” She’d heard that phrase twenty times. Each time, she’d caved in—not wanting to add to his guilt. But this time, something snapped. Maybe it was Lorraine’s bossy tone, maybe it was being taken for granted. — “No, David,” Helen said quietly. David blinked in confusion. — “No what?” — “No, we’re not taking the kids. Not this time. I’m not cancelling my plans, not returning my tickets, not spending three days cooking for children who last time told me my soup ‘smelled funny’ and that ‘mum’s better.’” — “Helen, come on—they’re just kids. Where’s Katie going to put them? Her holiday’s already paid for.” — “That’s Katie’s problem. She’s an adult. She’s got a husband, a mother-in-law, nannies if she wants. Why should their emergencies always become my responsibility?” — “Ours—” David corrected. — “No, David. Mine. Because I clean the house when they leave mayhem, I do the laundry, I do the cooking—while you play the doting grandad, then retreat with your blood pressure pills. I respect your relationship with your grandchildren, but I didn’t sign up as a free nanny for the children of a woman who despises me.” David frowned, not used to Helen being so direct. She was usually the soul of patience. — “So what do you suggest? Call and say ‘no’ right now? Lorraine will explode, kick up a fuss, probably give me a heart attack.” — “Don’t call,” Helen said, getting up and heading to the window. “Let them bring the kids.” — “So you’re… you’re saying yes?” David brightened. — “No. Let them bring the kids. We’ll see.” Saturday morning dawned sunny and warm—unlike the mood in Helen and David’s flat. David was pacing, fussing with the sofa, checking his watch. Helen, calm as ever, enjoyed her breakfast, picked a dress, did her makeup, and packed a small bag. — “Going somewhere?” David fretted as she packed a book and umbrella. — “Don’t forget, we’re at the theatre by seven. I thought I’d have my hair done and walk by the river before then—clear my head.” — “Helen! They’ll be here in fifteen minutes! How am I supposed to cope on my own? I don’t know what they eat, where their things are—” — “You’ll work it out. You’re their grandad. A positive male role model—wasn’t that what Lorraine wanted?” Just then, the doorbell rang—loud and insistent. David dashed to open it; Helen lingered in the bedroom, slipping on her shoes. Raised voices echoed from the hallway. — “Thank God, no traffic!” It was Katie, David’s daughter. “Dad! Here you go—bag’s here, tablet’s charged, any problems just ring. Gotta dash—the cab’s waiting! Oliver, Daniel, behave for your granddad!” — “But—what about food… their routines—” David started. — “Oh, it’s the weekend—just stick some fish fingers on! Bye!” The door banged, in ran two boys, yelling, “Attack!” Helen walked into the hallway. The twins were already climbing the shoe rack, grabbing for David’s hat. David looked lost, clutching a giant holdall. But most interesting of all, there was Lorraine in the doorway. Apparently her poorly back hadn’t stopped her coming to “supervise.” She looked in rude health, hair coiffed, gold everywhere. — “Ah, there you are,” Lorraine eyed Helen up and down. “I hope you’re ready. Nothing fried for the boys—Daniel’s allergic to oranges, Oliver hates onions, soup must be fresh daily. And don’t let them have screens for more than an hour.” Her tone was pure dowager—issuing orders to the help. David shrank, prepared for a row. Helen coolly went to the mirror and adjusted her hair. — “Good morning, Lorraine. Good morning, boys.” The twins stopped briefly, but carried on jumping. — “Thank you for the helpful instructions,” Helen replied with a gentle smile. “Do pass them on to David—he’s in charge today.” — “Excuse me?” Lorraine’s eyebrows shot up. “Where do you think you’re going?” — “It’s my day off. I’ve got errands, friends to meet, theatre. I’ll be back late, maybe tomorrow.” Lorraine reddened and blocked her path. — “Are you mad? Personal errands? Two children here—your husband’s grandchildren! You’re obliged—” — “I’m only obliged to those I promised,” Helen stopped her, softly but firmly. “I’m not their mother or their grandmother. Their own parents and grannies can look after them. You, Lorraine, are retired, as far as I know.” — “My back!” Lorraine screeched. — “And I have a life. I don’t intend to spend it servicing other people, especially when asked in that tone.” — “David!” Lorraine turned. “Are you hearing this? Are you a man or a mouse? Tell her!” David’s eyes flicked between the women, torn by