Walton Merritt

Miss, when that old man finishes his cheap soup, please give me his table—I haven’t got time to waste! I’m feeling generous today, so put his bill on me. But the humble old man would put the wealthy snob in his place in the most unexpected way! In that little English bistro, nestled in a quiet corner of Britain, time seemed to move differently. It was a simple, cosy spot, filled with the scent of fresh bread and steaming soup—where people came not just to eat, but to feel at home… And every day, at the same hour, he would appear. An old man in worn clothes, hands roughened by years of work, with that weary look only a hard life leaves behind. He never asked for extras. Never complained. Never disturbed anyone. He took his usual seat in the corner, pulled off his flat cap, warmed his hands against the cold, and always said the same gentle words: — A soup… if you please. The waitress knew him by heart. Everyone did. Some glanced at him with pity. Others, with disdain. Most, though, simply saw him as part of the place: a man with nothing left to lose, but a dignity he never let go. Then, one day, the door swung open and the whole air changed. A man strode in, sharp suit, gleaming watch, the look of someone used to getting what he wants—immediately. That was Mr. Smith. Richard Smith. A businessman, well-heeled and “somebody.” Everyone knew who he was. As he sat at the prime table near the window, tossing his coat over the chair as if the café belonged to him, he caught sight of the old man. The old fellow was sipping his soup slowly, as if every mouthful was a small victory. Smith laughed, short and derisive, and motioned the waitress over. — Miss… when that old man finishes his cheap soup, please give me his table. I can’t afford to waste my time. I’m feeling generous today—just put his bill on me. The waitress froze. Not because it was a “charity.” But because his tone wasn’t kind. It was humiliating. The old man heard. Everyone heard. But he didn’t get up. Didn’t argue. No fuss. Just put his spoon down and looked up at the man in the suit. His eyes held not anger, but something far deeper: Memory. After a pause, his voice gentle and calm, he said: — Glad to see you’re well, Richard… Smith stiffened. The diner fell silent. The old man spoke on, never raising his voice: — But remember… when you had nothing, it was I who gave you a bowl of soup. You came from a poor family… used to run to my house at noon for a meal. Smith’s jaw dropped, his mask of “important man” yanked away in a heartbeat. The waitress stared. People began whispering. Smith tried to laugh—but the laugh wouldn’t come. — No… it can’t be… he murmured. The old man smiled sadly. — Oh, it can. I was your mother’s neighbor. I remember you hiding behind the fence—you were ashamed to be hungry. Smith’s eyes darted desperately, searching for a way out. But it wasn’t at the door anymore. It was inside. — You forgot me, the old man said. And I understand. Success makes us forget fast. But I never forgot you. You were the child who shivered in the cold and treated every bowl of soup like a gift from Heaven. Smith clutched his glass, his fingers trembling. — I… I didn’t know… he whispered, not really knowing what he meant. Not “didn’t know”—just “didn’t want to remember.” The old man rose slowly. Before leaving, he simply said: — You had everything today… yet chose to mock a man for eating soup. Don’t forget, Richard… Life can put you right where you once pointed your finger. And he left. No one breathed normally in the café. The waitress had tears in her eyes. The owner stared at the floor. And Richard Smith—the man who seemed to have the world at his feet—was, for the first time in years, small. So very small. He hurried after the old man, catching him at the door. — Sir… he said, voice breaking. Please… forgive me. The old man studied him. — It’s not me you need to ask forgiveness from. It’s the child you were—and buried, just to feel grand. Smith bowed his head. Then quietly said: — Come tomorrow… and the next day… and as long as God allows… Your soup will never be “cheap” again. The old man smiled. And for the first time in years, his eyes showed peace. Because sometimes God doesn’t punish us with loss. He punishes us with memories. To bring us back… to our humanity. If you’ve read this far, leave a ❤️ and share—someone out there might need to remember today that a person’s worth isn’t counted in money, but in soul.

Miss, once this old man finishes slurping his cheap soup, please give me his table. I havent the whole

La vida

An Elderly Lady Finds a Lost Locket on the Floor of an Old English Church and Refuses to Return It Until She Uncovers the Truth About the Photograph Inside – A Tale of Family Secrets, Long-Lost Twins, and a Miracle Reunion That Changes Everything

An elderly lady found a necklace on the floor in church and decided not to return it In the old church

