Harlan Covington

This Is Not Up for Discussion “Nina is going to live with us, and that’s final,” Zak declared, setting his spoon aside. He hadn’t touched his dinner, clearly bracing himself for a serious conversation. “We’ve got a spare room, just finished redecorating, so in a couple of weeks my daughter will be moving in.” “Have you forgotten anything?” Ksusha asked, counting to ten under her breath. “Like, perhaps, that we prepared that room for our future child together? And have you overlooked the fact that Nina has a mother she should be living with?” “I remember we talked about having a baby,” Zak replied grimly, hoping his wife would quietly accept his words and there’d be no debate. “But plans can wait a few more years. You still need to finish university—now’s not the time for kids. And Nina doesn’t even want siblings. As for her mother…” Zak gave a crooked smile, “I’m applying to remove her parental rights. It’s unsafe for my girl to be under the same roof as that woman!” “Your girl?” Ksusha arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t she twelve years old? Hardly a baby. And what’s the danger? That her mother doesn’t let her hang about after ten at night, or dares to threaten to take her phone away if she skips homework? Honestly, your ex should be sainted for not resorting to the belt!” “You don’t know anything,” Zak said through gritted teeth. “Nina has shown me bruises, let me read messages full of threats and abuse! I won’t let her mother ruin her life!” “You mean, you’re doing it yourself by giving in to her every whim.” Ksusha quietly rose, leaving her soup almost untouched. She’d lost her appetite, and the sight of her irritated husband gave her a headache. People warned her—don’t rush into marriage! Live together a while, test your feelings… But she was too clever for advice. Had to beat her girlfriends down the aisle… Why had her friends opposed the hasty wedding? Simple—Zak was on his second marriage, fifteen years older, with a rather grown-up daughter he doted on. Three small issues on their own, but put together… almost a recipe for disaster. Frankly, the first two didn’t faze her—in fact, she liked that her husband was older and experienced. She knew first-hand that the divorce was mutual and Zak’s ex, Alla, bore no grudges. But the third reason… Nina. Spoilt and unruly, she’d spent most of her life with her gran while her parents worked hard for her future. Their divorce didn’t bother her—after all, she knew Dad would always be there, even if he remarried. But Mum’s new marriage… that was a problem. Her stepdad was strict and Mum, now home more often with a new job, backed up her husband completely. Early curfews, homework, tutors—Nina fell behind in most subjects… It all drove the girl mad. She began to concoct stories, winding her father up for sympathy. Yes, Nina wanted to live with her father, well aware that his work would leave her mostly to her own devices. Ksusha didn’t even figure in her plans; she had no intention of listening to a stepmother only nine years her senior. For the sake of “freedom,” she’d go to any lengths… ********************** “Nina’s arriving tonight. Get her room ready and please don’t upset her—she’s already been through a lot,” Zak informed his wife, picking out a tie for his new suit. “If I’d known Ala would turn on our daughter over a man… But what’s the point in talking now? There’s no turning back time.” “So you haven’t changed your mind? You really want her living with us?” Ksusha had hoped till the last minute that her husband would fail. “And who’s going to look after her? You don’t get home before eight, at best.” “You can,” Zak shrugged. “She’s not a baby. She’s very independent.” “I’ve got exams coming up, and you said yourself I need to focus on uni,” Ksusha retorted. “Nina will need to keep quiet and not distract me. Hopefully she knows how to wash dishes and mop floors, because for the next two weeks, that’s her new responsibility.” “She’s not a cleaner…” “Neither am I,” Ksusha cut in. “But if she lives with us, she can help around the house. It’s about time you discussed the house rules with your daughter.” ********************** “Dad, are you just going to let her boss me around? I can’t even go out with my friends—your wife’s given me all the chores while she sits in front of the telly.” Ksusha, overhearing, gave a crooked smile. Yeah, as if you could force that girl to lift a finger! Pigs might fly first. “I’ll talk to Ksusha, I promise. But you need to try and get along. Nina, I know it’s tough, but I physically can’t keep an eye on you. Try to find common ground with Ksusha, show her what a good girl you can be.” “Fine, I’ll try,” Nina sighed, realising Dad wouldn’t budge. “By the way, is it true you bought her a car?” “Well, yes. Why?” “Oh, nothing! It’s just you said you couldn’t afford to send me abroad for the holidays, and I’ve always dreamt of that!” “You couldn’t go alone anyway—you’re twelve, for heaven’s sake, and I work. We’ll go in the summer, all together.” “I don’t want the whole family! You don’t love me at all, do you?” Nina’s voice trembled with a sob. “Why did you even take me from Mum? Your wife can’t stand me, you’re always busy…” Ksusha tuned out. One way or another, Nina would get her way—and not just over a holiday. The clever girl aimed to oust another rival for Dad’s money. And, it seemed, she’d succeed. Ksusha was tired of her husband’s reproaches, and finally decided—one more row and she’d file for divorce. Before she left, she’d wipe the smile off Nina’s face by announcing that even after a divorce, Zak would still be expected to pay up—in child support. ********************** Ksusha was right—the evening kicked off with nothing but complaints. She calmly listened, then announced she was filing for divorce. “I want a peaceful life, not constant mud-slinging. And yes, I warned you—letting your daughter call the shots is a huge mistake,” Ksusha added, catching the victorious glint in Nina’s eyes and hurrying to bring her down a peg. “And don’t celebrate too soon. Who knows how long your happiness will last? I could give your father an ultimatum—if he wants to see our child,” she patted her belly, “he’ll have to send you back to your mother. Or something like that.” While Nina struggled for words and Zak tried to process, Ksusha grabbed her pre-packed suitcase and left. She wasn’t really pregnant, it was just a trick to make the spiteful girl sweat. And to teach a lesson to a man who clearly knew nothing about children…