habit. — “Lorraine…” he began, “Helen, er, did say she was busy. I thought I could manage on my own…” — “Manage? You’ll be on the sofa in an hour! Who’ll feed them, bathe them? Look at her—done up for the theatre, and her ‘family’s in crisis!’” — “Family?” Helen’s smile vanished. “Let’s be clear, Lorraine. David and I are a family. You, Katie, and your grandchildren are David’s relatives, not mine. I’ve put up with your demands and insults long enough. But this is my home, not a creche, I’m not your unpaid servant.” — “How dare you! This is my ex-husband’s flat—he’s entitled—” — “He can invite whomever he likes. But he can’t force me to serve his guests. David—your choice. You can stay here with the grandkids and Lorraine, who clearly feels fine now she’s here. I’m off.” Helen turned for the door. — “Wait!” Lorraine grabbed her arm. “You’re not going anywhere until you cook for the kids! Katie’s at the airport! Where am I supposed to put them!” Helen calmly but firmly removed Lorraine’s hand. — “That’s not my concern, Lorraine. Call a taxi, go home, make your own soup. Or call Katie—she can come back. And don’t touch me again. Otherwise, I’ll call the police and report you for trespassing and assault. And believe me—I will.” A deathly silence fell; even the twins froze. David, amazed and a bit scared, watched Helen—she had never been like this before: not “nice Helen,” but a woman defending her boundaries. Lorraine gasped for breath. She was used to Helen taking it. Not anymore. — “You’re a monster,” Lorraine spat. “Selfish cow. I’ll make sure everyone knows what you’ve done.” — “Go ahead,” Helen shrugged. “I don’t care.” She walked out. — “David, you have keys. If you sort this, ring me. If not—I’ll see you when the boys are gone.” The lift doors closed behind her. Outside, she inhaled the fresh, rain-washed air. Her hands shook, but she felt incredibly free. She’d finally said “no.” Helen had a wonderful day—art exhibit, coffee, a stroll in the park. She turned her phone off all day, ignoring missed calls and messages. That evening, after the play, she switched it on: ten missed calls from David. One text—*“Lorraine’s taken the boys. I’m home. Sorry.”* She got home at eleven. The flat was quiet and spotless. David sat at the kitchen table, looking exhausted. — “Where are the boys?” she asked. — “Lorraine marched them off. She shrieked about cursing us, rang Katie, demanded money. In the end, Katie had to arrange a nanny in Spain and take the boys with her. Lorraine flat-out refused—her ‘back’ acted up at the mere thought of helping.” — “See? There was a solution. Katie’s their mother—let her enjoy her holiday with her kids. That’s normal.” — “Helen,” David reached for her hand, “thank you.” — “For what—leaving you to deal with it?” — “For making me feel like a man, not Lorraine’s doormat. I realised today: I don’t owe Lorraine or Katie—or anyone—but you. You’re my family. I’ve acted like a coward.” — “You’ve learned. That’s all that matters. Tea and cherry pie?” The next day, Lorraine didn’t call. Katie texted from Spain. Life felt different now—lighter, airier, no trace of old resentment. A week later: — “Lorraine called yesterday,” David said while gardening. Helen tensed. “What did she want?” — “Money for medication.” — “And did you give any?” — “No. Told her our budget’s tight—new conservatory for you, remember? She hung up. And you know what? The world didn’t end.” — “Nope,” Helen grinned. “It just got a little brighter.” The failed “babysitting drop-off” became a turning point in their marriage. Helen realised dignity meant quietly saying “no” when someone trampled her boundaries. And David learned that his wife’s respect was worth more than peace with an ex-wife who was no longer family. The grandkids still came, but only by arrangement. Lorraine never set foot in their flat again. David took the boys to the park, the zoo, then dropped them home—much easier for everyone. The children got a happy granddad, not a harried one. And Helen got what she deserved—peace, and a husband who finally, truly chose her. Sometimes, sitting on their patio at sunset, Helen thought of that day she picked up her bag and left for the theatre. It was the best performance she’d ever seen—even if she couldn’t remember the play’s name. Because the real drama had happened in her own hallway, and the ending was happily ever after. If you enjoyed this story about standing up for yourself, don’t forget to follow and leave a comment—what would you have done in Helen’s place?

