Walton Merritt

NOT THE RIGHT ALEX Daisy stood in front of the mirror, changing her earrings for the third time. “Well, Button,” she addressed her dog, “these or those?” Button yawned. “Thanks for the support.” She glanced at the clock. Half an hour to go. Strange nerves. Usually she felt confident—suitors hovered around her. But this time… “Nonsense,” she decided, giving herself one last look in the mirror. “You’re the best!” Maybe it was because she’d never seen Alex before? Three weeks of phone calls—not a single meeting. Three weeks, and I haven’t got a word in edgeways, she suddenly thought, smirking. Daisy took a deep breath and picked up her handbag. Time to go. THREE WEEKS EARLIER “Oh, when will you finally get married and move out!” sighed her dad—the consultant neurosurgeon—over dinner. He’d just come home from a marathon surgery, hoping for a quiet evening with a volume of Terry Pratchett. But Daisy had spent the past half hour chattering non-stop, comparing British and American science fiction. “Dad, you said Pratchett was the peak—” “I did. Another time, love—I just need some peace tonight.” Daisy pouted and went quiet—for all of three minutes. “By the way, speaking of marriage,” her dad brightened up suddenly. “Remember Dr. Spencer—the head of the GP surgery where I sometimes help out?” “Yes?” “He’s got a son. Supposedly an excellent chap. Spencer asked for your number—to introduce you. I said yes.” Daisy grimaced. All these set-ups—so old-fashioned. For wallflowers, surely—not for her! But she didn’t have the heart to argue with her dad. THE FIRST CALL The “excellent chap” waited a few days before he called. “Hello?” “Hi, it’s Alex. Your dad mentioned me?” “He did,” Daisy replied, cool but slightly intrigued—the voice was pleasant. “My dad spoke really highly of you. Said you’re… extraordinary.” “I don’t know about that!” she laughed. “Just an ordinary med student. Paediatrics at St Mary’s. What about you?” “Oxford. Future surgeon.” Ah, that explained the slightly smug tone. They talked for an hour. Then another two. Then every day after. Alex talked about his cat Miranda, his love for sci-fi, and his worry that he was too thin, too pale, too tired… Sometimes Daisy caught herself thinking: Isn’t that supposed to be my role? She barely kept herself from saying, “Alex, just lighten up.” Though, he hated being called “Lex.” Still, if you overlooked the little things, she liked him. THE MEETING AT OXFORD CIRCUS Eventually, they arranged to meet. At Oxford Circus, by the Underground. To see a new film and then stroll over to “Cosmos,” the ice cream café on Regent Street. The rest—who knew? Daisy burst from the tube carriage and scanned the crowd. Bustle. Noise. That distinctive Underground smell. And there he was—tall, handsome, clutching a bouquet of roses by the pillar, craning for each train to arrive. She marched over, determined. “Alex?” He flinched, looked confused. “Excuse me, are you—?” “Daisy,” she said sharply, extending her hand—part handshake, part invitation to kiss it. Stunned by my beauty, she thought wryly. Gone all formal… He froze. “Daisy?” he repeated uncertainly. “But I—” “Come on!” She grabbed his sleeve. “We need to pick up our tickets!” “Wait, I wanted to—” “We’ll talk later!” She pulled him to the exit. He glanced back at the platform, as if searching for someone, but Daisy swept him away into the crowd. The roses were still in his grip. He looked at them, then at her—then surrendered. “All right,” he murmured. “Let’s go.” CINEMA AND CAFÉ They both enjoyed the film. Daisy admired her date’s stylish coat, the artsy, hand-knit scarf he obviously treasured. A whiff of expensive French cologne. Delicious vanilla ice cream at “Cosmos.” They agreed on pretty much everything. Well, mainly Daisy did the talking while he followed her every gesture with warm brown eyes, nodding along. Sometimes, in support, he’d gently enclose her animated hand in his large, reassuring palm. So manly—and so attractive! “You know,” he said during their walk along a twilit Shaftesbury Avenue, “you’re…” “Yes?” she prompted, wary. “So alive. So genuine.” She flashed an utterly enchanting smile—the best she could muster. She was in love. THREE MONTHS LATER The romance took off. They met almost daily and rang each other several times a day—which was as much as you could do before smartphones. After three months, Alex declared that he loved Daisy, couldn’t live without her, and wanted to marry her. Daisy, after a token ten minutes of dithering, rallied and said yes. “You’ll have to meet my parents,” her fiancé worried. “Let’s not rush that!” Daisy panicked. Much as her family wanted her settled, they were frightfully picky about potential candidates. Especially her gran. No one was ever good enough for her precious granddaughter, and Daisy’s parents tended to back Gran’s arguments. There was no way Daisy was giving up on Alex. She wasn’t hurrying to meet his parents either, in case someone let something slip. HER DAD’S BIRTHDAY A chance came a fortnight later. Despite his dislike for fuss, Dad decided to properly celebrate his 55th, inviting friends and colleagues. Daisy mysteriously announced she would be bringing someone. The guests were nearly all gathered when Daisy ushered her fiancé in, bearing carnations and a bottle of French brandy. “Dad, please meet…” she began, slightly embarrassed. The phone rang. “Hold on, back in a sec,” Dad dashed to answer. He came puffing back moments later: “That was Dr. Spencer—just getting directions from the tube. I’m so pleased he’s actually coming. Thought he was cross since you never met his son!” Daisy froze. “Never met him?” Dad stared at her, puzzled. “Well, yes. He said his boy waited for you at Oxford Circus for two hours. With flowers. But you never turned up.” Slowly, Daisy turned to Alex. He stood in the hall, pale, clutching the carnations, guilt written all over him. “We’ll be right back,” she hissed to her bewildered father. She dragged Alex to her bedroom. THE TRUTH Daisy closed the door. Turned to him. “Wait,” she said slowly, almost afraid to understand. “What do you mean—I never turned up?” Alex stayed silent. “You’re not Alex Spencer?” He shook his head. “You’re not Alex Spencer?!” “No,” he said softly. “I’m Alex Sullivan. A friend set me up with a girl—Natalie. I waited for her at Oxford Circus. And then you came up and…” “And I just took you along,” Daisy finished. They stood, silent, in her room. “I tried to explain—on our way to the cinema that first day. But you wouldn’t listen.” “I never listen,” she conceded. “It’s a gift.” Button whimpered at the door. Daisy sat on the bed. “So what now?” Alex looked at her—a long, serious look, maybe too serious. Then knelt beside her. “I don’t care how we met,” he said, “whether by chance or through someone’s dad.” “I love you. Will you marry me—for real, no mix-ups?” Daisy let out a relieved smile. “Okay. Then, let’s meet the parents. Warning—my lot are complicated.” “So’s mine. And I’ve got a cat with attitude.” “We’ll manage!” They left the room. In the living room, the guests waited—including, just arrived, Dr. Spencer and his son. Tall. Handsome. With a bouquet of roses. Daisy glanced at the real Alex Spencer. Then at her Alex—even paler, with his carnations. No, she thought. Not the right one. And she burst out laughing—for real this time. “Dad,” she called, “I’ve got news. And it’s a long story.”

