Harlan Covington

“Please… don’t leave me alone again. Not tonight.” Those were the last whispered words of 68-year-old retired British officer William Hale before collapsing on the hardwood floor of his London flat. The only living soul who heard him was the one who’d heard every word for the past nine years—his devoted, greying K9 companion, Sergeant. William never wore his heart on his sleeve. Even after hanging up the uniform—after losing his beloved wife—he kept his battles well-hidden. Neighbours saw him as the quiet widower with the old German Shepherd, taking unhurried evening strolls together. They hobbled along, step for step, as though the years weighed equally on man and dog—two battle-hardened souls, appearing to need nothing and no one. But everything changed on that bitter British evening. Sergeant, drowsing by the radiator, startled awake at the sound of William’s body thudding to the floor. Instantly alert, he sensed something terribly wrong. He inhaled his master’s panic. Heard the stilted, shallow gasps of breath. With aching hips, he pulled himself across the floor to William. William’s breathing was ragged; fingers twitching, reaching for anything. His voice splintered as he tried to speak. Sergeant didn’t catch the words—but he understood. Fear. Pain. Farewell. Sergeant barked—a quick, urgent sound—again and again. He clawed desperately at the front door until droplets of blood streaked the wood, his howls ringing down the terraced row. That’s when Emma, the young woman next door whose scones William secretly admitted were the finest he’d tasted since his wife passed, burst out onto the porch. She knew a German Shepherd bored-bark from a life-or-death warning. She rattled the locked door, peered through the window, and spotted William crumpled on the floor. “William!” she cried. Her hands fumbled beneath the doormat, searching for that spare key ‘for when the unexpected happens.’ Twice the key slipped from her trembling fingers, but she finally burst inside as William’s eyes rolled back. Sergeant was hovering anxiously, licking William’s face, whimpering deep, broken cries that twisted Emma’s heart. She snatched up the phone. “999—please, my neighbour’s collapsed!” Minutes later, the living room was a flurry of paramedics and whirring monitors. Sergeant, fiercely loyal, positioned himself between William and the medics—shaking with arthritis but defiant. “Miss, we need the dog out of the way!” one paramedic barked. Emma tried coaxing Sergeant away by his battered collar, but the Shepherd remained steadfast. The older paramedic—Thompson—paused. Seeing the service tag still on Sergeant’s faded collar, he knelt and addressed the dog quietly: “We’re here to help your partner, lad. Let us do our duty.” With one last imploring glance at William, Sergeant shuffled aside—but didn’t leave, pressing himself to William’s legs for comfort. As they lifted William onto the stretcher, the heart monitor lurched. William’s arm dangled limply. Sergeant howled—a hollow, soul-piercing sound that silenced even the busiest paramedic. When they carried William out, Sergeant tried to leap into the ambulance, but age stopped him—his claws scraping at the concrete in futility. “We can’t bring the dog,” the driver insisted. “Regulations.” But William, barely lucid, rasped: “Sergeant…” Thompson glanced at the stricken dog and the man on the brink. He set his jaw. “To hell with regulations,” he said, and lifted Sergeant into the ambulance, settling him against William’s side. Miraculously, the monitor steadied, as if two hearts had remembered they belonged together. Four Hours Later The sterile hum of the hospital was broken only by gentle beeps. William awoke, bewildered. “You’re alright, Mr. Hale,” murmured the nurse. “You gave us a real scare.” He swallowed. “Where’s… my dog?” She paused, then swept the curtain aside. Sergeant lay curled on a blanket, breathing slow but steady. Thompson had refused to leave, explaining how William’s pulse dropped every time they separated man and dog. After hearing the story, the doctor quietly permitted a “Compassionate Care Exception.” “Sergeant…” William called weakly. The old Shepherd limped to the bedside and pressed his head into William’s hand, tail thumping with relief. William’s tears wet Sergeant’s fur. “I thought I’d left you behind,” William whispered. “I thought tonight would be the last.” Sergeant nuzzled closer, lips brushing away the tears. From the doorway, the nurse dabbed at her eyes. “He didn’t just save your life,” she said softly. “I think you saved his, too.” That night, William didn’t face the dark alone. Fingers entwined with paw, man and dog kept silent vigil—two old soldiers honouring their promise: neither would ever be left alone again. Let this story reach the hearts in need. 💖