La vida

010

The Elderly Gentleman Struggled from Bed and, Steadying Himself Against the Wall, Shuffled into the Next Room. In the Glow of the Night Lamp, He Peered with Dim Eyes at His Sleeping Wife: “She’s Not Moving! Has She Passed Away? – He Sank to His Knees. – Seems She’s Still Breathing.” He Stood, Shuffled into the Kitchen, Drank Some Kefir, Visited the Loo, Then Returned to His Room. He Lay Down, but Sleep Wouldn’t Come: “We’re Both Ninety—Lena and I. What a Long Life! We’ll Die Soon, and There’s No One Left Nearby. Our Daughter, Natasha, Passed Before She Hit Sixty. Maxim Died in Prison. There’s a Granddaughter, Oksana, but She’s Been Living in Germany for Over Twenty Years. She’s Forgotten Her Grandparents Completely. She Must Have Grown Children by Now.” He Didn’t Realise When He Drifted Off. He Woke to a Hand Touching His Face: “Are You Alive, Kostya?” Came a Barely Audible Voice. He Opened His Eyes. His Wife Was Bent Over Him. “What is it, Lena?” “I Saw You Weren’t Moving. I Got Frightened, Thought You’d Gone.” “Still Alive! Go Back to Bed!” There Were the Shuffling Footsteps, the Click of the Kitchen Light. Elena Ivanovna Drank Some Water, Went to the Loo, and Headed to Her Own Room. She Lay Down: “One Day I’ll Wake and He’ll Be Gone. What Will I Do? Or Maybe I’ll Go First. Kostya’s Already Arranged Our Funerals. Never Thought You Could Organise Your Own Send-Off. Then Again, Who Would Bury Us? Our Granddaughter’s Forgotten Us. Only Polina, the Neighbour, Pops In—She Has a Key. Grandpa Gives Her Ten Thousand from Our Pension Each Month. She Buys Our Groceries and Medicines. What Else Would We Spend Our Money On? We Can’t Even Get Down From the Fourth Floor by Ourselves Anymore.” Konstantin Leonidovich Opened His Eyes. The Sun Peeped Through the Window. He Stepped Out onto the Balcony and Saw the Green Cherry Tree Treetop. A Smile Broke Across His Face: “We’ve Made It to Another Summer!” He Went to See His Wife, Who Sat on Her Bed, Lost in Thought. “Lena, Stop Brooding! Come, I Want to Show You Something.” “Oh, I’ve Barely Any Strength Left!” Grumbled the Old Lady, Hauling Herself from Bed. “What Are You Planning Now?” “Come On, I’ll Help You!” Supporting Her by the Shoulders, He Led Her Out to the Balcony. “Look, the Cherry Tree’s Green! You Said We’d Never See Another Summer, and Here We Are!” “Oh, So True! The Sun’s Out Too.” They Sat Side by Side on the Balcony Bench. “Remember When I Took You to the Pictures for the First Time? Back in School. The Cherry Tree Had Just Budded that Day Too.” “How Could I Forget? How Many Years Ago That Was?” “Seventy-Plus… Seventy-Five.” For a Long Time, They Sat, Reminiscing. So Much Slips Away in Old Age, Sometimes Even What Happened Yesterday, but Youth Never Fades from Memory. “Oh, We’ve Chattered Away the Morning!” His Wife Shook Herself. “We’ve Not Had Breakfast Yet.” “Make Some Proper Tea, Lena! I’m Fed Up with All These Herbal Brews.” “We’re Not Supposed To.” “Just Make It Weak—Add a Spoonful of Sugar Each.” Konstantin Leonidovich Sipped His Diluted Tea, Eating a Little Cheese Sandwich, and Remembered When Breakfast Meant Strong, Sweet Tea with Pasties or Meat Pies. Their Neighbour, Polina, Popped In. She Smiled in Approval: “How Are You Both Doing?” “What Business Can Two Ninety-Year-Olds Have?” He Quipped. “If You’re Joking, All Is Well. Need Me to Pick Anything Up?” “Polina, Buy Us Some Meat!” Requested Konstantin Leonidovich. “You’re Not Supposed To, Are You?” “Chicken’s Allowed.” “Alright, I’ll Cook You Chicken Noodle Soup!” “Polina, Could You Pick Up Something For My Heart?” Asked His Wife. “Elena