Surely, it cant be such a bother for you? Its only three days. Sophies in a tight spot, a bargain trip

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My Husband’s Ex-Wife Demanded I Babysit Their Grandchildren—So I Gave Her the Response She Deserved — “Oh, come on, it’s not that difficult, is it? It’s only three days. Katie’s in a desperate situation—a last-minute trip to Spain, she hasn’t had a real break in ages, and, well… you know, my blood pressure’s bad, and my back is totally knackered from gardening at the allotment. And David—he’s their proper grandad. It’s his duty to help.” The voice on the phone was so loud David didn’t even need to put it on speaker. Helen, who was stirring a vegetable stew at the stove, could hear every word. That voice—high-pitched with a hint of demanding petulance—she’d have recognised anywhere. Lorraine. The first and, unfortunately, unforgettable wife of her husband. David shot Helen an apologetic look, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear while slicing bread—crooked slices, as always, whenever he was nervous. — “Lorraine, hang on—” he tried to get a word in. “What’s this got to do with Katie’s holiday? Helen and I had plans for the weekend…” — “Oh, what plans could you possibly have?” Lorraine butted in, not bothering with formalities. “A spot of weeding? A museum? David, these are your grandchildren—Oliver and Daniel. They need a good male role model, not a load of mollycoddling. You haven’t seen them in a month. Don’t you have a conscience? Or has your precious new missus completely henpecked you?” Helen put down her spoon and turned off the gas. “New missus.” She and David had been married eight years. Eight happy, peaceful years—if you ignored the regular visits from “Hurricane Lorraine.” First there were demands to up maintenance for their fully-grown daughter, then constant requests for handouts, repairs, dental treatment, even a new car. David, always gentle and decent, paid up for years, still haunted by guilt over leaving the marriage—even though Katie had already turned twenty and the two of them had been living as flatmates for years. “Lorraine, don’t talk about Helen like that.” David’s voice was firmer now, but embarrassment lingered. “This isn’t about her. We just need a bit of notice. The boys are only six—they need watching every second, and we’re not getting any younger…” — “Exactly!” Lorraine sounded triumphant. “Old age is a booby prize, and moving around keeps you youthful. Chase after the grandkids, it’ll do you good! Anyway, Katie’ll drop them off tomorrow for ten. I can’t, you know my back—and don’t argue, David. They’re your family.” There was a click and the dial tone echoed in the room. David set the phone down and exhaled heavily, not meeting Helen’s gaze. The kitchen fell quiet; only the ticking clock filled the air. Outside, an evening shower rattled against the windowsill. Helen tidied imaginary crumbs with a napkin. — “So, tomorrow at ten, then?” she asked, her voice steady. David finally looked up. His eyes begged forgiveness. — “Helen, I’m so sorry. You heard her—like a sledgehammer. Katie’s flying out, Lorraine claims she’s crippled… What else can they do? They’re my grandkids.” — “David,” Helen sat opposite him and laced her fingers, “these are your grandkids. Not mine. I’m fond of them, but let’s be honest—they don’t even call me by name. To them, I’m ‘that lady,’ just as Granny Lorraine taught them. Every visit ends with chaos, because Katie believes in zero rules for kids.” — “I’ll handle them myself!” David assured her. “Really. You won’t have to lift a finger. I’ll take them to the park, the cinema, the amusements—just, if you could cook something simple, soup or meatballs. They do love your cooking, even if they’d never admit it.” Helen smiled sadly. She knew how it would go. David would last two hours before collapsing on the sofa. Then it would be her, left in charge of two six-year-olds bouncing off the furniture and ignoring every word (“Granny Lorraine says anything goes because Grandpa’s in charge”). — “We’ve got theatre tickets Saturday,” Helen reminded him. “And we planned to go to the allotment—to get the roses ready for winter.” — “The theatre isn’t going anywhere. The tickets can be returned… and the roses… Oh, Helen, please. Just this once. I’ll have a word with Katie, make sure it never happens again.” “Just this once.” She’d heard that phrase twenty times. Each time, she’d caved in—not wanting to add to his guilt. But this time, something snapped. Maybe it was Lorraine’s bossy tone, maybe it was being taken for granted. — “No, David,” Helen said quietly. David blinked in confusion. — “No what?” — “No, we’re