Please… dont leave me on my own again. Not tonight. Those were the final words 68-year-old retired

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Ralph on the Road: The Night a Mother’s Compassion—and Four Cats—Taught Me How to Be Human

Margaret Jane awoke in the small hours, precisely at three, to the persistent buzz of her old push-button

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Can’t Wait to Walk Down the Aisle: Alla’s Search for Love After Heartbreak, Her Grown-Up Son, Cheating Husband, Scheming Best Friend, and an Unexpected Romance with Her Former Algerian Student, Before Finding Peace, Forgiveness, and a Second Chance at Home

CANT WAIT TO BE MARRIED Alice is quite eager to marry well. Shes already tried her luck at an imperfect

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Is the Orchid Really to Blame? — “Polly, take this orchid, or I’m tossing it out,” Katie said, carelessly grabbing the clear pot and handing it to me from the windowsill. — “Oh, thanks, my friend! But what did this orchid ever do to you?” I asked, puzzled. After all, there were three other lush, well-cared-for orchids in her window. — “This flower was a wedding gift to my son. And you know how that all ended…” Katie sighed heavily. — “I know Denis and Tanya divorced within the year. I won’t ask why—I can guess it was serious. Denis adored Tanya,” I said, not wanting to reopen her fresh wound. — “One day, I’ll tell you everything, Polly. But right now, it’s too hard to remember,” Katie said, lost in thought and shedding a tear. I took the “banished” and “rejected” orchid home. My husband gave the poor plant a sympathetic glance. — “Why do you need that straggler? Even I can see it’s lifeless. Don’t waste your time,” he said. — “I want to revive it. I’ll give it care and love. You’ll be amazed by this orchid someday,” I replied, determined to breathe life into the wilted plant. My husband winked at me playfully: — “Who can say no to love?” A week later, Katie phoned: — “Polly, can I come over? I can’t carry this weight anymore. I want to tell you why Denis’s marriage fell apart.” — “Come over, Katie, I’m here. You know you’re always welcome,” I answered—after all, she’d always stood by me: through my painful first divorce, my struggles with a second husband, and in all the ups and downs of our long friendship. Katie rushed over within an hour. Settled snugly at my kitchen table, over a glass of dry wine, a steaming mug of coffee, and some dark chocolate, she began her long tale. — “Never did I imagine my now ex-daughter-in-law could do what she did. Denis and Tanya were together seven years before he proposed. For her, Denis left Anya—oh, how I loved Anya! She was so homely and sweet, I always called her my daughter. Then the stunning Tanya appeared, and Denis was utterly smitten. He buzzed around Tanya like a bee over a flower. His love for her was all-consuming, and Anya was brushed aside. I’ll admit, Tanya looked like a model. Denis basked in his friends’ admiring looks, their eyes lingering on her beauty. Even strangers would turn to stare. For all their years together, though, they never had a child. I thought maybe Denis wanted to do things ‘properly’—marriage first, then babies. He’s never been much for confiding, and we didn’t interfere in his personal life. Then one day he announced, “Mum, Dad, I’m marrying Tanya. We’ve handed in our papers at registry. I want a big wedding—no expense spared!” My husband and I were delighted. Finally, Denis—now thirty—was starting a real family. But, Polly, the wedding date had to be moved twice! First Denis got ill, then I was away for work. I had a bad feeling, but seeing Denis so happy, I kept quiet. He also wanted to marry Tanya in church, but the priest, Father Stuart, was away for months, and Denis insisted on having that very priest. Nothing seemed to go our way—bad omens everywhere… We finally threw a huge, noisy wedding. Here, look at the