Ivanovna, I Only Got You Some Recently.” “I’ve Run Out.” “Shall I Call the Doctor?” “No Need.” Polina Cleared the Table, Washed Up, and Left. “Lena, Let’s Go Out on the Balcony,” Suggested Her Husband. “Let’s Soak Up Some Sun.” “Let’s Go! No Point Sitting in This Stuffy Flat.” Polina Returned, Stepped onto the Balcony: “Missing the Sunshine, Are You?” “It’s Lovely Here, Polina!” Elena Ivanovna Beamed. “I’ll Bring You Some Porridge and Then Start Soup for Lunch.” “She’s a Good Woman,” Said Konstantin as She Left. “Where Would We Be Without Her?” “And All We Give Her Is Ten Thousand a Month.” “Lena, The Flat’s Willed to Her—The Notary Confirmed It.” “She Doesn’t Know That.” They Stayed on the Balcony Until Lunch. The Chicken Soup Was Delicious, with Finely Cut Meat and Mashed Potatoes. “That’s How I Made Soup for Natasha and Maxim When They Were Small,” Elena Ivanovna Recalled. “And Now, In Our Old Age, Strangers Cook for Us.” Sighed Her Husband. “It’s Just Our Lot, Kostya. When We Die, Nobody Will Even Cry.” “Enough, Lena, Let’s Not Dwell. Let’s Have a Nap!” “Kostya, They Say: ‘Old Folk Are Like Little Ones.’ We Have Pureed Soup, Nap Time, an Afternoon Snack…” Konstantin Leonidovich Dozed but Soon Woke; He Couldn’t Sleep—Maybe It Was the Weather? He Stepped Into the Kitchen. On the Table, He Found Two Glasses of Juice, Thoughtfully Set Out by Polina. He Picked Them Up and Headed Carefully to His Wife’s Room. She Was Sitting on the Bed, Staring Out the Window. “Why So Glum, Lena?” He Smiled. “Here, Have Some Juice.” She Took a Sip: “You Can’t Sleep Either?” “The Weather—My Blood Pressure’s Up.” “I’ve Felt Off All Day,” Elena Ivanovna Shook Her Head Sadly. “I Don’t Think I’ve Much Time Left. Give Me a Proper Send-Off.” “Don’t Be Silly, Lena. What Would I Do Without You?” “One of Us Will Go First, Either Way.” “That’s Enough! Let’s Go to the Balcony!” They Stayed There Until Evening. Polina Made Syrniki for Supper. They Ate and Watched the Telly as Usual, Only Old British Comedies and Cartoons These Days—Anything New Was Hard to Follow. Tonight, They Managed Just One Cartoon. Elena Ivanovna Got Up: “I’m Off to Bed—So Tired Tonight.” “Then I’ll Join You.” “Let Me Have a Good Look at You First!” She Suddenly Asked. “Why?” “Just Because.” They Looked at Each Other for a Long Time—Perhaps Remembering Their Youth, When Everything Was Still Ahead. “I’ll Walk You to Your Bed,” She Said, Taking His Arm, and Slowly Led Him Off. He Tucked Her In, Went to His Own Room, But His Heart Was Heavier than Ever. He Thought He Didn’t Sleep, but the Digital Clock Read Two in the Morning. He Rose and Went to His Wife’s Room. She Was Staring at the Ceiling, Eyes Wide Open. “Lena!” He Took Her Hand. It Was Cold. “Lena, What’s Happened? Le-e-na!” Suddenly, He Himself Struggled for Breath. He Barely Made It to His Room, Put Their Prepared Documents on the Desk, Then Returned to His Wife. He Gazed at Her Face for a Long Time, Lay Down Beside Her, and Closed His Eyes. He Saw Lena, Young and Beautiful as Seventy-Five Years Ago, Walking Towards a Distant, Shining Light. He Rushed After, Caught Up, Took Her Hand… In the Morning, Polina Entered Their Bedroom. They Lay Side by Side, Identical, Contented Smiles on Their Faces. When She Came to Her Senses, She Rang for an Ambulance. The Doctor Examined Them and Shook His Head in Amazement: “They Passed On Together. Must Have Loved Each Other Deeply.” They Were Taken Away. Polina Sank, Exhausted, onto a Chair by the Table—and Then Spotted the Burial Agreement and… a Will in Her Name. She Buried Her Head in Her Hands and Burst Into Tears.