NOT THE RIGHT ALEX Daisy stood in front of her mirror, changing her earrings for the third time.

La vida

Driving Down a Snowy Road by the Forest, My Path Was Suddenly Blocked by a Pack of Wolves—One Leapt Onto My Bonnet; Just as I Was Certain I Wouldn’t Survive, Something Utterly Unexpected Happened…

So, let me tell you what happened to me the other dayit honestly still gives me chills. I was driving

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Aunt Rose’s China Is Smashed Forever: The Twelve-Person Wedding Set—Goodbye to Golden Rims, ‘Made in Germany’ on Every Dish, and a Lifetime Waiting for the Right Occasion, All Gone with One Fall from the Loft—Why Do We Save Our Best Until It’s Too Late?

So, listen to this Aunt Ruth’s china set is done for. Completely smashed. It was her wedding china

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After the Car Crash That Left Me Hospitalized, My Mother-in-Law Brought My Little Boy to Visit; He Quietly Handed Me a Bottle of Orange Juice and Whispered: “Gran Said You Should Drink This, But She Told Me Not to Say Any More”—The Chilling Truth That Followed Left Me Horrified

After the accident, I was lying in hospital when my mother-in-law turned up with my little boy;

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I Felt Ashamed to Attend My Son’s Wedding in My Old Clothes; Many Guests Whispered and Laughed at Me in Church, But What My Future Daughter-in-Law Did Shocked Everyone

I felt embarrassed to attend my own son’s wedding, knowing full well that my clothes were old and worn.