photos. See that orchid? Glorious, blooming, with strong leaves standing tall as soldiers. Now? Its leaves are limp rags. Right after, Denis and Tanya planned a honeymoon in Paris. But at the airport, Tanya was blocked from going abroad due to an unpaid fine. The newlyweds were sent home. Denis just shrugged off all these troubles, head in the clouds, dreaming of a happy family. Then—a bombshell. Denis fell seriously ill and was hospitalised. His prognosis was grim; doctors were at a loss. Tanya visited daily for a week, then told him: — “Sorry, a disabled husband isn’t for me. I’ve filed for divorce.” Imagine what my son felt, helpless in a hospital bed? But he just said: — “I understand, Tanya. I won’t fight it.” And that was that. They divorced. Luckily, my boy recovered—the right doctor turned everything around in six months, said his youth helped enormously. We became friends with Dr. Peter Bennett, and he had a lovely, twenty-year-old daughter, Mary. At first, Denis wasn’t interested: — “She’s so tiny. Not even very pretty.” — “Give her a chance, son. You had your supermodel wife… but better to drink water with a smile than honey in sorrow.” Denis couldn’t forget Tanya, though her betrayal stung deep. Mary, meanwhile, fell for Denis hard—constantly texting, following him about. We tried to bring them together on a day out, but Denis, glum as ever, gazed off into the distance, the lively company and barbecue meaning nothing to him. Mary watched his every move, but he never looked her way. I told my husband, — “This was pointless. His heart still belongs to Tanya—she’s a thorn in his side.” A few months later—three or four—a knock at the door. Denis, holding the famous orchid: — “Here, Mum. The remains of my old happiness. Do what you like with it. I don’t want that exotic plant in my life.” I accepted it grudgingly, and took an instant dislike. It was as if the plant itself was somehow to blame for all my son’s pain. I shoved it to the back of the room, left it unwatered. Then a neighbour said, — “Katie, I saw Denis with a Thumbelina-sort of lass. Not as striking as his ex-wife.” I didn’t believe it—surely my son and Mary weren’t an item? But soon Denis introduced her with a flourish: — “Mum, meet my wife, Mary.” My husband and I were stunned: — “But where was the wedding, the guests?” — “No need for all that fuss. We did it quietly at the registry, Father Stuart blessed us at church. Mary and I are together for good.” I pulled Denis aside: — “Did you truly fall for Mary? Are you marrying her out of spite?” — “No, Mum. I’m done with that woman. As for Mary—well, our worlds just fit.” That’s the story, Polly. Katie poured her heart out. …After that emotional evening, we didn’t see each other for two years; life simply swept us along. Meanwhile, the orchid revived, blooming gorgeously—a living testament to love’s care. Then, by chance, I ran into Katie at the hospital: — “Hey, friend, what are you doing here?” — “Mary’s had twins. She’s being discharged today,” Katie beamed. Nearby, Denis and Katie’s husband waited with a bouquet of red roses. Out came Mary, exhausted but radiant, with a nurse carrying two tiny bundles. Then my own daughter appeared, cradling my newborn granddaughter. Tanya still begs Denis to forgive her, to begin again. But… You can glue a cup back together, yet it will never be the same to drink from…

IS THE ORCHID REALLY TO BLAME? Emily, take this orchid, or Ill just throw it out, Sarah declared, picking

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Like a Songbird Drawn to the Call – A Young Woman’s Oath to Lifelong Love, Betrayal, and Lessons from Her Parents’ Fifty-Year Marriage, Tested by Her Sister’s Jealousy, An Absent Husband, and the Temptation of a Married Doctor, Until She Finally Finds True Happiness with a Devoted Second Husband and Blended Family

LIKE A BIRD TO THE DECOY Girls, marriage is meant to be once and for alla true union to the very last breath.