The old man heaved himself out of bed, steadying himself against the wall as he shuffled into the next room.

La vida

013

Hello, I’m Your Husband’s Mistress: When the Other Woman Arrives Pregnant and I’m Ready for Her—Confessions of a British Wife Who’s Seen it All

Good afternoon. Im your husbands mistress. I paused, setting aside the mock-up of the magazine I was

La vida

010

Life, Like the Moon: Sometimes Full, Sometimes Waning I believed our marriage was as eternal and unbreakable as the universe—how wrong I was… I met my future husband, David, at medical school; we married in our fifth year. My mother-in-law’s wedding gifts were a trip to the Lake District and keys to a new flat. Life seemed perfect. We moved into a three-bedroom flat, with his parents helping us at every turn. Each year, thanks to their generosity, we holidayed all over Europe. We were young and blissful, with our whole future ahead—David became a virologist, I a GP, and our sons, Daniel and Victor, completed our happiness. But looking back, I realise my life then was a river in full flow—I lived in luxury for a decade. And then, it all collapsed overnight. …The doorbell rang. I opened it to a pretty but troubled-looking young woman. ‘Are you Sophia? I’m here to see you—may I come in?’ she asked, hesitantly. She was slightly pregnant. ‘My name’s Tanya. I’m ashamed to say this, but I love your husband. David loves me, too. We’re having a baby,’ she blurted. She handed me a small velvet box. Inside was a gold ring. ‘Is this some kind of bribe? David isn’t for sale!’ I snapped, returning the ring. Tanya began to cry, pleading for understanding, but I felt only sorrow for myself. This woman had stolen my happiness. I pushed the ‘compensation’ back to her, ushered her out, and from that moment, my life began to unravel… My mother-in-law called: David was leaving. She packed his things, gently telling me, ‘We’ll always be family, no matter what. David and his new girl, well—let them get on with it.’ Within months, David had a new family, including Tanya’s daughter from her first marriage. He never visited our sons, sent only minimal support via his mother; it was the ‘90s. I ended up hospitalised with a breakdown. The boys stayed with their grandmother, spoilt and cared for. When I tried to bring them home after my recovery, they refused—her cooking and lenience were too tempting. What could I say? ‘Let them stay with us,’ my mother-in-law coaxed. ‘You’ll need to downsize the flat, anyway.’ So, I was left alone, soon forced to trade our spacious home for a tiny, shabby bedsit—a far cry from before. I saw my sons only on holidays. ‘Let’s not upset the boys’ contentment,’ my mother-in-law would say. They drifted from me; the connection broke. I longed to disappear into my cold, lonely corner. My gran used to say, ‘Life is like the moon: sometimes full, sometimes waning.’ It couldn’t go on like that. Even my first-class medical degree felt meaningless. …Work sent me to a conference in France, where I had a whirlwind romance with a Serbian doctor, Ivan. For ten days, I came back to life. There were other brief liaisons after, but nothing lasting. Once, my mother-in-law remarked, ‘Sophia, you’re glowing! You look like spring itself!’ Yet I remained alone. When my best friend emigrated to Greece, she introduced me to her ex. ‘Sophia, you take Alexander! He’s all yours now!’ she joked. So, I picked up the pieces of a man left behind. Alexander became my husband, but he had a major flaw: he was a hopeless alcoholic. I couldn’t leave him, no matter the heartbreak, and spent seven years fighting for him—rehab, doctors, tears. At last, he sobered up and now works as a driver at the local mortuary—sobering work, but he comes home quiet and, more importantly, sober. My friend from Greece can scarcely believe it: ‘Alexander isn’t drinking? I don’t believe it!’ I just laugh: ‘No refunds or exchanges!’ My sons are in their thirties now, both bachelors after witnessing so much marital upheaval as boys. I doubt I’ll have grandchildren. As for my ex-husband, David—his second wife, Tanya, drank herself into oblivion, and their daughter is now a single mum. David remarried again, this time to his nurse. Just before the wedding, he even asked our sons, ‘Would your mum want to start over with me?’ I answered sharply, ‘When pigs fly! In other words—never!’

LIFE, LIKE THE MOON: SOMETIMES FULL, SOMETIMES A SLIVER I used to believe our marriage was as unshakeable