Thats not up for discussion, Charles declared, setting aside his spoon and not touching a morsel of his

La vida

05

Now You’ll Have Your Own Child, So It’s Time for That Girl to Go Back to the Orphanage

Now that youll finally have a child of your own, its high time she goes back to the orphanage.

La vida

07

What If She’s Not Really My Daughter? The DNA Test That Shattered a Family—Nikita’s Ordeal with Doubt, Scandal, and the Consequences of Distrust

What if shes not really my daughter? I need a DNA test. Lately, I cant shake these uneasy thoughts.

La vida

07

A New Family Matters More Than the Old One

Mum, I want you to meet Sophie, my fiancée, declared Arthur as he swept into the hallway, his arm tenderly

La vida

02

She Couldn’t Wait “I’m filing for divorce,” Vera announced calmly as she handed her husband his cup of tea. “In fact, the papers are already in.” She said it as casually as if she were serving up a typical dinner—something like, “we’re having chicken with vegetables tonight.” “If I may ask… Well, not in front of the kids,” Arthur lowered his voice, glancing from one worried child’s face to the other. “Did I do something wrong? And let’s not forget, the children need a father.” “Oh, you think I couldn’t find another one?” Vera rolled her eyes extravagantly, a wry smile spreading across her lips. “What did you do wrong? Everything! I hoped life with you would be like a tranquil lake, not a raging river.” “So, boys, all done eating?” Arthur wasn’t about to carry on this conversation in front of their sons. “Off you go, run along and play. And no eavesdropping!” he called after them, well aware of his lively sons’ habits. “Now, let’s continue.” Vera pursed her lips in frustration. He always manages to play the boss! Pretends he’s Father of the Year… “I’m tired of living like this. I don’t want to spend eight hours at work every day, smile at colleagues, impress clients… I want to sleep until noon, shop at fancy places, get pampered at beauty salons. And you can’t give me that. Enough! I gave you the best ten years of my life…” “Can we skip the drama?” Arthur cut in dryly. “Didn’t you spend all those ten years chasing me for a husband when I wasn’t all that keen to marry?” “Mistakes happen. I’m only human.” The divorce went quickly and quietly. Arthur, albeit reluctantly, agreed to let the boys live with their mother—on the condition that he’d have them every weekend and on holidays. Vera accepted easily. Six months later, Arthur introduced the boys to his new wife. Smiling, sunny Lila won over their hearts, and they couldn’t wait for the weekends—much to their mother’s irritation. What bothered Vera even more was that Arthur had inherited a country estate from a distant uncle, bought a big house outside the city, and was living comfortably. True, he hadn’t quit his job, only paid meagre child support, preferring instead to buy the boys clothes and gadgets himself—and kept a tight rein on those support payments too! Why couldn’t she have held on just six more months? If only Vera had known… She would have played her cards so differently! But maybe it’s not too late for a comeback? ***** “Fancy a cuppa? For old times’ sake?” Vera flashed a playful smile, twirling a loose