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Raw Nerves… In this family, everyone lived their own separate lives. Dad, Alex, had more than just his wife; he often had a string of lovers. Mum, Jenny, long suspecting her husband’s affairs, was hardly a paragon of virtue herself—she preferred her evenings with a married colleague from work. Their two sons, left to their own devices, wandered aimlessly as neither parent took much interest in raising them. Jenny insisted the school should take full responsibility for her boys. The only time the family gathered together was for a silent, rushed Sunday lunch in the kitchen, each eager to slip away to their own worlds. That’s how this broken, sinful, yet oddly sweet family might have carried on—if not for a tragedy that changed everything. When the younger son, Dennis, was twelve, Alex took him to the garage as an assistant for the first time. While Dennis fiddled with tools, his dad nipped off to see some motoring mates nearby. Suddenly, thick plumes of black smoke and flames billowed from Alex’s garage. No one understood what happened at first. (It would later come out that Dennis had accidentally dropped a lit blowtorch onto a canister of petrol.) People froze, confused. The fire raged. After someone doused Alex with a bucket of water, he rushed into the inferno. Moments later, he emerged carrying his unconscious, burned son—only Dennis’s face was spared, likely shielded by his hands. The boy’s clothes had been burned away. Emergency services arrived. Dennis was alive, but barely. He was rushed into surgery. After agonising hours, the doctor told Alex and Jenny, “We’re doing everything humanly possible. Your son’s in a coma—his odds are a million to one. Medicine can’t help, but if Dennis has the will to live, perhaps a miracle. Take heart.” Desperate, Alex and Jenny dashed to the nearest church—drenched in a downpour and oblivious to everything except saving their son. For the first time in their lives, they stepped into a church. The vicar, Father Samuel, greeted them. “What’s the matter, my children?” “Our son is dying! What should we do?” sobbed Jenny. Father Samuel replied, “Strange how we turn to God only in trouble, eh? Are you greatly burdened by sin?” “Not really… We’ve not killed anyone,” Alex muttered, lowering his eyes. “But you’ve murdered your love—left it dead between you. You could lay a whole cedar plank between husband and wife and neither of you would notice!” Father Samuel admonished. “Pray to St. Nicholas for your son’s health. Pray fervently. But remember—it’s God’s will. God sometimes wakes the lost this way. Otherwise, you’d never understand. Only love can save.” Soaked and weeping, Alex and Jenny listened to the bitter truth about themselves. Before the icon of St. Nicholas, they knelt, prayed desperately, and made vows. All affairs were abandoned and erased. Their lives were pieced back together, bit by bit. The next morning, the doctor rang with astonishing news—Dennis had come out of his coma. Alex and Jenny sat by his bedside as the boy, eyes open and in pain, whispered, “Mum, Dad. Don’t separate, please.” “We’re together, darling,” insisted Jenny, gently touching his limp hand. Dennis winced. “I saw it, Mum! And, my children will have your names,” the boy went on. His parents exchanged looks, assuming he was delirious—what children? Dennis was bedridden, barely able to move. But from then on, Dennis slowly improved. All family resources went into his care—Alex and Jenny even sold the summer cottage. The garage and car had burned, but the boy survived. Grandparents helped however they could. Adversity brought the family together. Even the longest day has an end. A year passed. Dennis, in a rehabilitation centre, could walk and look after himself. There, he befriended Maddy, a girl his age also injured by fire—her face terribly burned. After numerous surgeries, she was too shy to look at herself in a mirror. Dennis felt a deep warmth towards her—Maddy exuded a wisdom and innocence that drew him in. They became inseparable, sharing time and confiding in one another. Both had endured agony, despair, and the daily routine of hospitals. Time ticked on… Dennis and Maddy celebrated a modest wedding. The couple had beautiful children: first a daughter, Charlotte, then three years later a son, Eugene. At last, when the family could breathe easy, Alex and Jenny made a decision—to separate. Dennis’s ordeal had exhausted them to the core; they could no longer be together. Each craved peace and freedom from the other. Jenny moved in with her sister in the suburbs. Before leaving, she sought Father Samuel’s blessing—he had often guided her since Dennis’s trauma, always correcting her: “Thank God, Jenny!” Father Samuel disapproved of her departure, saying, “If you must, go and rest, but come back. Husband and wife are meant to be together.” Alex stayed alone in the empty flat. The boys, both with families of their own, lived elsewhere. Former spouses visited grandchildren in turn, carefully avoiding each other. And so, everyone finally found their own kind of peace…

RAW TO THE CORE… In the Harris household, everyone rather happily did their own thing.