La vida

— After I’m Gone, You’ll Have to Move Out—The Flat Will Go to My Son… — I’m sorry, Gail, but after I’m gone, you’ll have to vacate this flat, — said her husband Tony. — I’m leaving it to my son. I’ve already made the necessary arrangements. I hope you’re not upset with me about this? You’ve got your own children—they’ll look after you. Life had never been kind to Gail. Raised in an orphanage, she never knew her parents. She married young for love but found little happiness. Thirty-five years ago, she was left a widow with two small children when her husband, Nick, tragically died. Gail spent five years alone, working hard to give her son and daughter a good life, until Tony came into her world. At least she had her own roof—Nick’s flat had come to her as an inheritance. Gail’s new love, Tony, was thirteen years her senior, owned his spacious three-bedroom flat, and earned well. They quickly decided to move in together, and Tony got on splendidly with the children of the woman he loved. Gail’s eldest, Vicky, was wary of her stepdad at first, but Tony soon won her trust. Gail’s son, Ben, all but instantly called Tony “Dad.” Tony raised them as his own—never stingy with money, time, or affection—and Vicky and Ben were forever grateful for a joyful childhood. *** Both Vicky and Ben had long moved out. Vicky married early and left the nest, while Ben, who dreamed of a career in the Army, hadn’t lived at home in years. Ten years ago, Gail asked her children over to discuss an important matter. “I want to sell our two-bed flat,” she told them over tea. “We need major renovations here: furniture’s outdated, pipes need changing. No one lives in that old place anyway—it’s just sitting empty. If you’re both happy, I say we sell it and split the money.” Vicky shrugged. “That’s fine with me—I don’t need the flat, but to be honest, Mum, I could use the cash. You know how expensive it is treating my son, and we’re still hoping to help him fully recover.” Vicky’s eldest had a birth defect affecting his legs, so money was tight—constant rehab, trips to London, and private treatment sucked up every penny. Ben nodded in agreement. “Me neither, Mum. Give my share to Vicky for little Greg’s treatment. I’ve got my flat and still working on the mortgage. My nephew’s health matters more.” So the flat was sold. Gail gave half the proceeds to Vicky, and with what was left, she completely renovated Tony’s place—new wiring, new pipes, all new furniture and appliances, paid for out of her own pocket. Never could she have imagined her generosity would turn out to be for nothing, or that after thirty years together, Tony would betray her so cruelly. Tony’s health took a turn for the worse four years ago. He complained constantly of knee pain—some days, he couldn’t get out of bed unaided. Gail pleaded: “Tony, stop acting like a child and go to the doctor. Get some proper treatment—I’ll go with you if you want!” Tony grumbled in reply, “Doctors will just prescribe a load of expensive rubbish that won’t work. My knees have ached since I was young… Just worse now I’m nearly seventy.” Vicky had always called Tony “Dad” like Ben did, so she was determined to help. Together, the women made Tony go to the GP, and after a thorough check, the doctor was blunt: “It’s serious. You need urgent treatment. And you really must lose some weight before it gets worse.” Gail took this to heart—she overhauled Tony’s diet, swapped sweets for dried fruit, and cooked only healthy, low-calorie meals. Tony wasn’t having it. “I’m not living like a rabbit! I’ll drop dead starving before my knees ever get better!” But Gail stood firm, and eventually Tony agreed to treatment and dieting. Medicines barely helped, pain came and went, and soon Tony could barely move about the flat. Gail led him everywhere by the hand, and heart and blood pressure troubles soon arrived. He seemed to visibly age before their eyes, and Vicky and Ben took to spending as much time with him as possible. *** For several years, Tony battled on, but the ups and downs wore him out. Gail never once thought of leaving him, always nursing him over each crisis. Six months ago, Tony had a bad turn and ended up in hospital. Gail rarely left his bedside. One evening, as she was packing food for a visit, the doorbell rang. At the door stood a young man unfamiliar to her, yet oddly familiar at the same time. “Evening. Is Tony Evans in?” “I’m afraid he’s not home. Sorry, but who are you?” “I’m Serge. Tony Evans is my dad.” Gail was stunned—the resemblance to her husband as a young man was uncanny! She invited Serge in, feeling awkward and unprepared for the sudden revelation. Over tea, she learned her husband had never mentioned Serge, or that he’d been married before. When they finally visited Tony together, even her husband needed a moment to recognise his son. Later, Tony told Gail how he’d left Serge’s mum after catching her with a cousin, and how he’d been barred from Serge’s life—until, nearly thirty years on, Serge had tracked him down. “Serge is my son, my blood,” Gail said gently. “You can’t blame the child for the way his mother acted—give him a chance to know you.” Tony took her advice and began seeing Serge regularly, who soon met both Ben and Vicky—who welcomed their stepbrother warmly. Gail was happy for Tony, but unnoticed, their bank account was running low. Gail, still working as a remote accountant, checked her phone out of habit one day and was shocked to see a £1,500 withdrawal. She hurried to Tony. “Where’s our bank card? Someone’s emptied our account—was it you?” “Oh, don’t worry,” Tony replied calmly. “I gave Serge the card. He needed the money, so I helped him out.” “Why didn’t you tell me? Why give him so much, without even asking?!” “It’s none of your business,” Tony snapped. “He’s my son, he needed help. What’s your problem?” Rows followed, but Gail called the bank and cancelled the card. That night, Serge arrived, indignant: “The card’s blocked, Dad! We agreed I could use it.” Gail laid down the law: “That money’s mine—I paid for it every month. From now on, you get nothing without asking me.” After that, Serge stopped visiting, and Tony rarely spoke to Gail, giving her the silent treatment until, finally, she decided to spend some time away at her daughter’s house, “Let Tony think things over—a bit of space will do us good.” She returned home that night to find Tony in a cheerful mood, but then he looked at her seriously: “I hope you won’t be cross, but I went to the solicitor today—the flat’s now Serge’s.” “Really?” said Gail, quietly. “For what, exactly?” “He’s my son—my only flesh and blood. You’d better start sorting out where you’ll go next: your daughter’s or your son’s place?” A heaviness settled over Gail. Legally, perhaps, she had no rights to the flat, but it hurt. Every bit of furniture, every curtain, every pound she’d spent making that place a home—none of it mattered now. “Well, thank you, Tony,” she said softly. “Maybe you’re right. I need to look after myself now. Call your son—he can move in and look after you from now on.” “What’s going on, Gail? Where are you going? Explain yourself!” “There’s nothing to explain, Tony. I’m leaving you. I’ll call the children and make plans for my future.” Gail moved in with Ben, who had plenty of room. Vicky would have taken her too, but Gail didn’t want to impose. Tony tried to contest the divorce, but in the end, Gail was free—though she was left, in Tony and Serge’s eyes, as a gold-digger after someone else’s home.