not taking the kids. Not this time. I’m not cancelling my plans, not returning my tickets, not spending three days cooking for children who last time told me my soup ‘smelled funny’ and that ‘mum’s better.’” — “Helen, come on—they’re just kids. Where’s Katie going to put them? Her holiday’s already paid for.” — “That’s Katie’s problem. She’s an adult. She’s got a husband, a mother-in-law, nannies if she wants. Why should their emergencies always become my responsibility?” — “Ours—” David corrected. — “No, David. Mine. Because I clean the house when they leave mayhem, I do the laundry, I do the cooking—while you play the doting grandad, then retreat with your blood pressure pills. I respect your relationship with your grandchildren, but I didn’t sign up as a free nanny for the children of a woman who despises me.” David frowned, not used to Helen being so direct. She was usually the soul of patience. — “So what do you suggest? Call and say ‘no’ right now? Lorraine will explode, kick up a fuss, probably give me a heart attack.” — “Don’t call,” Helen said, getting up and heading to the window. “Let them bring the kids.” — “So you’re… you’re saying yes?” David brightened. — “No. Let them bring the kids. We’ll see.” Saturday morning dawned sunny and warm—unlike the mood in Helen and David’s flat. David was pacing, fussing with the sofa, checking his watch. Helen, calm as ever, enjoyed her breakfast, picked a dress, did her makeup, and packed a small bag. — “Going somewhere?” David fretted as she packed a book and umbrella. — “Don’t forget, we’re at the theatre by seven. I thought I’d have my hair done and walk by the river before then—clear my head.” — “Helen! They’ll be here in fifteen minutes! How am I supposed to cope on my own? I don’t know what they eat, where their things are—” — “You’ll work it out. You’re their grandad. A positive male role model—wasn’t that what Lorraine wanted?” Just then, the doorbell rang—loud and insistent. David dashed to open it; Helen lingered in the bedroom, slipping on her shoes. Raised voices echoed from the hallway. — “Thank God, no traffic!” It was Katie, David’s daughter. “Dad! Here you go—bag’s here, tablet’s charged, any problems just ring. Gotta dash—the cab’s waiting! Oliver, Daniel, behave for your granddad!” — “But—what about food… their routines—” David started. — “Oh, it’s the weekend—just stick some fish fingers on! Bye!” The door banged, in ran two boys, yelling, “Attack!” Helen walked into the hallway. The twins were already climbing the shoe rack, grabbing for David’s hat. David looked lost, clutching a giant holdall. But most interesting of all, there was Lorraine in the doorway. Apparently her poorly back hadn’t stopped her coming to “supervise.” She looked in rude health, hair coiffed, gold everywhere. — “Ah, there you are,” Lorraine eyed Helen up and down. “I hope you’re ready. Nothing fried for the boys—Daniel’s allergic to oranges, Oliver hates onions, soup must be fresh daily. And don’t let them have screens for more than an hour.” Her tone was pure dowager—issuing orders to the help. David shrank, prepared for a row. Helen coolly went to the mirror and adjusted her hair. — “Good morning, Lorraine. Good morning, boys.” The twins stopped briefly, but carried on jumping. — “Thank you for the helpful instructions,” Helen replied with a gentle smile. “Do pass them on to David—he’s in charge today.” — “Excuse me?” Lorraine’s eyebrows shot up. “Where do you think you’re going?” — “It’s my day off. I’ve got errands, friends to meet, theatre. I’ll be back late, maybe tomorrow.” Lorraine reddened and blocked her path. — “Are you mad? Personal errands? Two children here—your husband’s grandchildren! You’re obliged—” — “I’m only obliged to those I promised,” Helen stopped her, softly but firmly. “I’m not their mother or their grandmother. Their own parents and grannies can look after them. You, Lorraine, are retired, as far as I know.” — “My back!” Lorraine screeched. — “And I have a life. I don’t intend to spend it servicing other people, especially when asked in that tone.” — “David!” Lorraine turned. “Are you hearing this? Are you a man or a mouse? Tell her!” David’s eyes flicked between the women, torn by habit. — “Lorraine…” he began, “Helen, er, did say she was busy. I thought I could manage on my own…” — “Manage? You’ll be on the sofa in an hour! Who’ll feed them, bathe them? Look at her—done up for the theatre, and her ‘family’s in crisis!’” — “Family?” Helen’s smile vanished. “Let’s be clear, Lorraine. David and I are a family. You, Katie, and your grandchildren are David’s relatives, not mine. I’ve put up with your demands and insults long enough. But this is my home, not a