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I’ll Remind You – Mrs. Mary Edwards, This Swirl Won’t Work, Murmured a Sad Year 2 Student, Tommy, Pointing His Brush at the Stubborn Green Petal Curl on His Painted Flower. “Ease Up on the Brush, Darling… That’s It—Glide It as Softly as a Feather on Your Palm. Beautiful! Not Just Any Swirl—A Masterpiece!” Smiled the Elderly Teacher. “Who’s the Lucky Recipient of Your Lovely Painting?” “It’s for Mum!” Tommy Beamed, Triumphant After Fixing the Petal. “It’s Her Birthday, and This Is My Gift!”—His Pride Swelling Under the Teacher’s Praise. “Your Mum’s a Lucky Lady, Tom. Let the Paint Dry Before You Rip the Page Out—She’ll Love It!” Mrs. Edwards Glanced Fondly at Tommy’s Bent-Over Head, Thinking to Call His Mum and Suggest Art School—Such Talents Shouldn’t Go to Waste, and She Could Ask If the Gift Was Well Received… Mrs. Edwards Couldn’t Tear Her Eyes from the Living, Spiraling Leaves and Recalled How Tom Had His Mother’s Artistic Gift—Larissa Drew Beautifully at His Age… But That Evening, a Phone Call: “Mrs. Edwards, It’s Larissa, Tommy Carter’s Mum—I’m Phoning to Say He Won’t Be In Tomorrow,” Came the Stern Voice. “Is Something Wrong?” “You Could Say That! He Ruined My Birthday—Now He’s in Bed with a Fever, and the Ambulance Only Just Left.” “But He Was Fine at School—He Had Your Gift…” “You Mean That Mess?” “What Mess, Larissa! They Were Flowers! I Was Going to Recommend Art School…” “All I Saw Was a Mucky Smudge, Not Quite What I Expected!” Mrs. Edwards Grew Increasingly Concerned, Listening to Larissa’s Frazzled Explanation, Finally Suggesting She Call Round—She Lived Nearby… Minutes Later, With Her Former Student’s Permission, Mrs. Edwards Grabbed a Bulging Old Photo Album of Her First, Beloved Class, and Set Off. In Larissa’s Chaotic Kitchen, Amidst Dirty Dishes and a Half-Eaten Cake, She Learned the Whole Sorry Story—How Tommy Came Home Late, Muddy and Soaked, With a Shivering Puppy He’d Rescued from Bullies Dumping It in a Thawing Ditch, How His Books Were Ruined, His Folder Smudged, and How He Soon Came Down with a High Fever… How the Birthday Guests Left Unserved, and the Paramedic Told Her Off for Neglect… “I Took the Puppy Back to the Dump When Tommy Fell Asleep. The Album’s Drying on the Radiator—There Isn’t Much Left after That Soaking!” Larissa Scoffed, Unnerved by Mrs. Edwards Growing Grim. When She Heard the Fate of the Rescued Pup, Mrs. Edwards Turned As Stern as Thunder, Stroked the Ruined Album, and Spoke Softly of Spiraling Green Leaves, of Flowers Come Alive, of Courage Unbecoming a Child, of Injustice, and