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“What Do You Think You’re Doing? This Is My Home! Your Son and I Divorced Three Years Ago!” — A Woman Shouts in Shock as Her Former Mother-in-Law Arrives with a Locksmith and Tries to Break Into Her Flat

“What on earth do you think youre doing? This is my home! Your son and I divorced three years ago!”

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I Gave a Homeless Man and His Dog a Hot Meal, and the Very Next Day the Police Came to My Door: “You Poisoned Someone, We Have to Arrest You”

You wont believe what happened to me at work the other day. So, Im a chef in this inviting little café in York.

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For years, my mother and I had a difficult relationship, but I never imagined things would go this far. I have two children—a nine-year-old girl and a six-year-old boy. I’ve raised them alone since my separation, and despite being responsible, hardworking, and a very caring mum, my mother always insisted I was “not fit to be a mother.” Whenever she visited, she’d check everything—from looking in my fridge, hunting for dust, scolding me if the clothes weren’t folded as she liked, or if the children weren’t perfectly quiet while she was there. Last week, she came round to “help” because my son had a cold, saying she’d stay for two days. One afternoon while she was out shopping, I was searching for a receipt in the TV stand cupboard… and that’s when I saw it: a thick black notebook with a red divider. I thought it was mine—one of the ones I use to jot down expenses—but it wasn’t. The handwriting inside was hers. And on the first page, it said: “Record—just in case legal action becomes necessary.” I turned the page…and saw exact dates with things she considered my “irresponsibilities.” For example: • “3rd September: the children ate reheated rice.” • “18th October: the girl went to bed at 10pm—too late for her age.” • “22nd November: clothes waiting to be folded in the living room.” • “15th December: saw her looking tired—not suitable for raising children.” Everything I did, every detail of my home—absolutely everything—she wrote down as if it were a crime. And there were things that were completely made up: “29th November: left the child alone for 40 minutes.” That never happened. What’s even worse: there was a section called “Backup plan.” She’d listed the names of aunts who could “confirm” that I lived under stress—something they’d never said. There were printed messages of me asking her not to come round unannounced because I was busy—she was keeping them as “evidence” that I “refused help.” There was even a paragraph stating that if she could “prove” I was a messy or disorganised mother, she could apply for temporary custody of the children “for their safety.” When she got back from the shop, I was shaking. I didn’t know whether to confront her, to stay silent, or to run. I carefully put the notebook back where I found it. That same evening, she made an apparently innocent remark: “Perhaps the children would be better off with someone more organised…” That’s when I realised the notebook wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment idea—this was a plan. Organised. Calculated. Deliberate. I didn’t tell her I’d seen it. I know if I do, she’ll deny everything, accuse me, turn it all against me—and only make things more dangerous. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. And I’m hurt to my core.

For years, my relationship with my mother had always been uneasy, but I could never have imagined things

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My Daughter Stopped Speaking to Me a Year Ago After Leaving Home to Live With a Man I Knew Was Wrong for Her—Unstable, Moody, and Always Making Excuses Not to Work. She Told Me I Didn’t Understand and That Life With Him Would Be Different. That Was Our Last Conversation Until She Called Me in Tears Two Weeks Ago After He Threw Her Out, Admitting She Was Ashamed to Admit I Was Right, and Begging Not to Spend Christmas Alone—Now She’s Back Home With Just a Small Bag and a Broken Heart, and This Christmas, She Won’t Have to Be Alone.

My daughter stopped speaking to me a whole year ago. She left home to live with a man I simply couldn’

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After Christmas Dinner at the Gables: The Heiress Under the Bed, The Fiancé’s Chilling Plot, and How Clara Vance Turned a High-Society Wedding into the Ultimate British Revenge

After our Christmas meal finished, I squeezed underneath the guest bed, plotting to surprise my fiancé.