Im sorry, Helen, but after Im gone, youll have to move out. Im leaving the flat to my son said Anthony

La vida

The Choice “Turns Out Freddie Is Deeply Married…” sighed Sue, sitting on a park bench and clutching in her pocket the referral for her appointment. Her flatmates from the uni halls used to envy her, seeing her with that dashing, clean-shaven, blue-eyed dark-haired bloke—convinced she’d landed a real gentleman. But, really, there was nothing to envy. Sue shuddered, recalling her first and last meeting with Freddie’s wife, who ambushed her outside the factory gates to lay things out clearly. “Well, hello there! You must be Susan?” the woman began. “And you are…?” Sue stammered, feeling uneasy under the gaze of this tall, elegant lady with ash-blonde hair. “I’m Olga—Freddie Minsden’s wife.” “Sorry… what?” “You heard me.” “Another plain Jane,” the woman continued calmly. “So how many of you are there? There’ll always be women chasing after someone else’s happiness.” “What gives you the right…?” “Listen,” Olga said, gripping Sue’s elbow, “what gives you the right? I’m his legitimate wife. I saw you with my husband, and you still try to stand your ground, when really you should be ashamed, mortified. Well, that’s what decent people do, but clearly, that’s not you. “Women like you,” she continued, “he’s had so many of you, you’d run out of fingers and toes to count. Getting involved with a married man, shame on you! He’s a man—a hunter, get it? To him, you’re just a fling. He’ll have his fun with you and then you’re gone from his memory. Stay away from him. “By the way, we’ve got two daughters. I can show you a family photo,” she said, fishing one from her handbag and handing it to the stunned Sue. “See? Proof of real, pure love. This was us in Brighton two months ago…. So, why the silence? “What do you want from me? Sort out your husband yourself!” “Oh, I will, don’t worry! He only just started at this factory. The pay’s decent, and now you turn up and start all this. Walk away, love. Don’t be taken in by promises. Freddie’s not leaving his family for anyone. Don’t waste your time. How old are you, thirty?” “Twenty-five!” Sue protested, wounded. “All the more reason. You’ll find someone and start a family. Just leave Freddie be.” Sue didn’t listen anymore. On shaking legs, she walked away from the woman who’d crashed into her hopes and dreams, shattering them in a moment. “Traitor…” Sue muttered, a lump in her throat, but she wouldn’t show her tears to the world. She didn’t want office gossip. That evening, as if nothing had happened, Freddie turned up at her place with flowers. But, puffy-eyed, she showed him the door, despite his vows of everlasting love and his talk of separating from his wife, claiming they’d long since become strangers. For two weeks Sue put herself back together. Freddie didn’t bother her again, acting like he no longer knew her at all. Bad luck comes in threes. Sue first thought the morning sickness and dizziness came from her stress, but soon realised her naïve, passionate fling with Freddie had consequences. “Six weeks,” the words sounded like a sentence. Sue panicked at the thought of being a single mum. She felt everyone knew, that all eyes were judging her, shocked at her trusting a man she barely knew. Freddie had hidden his marriage. What could she have done—asked to see his ID on the first date? He wasn’t wearing a ring—some married men don’t. Why hadn’t she been suspicious when he insisted their relationship stay secret at work? He’d deceived her, and she didn’t feel any better for her ignorance. Worse, the office was abuzz with gossip about Olga’s visit. “I’m pregnant,” Sue told her ex-lover during lunch, knowing she had no choice. “I’ll give you money—just take care of it,” he muttered. The next day, Freddie quit and disappeared from her life for good. Sue knew she couldn’t put things off. Ignoring the doctor’s warnings, she took the referral for the “procedure.” So here she sat, on a park bench, clutching the appointment slip as if it might slip away. “In a hurry?” said a besuited stranger with a giant bouquet of deep red chrysanthemums, dropping onto the bench next to her. “Sorry?” she looked at him with empty eyes. “Your watch,” he nodded at her gold wristwatch, “it’s running fast.” “It always runs ten minutes ahead… I reset it all the time but it’s hopeless,” she replied listlessly. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? An Indian Summer, proper golden autumn. My mum loves this season—says she made the right choice in her life on a day just like this, and she’s never regretted it. You know,” he rattled on, the unexpected chatter forcing its way past Sue’s gloom, “My mum’s a legend,” and he gave a big thumbs-up. “I’m so grateful to her.” “And your dad?” Sue heard herself ask. “Oh, she never talks about him, and I never ask. It upsets her… I’m just back from an interview, can you believe they chose me out of ten for a top spot? I’m their only real pick, even though I’ve no work experience. Honestly, I can barely believe it… “My mum gave me confidence in myself… First thing I’ll do with my first paycheck is buy Mum a trip to the seaside. She’s never seen it. Have you?” “No,” Sue replied, suddenly noticing his deep red tie. “That’s from Mum,” he said, fondly stroking the tie where she was looking. “Sorry if I’m going on, but I had to share my happiness… you look so sad… Maybe you just need someone to listen? Am I bothering you?” Sue silently shook her head. The stranger, odd as he was, wasn’t irritating. In fact, his pride in his mum was touching. “What devotion,” she thought, watching and listening with unexpected interest. “His mother is so lucky… If only I had a son like that….” “Right, best be off. Mum will be waiting for me, worrying if I’m late… But don’t you rush!” “Sorry?” “I meant your watch,” he grinned. “Oh,” she smiled back. A moment later, he was gone, and Sue tore up the referral she had been scared to let go of, scattering the shreds in the wind. She sat for a long time, breathing in the autumn sunshine. She didn’t feel alone anymore. That woman had raised a wonderful son, all on her own—and Sue hadn’t even asked his name. But it didn’t matter. Her choice was made. *** Twenty-three years later… “Mum! I’m late!” Stan stood at the mirror while his mum patiently tied the deep red tie she’d bought him for his big job interview. “Maybe forget it all—” “It’s a confidence boost. Trust me, it’ll all be fine. They’ll pick you… There, that’s perfect!” Sue said, stepping back to admire her grown-up boy. “It’s nerve-racking, what if—” “This job’s yours. Don’t stress, just answer questions clearly and remember to smile. You’re irresistible!” “Okay, Mum,” Stan kissed her cheek and dashed out. Sue watched from the window as her dearest person in the world walked jauntily towards the bus stop. Suddenly, she shivered—where had she seen this scene before? That young stranger in the park, more than twenty years ago… Stan in his suit now looked just like him. She’d forgotten the moment for years—now it all came flooding back. Could it be, all those years ago, that fate had shown her exactly who she might have lost, giving her a glimpse of what her choice would really mean? Why hadn’t she spoken to that young man or found out his mum’s name? But it didn’t matter now. Everything had turned out beautifully. That afternoon, Stan came home with a giant bouquet of deep red chrysanthemums to match his tie and announced that he’d got the job. He promised Sue that they’d finally go to the seaside together—she’d never been. Now was the time when he would start looking after his beloved mum. He’d move mountains for her, turn rivers back. That’s the kind of son Sue had. No matter what troubles came their way all those years, whenever she hugged her precious boy, the world felt right. They’d coped, endured, and never lost hope. Sue never once regretted having him. She knew she’d made the right choice. And that’s how it was meant to be.

A Choice So, turns out Freddie is thoroughly married Beth let out a heavy sigh, gripping the crumpled

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012

When My Husband Returned From His Work Trip, He Wasn’t Alone—He Held a Little Boy in His Arms…