of Bullies Who’d Thrown a Defenseless Animal Away… She Led Larissa to the Window: “See That Ditch There? Not Only Could That Puppy Have Drowned—So Could Tommy. All He Was Thinking About Was Not Ruining the Flowers He’d Painted for You. Have You Forgotten, Larissa, How You Cried on That Playground Bench, Clutching a Scruffy Kitten You’d Saved from the Local Yobs, Waiting for Your Mum?” She Showed a Faded Photo of a Delicate Girl in a White Pinafore Hugging a Fluffy Kitten, Smiling at Her Gathered Classmates, and Quietly Reminded Her of the Kindness That, Once Upon a Time, Bloomed Brightly in Larissa’s Own Heart. Out Tumbled a Old Child’s Drawing—A Little Girl Holding a Kitten With One Hand, Clutching Her Mum’s Hand With the Other… “If I Had My Way,” Mrs. Edwards Continued Firmly, “I’d Kiss That Puppy and Tommy Both, and Frame Those Colourful Smudges! There’s No Better Gift for a Mother Than to Raise a True Human Being!” Unseen, Her Words Broke Through. Larissa Kept Glancing Toward Tommy’s Closed Door, Clutching the Damp Album With White Knuckles… Then, Suddenly: “Mrs. Edwards! Please, Would You Watch Tommy for Just a Moment? I’ll Be Quick—Just a Minute!” Coat Hurriedly Thrown On, Larissa Rushed Out, Not Caring About Wet Shoes or Mud, Calling and Searching at the Dump for That Tiny Puppy—Glancing Back Anxiously at Home… Would Tommy Forgive Her? ***** “Tom, Who’s That Burying His Nose in the Flowers? Is That Your Pal—Digger?” “That’s Him, Mrs. Edwards! See the White Star on His Paw? Mum Bought a Special Little Tub to Wash Him—She Says If You Have a Friend, Look After Him!” “You’ve Got a Wonderful Mum,” Mrs. Edwards Smiled. “Drawing Her Another Picture?” “Yep—This Time for a Frame! She’s Got Those Smudges Framed and Smiles at Them—But, Mrs. Edwards, Can You Really Smile at Smudges?” “Maybe You Can… If They’re from the Heart. Tell Me, How’s Art School Going?” “Brilliant! Soon I’ll Paint Mum’s Portrait—She’ll Love That! Meanwhile—Look!” Tommy Pulled Out A Folded Sheet: “This Is From Mum—She Draws Too, Now!” Mrs. Edwards Unfolded the Paper and Squeezed Tommy’s Shoulder. On the White Page, Splashed in Bright Colours, Smiled a Radiant Tommy, His Hand on the Head of a Loyal, Loving Mutt. Next to Them, a Tiny Blonde Girl in a School Pinafore Cuddled a Kitten… and from Behind a Book-Laden Teacher’s Desk Smiled Mrs. Edwards Herself, Her Eyes Full of Endless Wisdom. In Every Line and Brushstroke, Mrs. Edwards Felt the Unspoken, Boundless Pride of a Mother. With a Tearful Smile, She Noticed In the Corner of the Drawing, Entwined in Flowering Curls and Green Swirls, a Single Word: “Remember.”