creche, I’m not your unpaid servant.” — “How dare you! This is my ex-husband’s flat—he’s entitled—” — “He can invite whomever he likes. But he can’t force me to serve his guests. David—your choice. You can stay here with the grandkids and Lorraine, who clearly feels fine now she’s here. I’m off.” Helen turned for the door. — “Wait!” Lorraine grabbed her arm. “You’re not going anywhere until you cook for the kids! Katie’s at the airport! Where am I supposed to put them!” Helen calmly but firmly removed Lorraine’s hand. — “That’s not my concern, Lorraine. Call a taxi, go home, make your own soup. Or call Katie—she can come back. And don’t touch me again. Otherwise, I’ll call the police and report you for trespassing and assault. And believe me—I will.” A deathly silence fell; even the twins froze. David, amazed and a bit scared, watched Helen—she had never been like this before: not “nice Helen,” but a woman defending her boundaries. Lorraine gasped for breath. She was used to Helen taking it. Not anymore. — “You’re a monster,” Lorraine spat. “Selfish cow. I’ll make sure everyone knows what you’ve done.” — “Go ahead,” Helen shrugged. “I don’t care.” She walked out. — “David, you have keys. If you sort this, ring me. If not—I’ll see you when the boys are gone.” The lift doors closed behind her. Outside, she inhaled the fresh, rain-washed air. Her hands shook, but she felt incredibly free. She’d finally said “no.” Helen had a wonderful day—art exhibit, coffee, a stroll in the park. She turned her phone off all day, ignoring missed calls and messages. That evening, after the play, she switched it on: ten missed calls from David. One text—*“Lorraine’s taken the boys. I’m home. Sorry.”* She got home at eleven. The flat was quiet and spotless. David sat at the kitchen table, looking exhausted. — “Where are the boys?” she asked. — “Lorraine marched them off. She shrieked about cursing us, rang Katie, demanded money. In the end, Katie had to arrange a nanny in Spain and take the boys with her. Lorraine flat-out refused—her ‘back’ acted up at the mere thought of helping.” — “See? There was a solution. Katie’s their mother—let her enjoy her holiday with her kids. That’s normal.” — “Helen,” David reached for her hand, “thank you.” — “For what—leaving you to deal with it?” — “For making me feel like a man, not Lorraine’s doormat. I realised today: I don’t owe Lorraine or Katie—or anyone—but you. You’re my family. I’ve acted like a coward.” — “You’ve learned. That’s all that matters. Tea and cherry pie?” The next day, Lorraine didn’t call. Katie texted from Spain. Life felt different now—lighter, airier, no trace of old resentment. A week later: — “Lorraine called yesterday,” David said while gardening. Helen tensed. “What did she want?” — “Money for medication.” — “And did you give any?” — “No. Told her our budget’s tight—new conservatory for you, remember? She hung up. And you know what? The world didn’t end.” — “Nope,” Helen grinned. “It just got a little brighter.” The failed “babysitting drop-off” became a turning point in their marriage. Helen realised dignity meant quietly saying “no” when someone trampled her boundaries. And David learned that his wife’s respect was worth more than peace with an ex-wife who was no longer family. The grandkids still came, but only by arrangement. Lorraine never set foot in their flat again. David took the boys to the park, the zoo, then dropped them home—much easier for everyone. The children got a happy granddad, not a harried one. And Helen got what she deserved—peace, and a husband who finally, truly chose her. Sometimes, sitting on their patio at sunset, Helen thought of that day she picked up her bag and left for the theatre. It was the best performance she’d ever seen—even if she couldn’t remember the play’s name. Because the real drama had happened in her own hallway, and the ending was happily ever after. If you enjoyed this story about standing up for yourself, don’t forget to follow and leave a comment—what would you have done in Helen’s place?

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La vida

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“She’s Just Playing My Husband – Fuming, Emma Complained” Emma stared at her phone, feeling that familiar surge of frustration boiling inside.

Shes just manipulating my husband, Charlotte fumed. Staring at her phone, I felt that familiar, simmering

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012

When My Mum Discovered I Was Married, Had a Good Job, and Owned My Own Flat, She Suddenly Turned Up to Ask Me for Financial Support

When my mum discovered that I was married, had a solid job, and owned my own flat, she was quick to turn