WHEN HUSBAND RETURNED FROM WORK, HE WASNT ALONE: IN HIS ARMS WAS A LITTLE BOY… Emma eased a baking

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013

I’m 47 Years Old. For 15 Years, I Worked as a Personal Driver for a Senior Executive at a Leading UK Tech Firm. My Boss Was Always Fair – I Had a Good Salary, Bonuses, Excellent Benefits and Even Extra Rewards. I Drove Him Everywhere: to Meetings, the Airport, Business Dinners, and Even Family Events. Thanks to This Job, My Family Lived Comfortably – I Gave My Three Children a Good Education, Bought a Modest House on a Mortgage and We Never Lacked for Anything. Last Tuesday, I Had to Drive Him to a Very Important Meeting at a Prestigious London Hotel. As Always: Suit Pressed, Car Immaculate, Arrived on Time. On the Way, He Told Me the Meeting Was Crucial, with International Guests, and Asked Me to Wait in the Car, as It Might Take a While. I Said That Was No Problem—I’d Wait as Long as Needed. The Meeting Started in the Morning. I Stayed in the Car. Lunchtime Came, Then Afternoon, and Still No Sign. I Texted to Check If Everything Was Alright and If He Needed Anything. He Replied That All Was Going Well—Just to Give Him Another Hour. Evening Fell. I Was Hungry But Didn’t Leave—I Didn’t Want Him to Return and Not Find Me. Around 8:30 pm, I Saw Him Come Out of the Hotel with His Guests—all Laughing, Clearly Pleased. I Quickly Got Out to Open the Door for Them. He Asked Me to Take Them to Dinner. I Politely Agreed and Drove Off. During the Drive, the Guests Spoke English. Over the Years, I’d Been Teaching Myself the Language After Work, Always Wanting to Improve, Though I’d Never Mentioned It at Work. I Understood Every Word. At One Point, One of the Guests Asked If the Driver Had Been Waiting All Day and Remarked That This Showed Real Dedication. My Boss Laughed and Said Something That Cut Me to the Core: “That’s What I Pay Him For. He’s Just a Driver—He’s Got Nothing Better to Do.” The Others Laughed. I Felt a Lump in My Throat, But Held It Together. I Drove On as If I Hadn’t Heard. When We Arrived, He Mentioned the Dinner Would Run Long, Telling Me to Go Grab Something to Eat and Return in Two Hours. I Agreed Calmly. I Went to a Nearby Kiosk and Ate, But His Words Kept Echoing in My Head: “Just a Driver.” Fifteen Years of Loyalty, Early Mornings, Waiting Hours… Is That All I Was to Him? After Two Hours, I Returned, Picked Them Up and Drove Them Back. He Was Pleased—the Meeting Had Gone Well. The Next Day, I Arrived as Usual. As He Got In, I Left My Resignation Letter on the Seat Beside Him. He Saw It and, Confused, Asked What It Was. I Told Him I Was Respectfully, but Firmly, Handing in My Notice. He Was Shocked, Asked If I Wanted More Money or If Something Had Happened. I Told Him It Wasn’t About Money—I Just Needed to Seek New Opportunities. He Insisted on Knowing the Real Reason. When We Stopped at a Traffic Light, I Looked at Him and Said That the Night Before, He’d Called Me “Just a Driver” With Nothing Better to Do—and Maybe That Was True, for Him. But I Deserved to Work Somewhere I Was Respected. He Went Pale. He Tried to Explain That He Didn’t Mean It, That It Was Just an Offhand Remark. I Told Him I Understood, But After 15 Years, That Said It All. I Had the Right to Work Where I Was Valued. At the Office, He Asked Me to Reconsider, Offering a Significant Pay Rise. I Refused. I Said I’d Work My Notice Period and Then Leave. My Last Day Was Difficult—He Tried Until the End to Persuade Me to Stay With Even Better Offers. But My Mind Was Made Up. Today, I Work Somewhere New—A Man Called and Offered Me a Role, Not as a Driver, But as a Coordinator, With Better Pay, My Own Office, and Regular Hours. He Told Me He Valued Loyal, Diligent People. I Accepted Without Hesitation. Later, I Got a Message From My Old Boss—He Said He Regretted What Happened, That I Was More Than Just a Driver, I Was Someone He Relied On, and Asked for Forgiveness. I Haven’t Replied Yet. Now I’m Settled in My New Job, I Feel Appreciated, But Sometimes I Wonder—Did I Do the Right Thing? Should I Have Given Him a Second Chance? Sometimes, a Single Comment, Said in Five Seconds, Can Change a Relationship Built Over Fifteen Years. What Do You Think—Did I Make the Right Decision, or Did I Overreact?

Im 47. For the past fifteen years, Id been working as a personal driver for an executive at a prestigious

La vida

I Was in This Relationship for Five Years: Two Years Married, Three Years Living Together—and Most of That Time Long Distance. We Only Met Every Few Months, Yet Everything Felt Perfect, Until the Day I Discovered His Betrayal and Chose to Walk Away Before Becoming Like Him

I was in that relationship for five years. We were married for two of them and lived together for three.