ILL REMIND YOU Miss Mary, my curl wont come out right here, whispered young Thomas sadly, nudging his

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Fate on the Hospital Bed: How I Nursed a Lost Husband Back to Life, Won His Heart, and Built a Family While His Wife Walked Away—A British Nurse’s True Tale of Compassion, Love, and Second Chances

FATE ON THE HOSPITAL BED Miss, please, take care of him for me! Im too scared to even get near, let alone

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I Never Took What Wasn’t Mine: A Story of Jealousy, Kindness, and Second Chances in the Lives of Martha, Nastya, and Max, from School Days Through Heartbreak, Addiction, and New Beginnings

I HAVE NEVER TAKEN WHAT WASNT MINE In those distant school days, Mary found herself both scorning and

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A Life Put Right: “Lada, I forbid you from speaking to your sister and her family! They’ve got their life, we’ve got ours. Have you been ringing Natasha again? Complaining about me? I warned you.” Bogdan gripped my shoulder painfully. As usual in these arguments, I retreated to the kitchen, fighting back bitter tears. I’d never once complained to my sister about my home life; we simply talked, especially about our aging parents. But Bogdan loathed Natasha—her family had peace and plenty, unlike ours… When I married Bogdan, I was the happiest girl in all of England. He swept me off my feet, and I didn’t care that he was a head shorter than me, or that his mother arrived at our wedding barely able to stand. Only later did I learn she was a longtime alcoholic… Blinded by love, I saw no evil—but after a year, I began to doubt my promised bliss. Bogdan drank heavily, stumbling home drunk, then came a string of affairs. I worked as an NHS nurse—hardly a generous wage. Bogdan preferred spending time with his drinking buddies and provided nothing for me. Once, I’d dreamed of children; now I poured my love into a pedigree cat. The thought of having children with my drunken husband no longer crossed my mind, even though I still loved Bogdan. “Lada, you silly thing! Look at all those blokes eyeing you, but you stay glued to your little leprechaun! What do you see in him? Always covered in bruises, thinking no one notices beneath that concealer? Leave him before his anger gets you killed.” That was my friend—the colleague who always tried to save me. Yes, Bogdan often gave in to unprovoked rages. Once, he locked me in our flat and took the key. After that, I lived in terror. My soul shrank, heart pounded whenever I heard the key in the lock. I imagined he blamed me for not giving him a child, for being a ‘bad’ wife. So, I never fought back—just took the pain, the insults, the mockery… Why did I still love Bogdan? I remembered his mother, a real witch, telling me: “Lada, do as your husband says. Love him with all your heart—forget your family, your friends, they’ll only lead you astray.” So, I did—I gave up everything for Bogdan. I even liked it when he begged forgiveness, knelt and kissed my feet. Make-ups were sickly-sweet, magical, our bed strewn with roses. I knew full well he pinched them from the garden of a mate’s wife—a fellow drunk. The wives would swoon over their stolen roses and forgive. Most likely, I’d have stayed a slave to Bogdan for life, rebuilding my fantasy heaven from broken pieces, had fate not intervened. “Let Bogdan go,” an unknown woman said to me once. “I’ve got his son—you’re barren. Just let him go for my child’s happiness.” I snapped, “Get out of here, now.” Bogdan tried to deny it, but when I demanded he swear the boy wasn’t his, he could only stay silent. And I understood everything… “Lada, you never look happy. Trouble at home?” my boss, the hospital director, unexpectedly asked. “Everything’s fine,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “It’s good to have everything in order—then life’s wonderful,” he said with a mysterious smile. The director, Dr. Herman Lewis, was single again after a rocky marriage; he wasn’t striking, but up close, something about him set my heart fluttering—a heady scent, or maybe it was just kindness. His simple words unsettled me: “It’s good when everything is in order.” Me—my life was a mess. But time doesn’t wait for anyone to sort themselves out… So, I left Bogdan, went home to my parents. “Did he throw you out?” Mum asked. “No, I’ll explain later,” I lied—too ashamed of my marriage. Later, Bogdan’s mother rang and screamed curses, but I’d straightened my back and drawn a deep breath. Thanks, Dr. Lewis… Bogdan stalked and threatened me, not realising he’d lost all control over my life: “Don’t waste your time, Bogdan. Take care of your son. I’ve turned our page,” I told him calmly. Finally, I returned to my sister Natasha and our parents. I became myself again, not someone else’s puppet. “You’re a different woman, Lada. Glowing, happy—a true bride,” my friend smiled. Then Dr. Herman Lewis proposed: “Lada, marry me! I promise, you won’t regret it. Only one thing—just call me ‘Herman’ at home.” “But do you even love me, Herman?” He smiled and kissed my hand. “Sorry, I forgot women need words. Yes—I probably love you, but I trust actions more.” I said yes—with more joy than I’d ever known. …Ten years have flown by. Every day Herman proves his love—not with empty words, but with care and protection. We never had children together—perhaps I really was ‘barren’. But Herman never blamed or hurt me. “Lada,” he’d say, “just means we’re meant to be together—just us.” His daughter gave us a granddaughter, little Sasha—our beloved girl. And as for Bogdan, he drank himself to death before turning fifty. His mother shoots me evil looks if we meet at the shops, but her hateful arrows melt away in thin air. I just feel sorry for her. As for us, well—everything is in order. Life is beautiful.

LIFE IN ORDER “Charlotte, I forbid you to speak with your sister and her family! They have their