lock of hair around her finger. Her short dress showed off her figure to perfection and expert makeup knocked years off her face. She’d gone all out—and it showed! “I’m busy,” Arthur replied coldly, barely glancing at his ex. “Are the boys ready?” “They’ve misplaced something, so it’ll be ten minutes or so—I know them well,” Vera replied with a slightly forced optimism, but didn’t give up. “How about we celebrate New Year’s together? Nick and Harry have been dressing the tree all afternoon.” “We already agreed in court—the holidays are mine. And this year, we’ll celebrate in a charming little village—lots of snow, mountains for skiing and snowboarding. Lila’s sorted everything.” “But it’s a family holiday…” “And that’s just what we’ll have—a proper family gathering. If you make a fuss, I’ll fight for sole custody.” As soon as the door closed behind her ex-husband and the elated children, Vera angrily smashed the expensive wedding china. Lila… Always Lila! Why does she have to get involved in everything? Pretends to be delighted to see the boys, but probably counts down the days till they go back. Vera knew better than anyone how unruly her boys could be! But—what an idea. A satisfied smile crept onto Vera’s face. Maybe it’s not all lost. Soon, Arthur’s money could be hers and hers alone… ***** “And what’s all this?” Arthur raised an eyebrow at the sight of suitcases crowding his doorstep. “What do you mean? Nick and Harry’s things,” Vera nudged the heaving suitcase until it wobbled. “I’ve decided—since you’ve sorted out your life, it’s time I did the same. Trouble is, not every man wants another man’s kids, so the boys will live with you now. I’ve informed social services; just need to formalise the paperwork. That’s your job now—I’m off on holiday with a rather promising gentleman.” Leaving a stunned Arthur in her wake, Vera strutted to the waiting car. She wondered how “saintly” Lila would cope. A week? Two? Surely no more than that. And Arthur’s bound to pick his sons over his new wife—and return to her, money in tow. Two weeks passed. Then a month. Then two. No desperate calls from Arthur. According to the boys, Lila hadn’t even raised her voice once! How could that be? Had her two terrors suddenly turned into angels? Impossible! “How are the boys? Not tired of them yet?” Vera finally caved and phoned her ex. “They’re wonderful—well-behaved, helpful, a real credit,” Arthur’s voice softened at the mention of his sons. “Absolute stars!” “Really?” Vera said, taken aback. “They were a nightmare for me…” “That’s because children need attention,” Arthur snorted. “But you were always glued to your phone. Oh, and by the way—we’re moving. If you want, I’ll bring the boys round on the holidays.” “But… they’re my children too!” “You gave up your rights willingly,” Arthur laughed outright. “And you call yourself a mother.” All Vera could do was gnash her teeth. She hadn’t won her husband back—or his wealth. The new boyfriend didn’t last, and now the kids would be far away. Not that she’d miss them much—she’d grown too enamoured of living for herself. So unfair. Ten years of patience, and she’d thrown it all away just six months short of the life she’d dreamed of… Unfair…

Didnt Have the Patience “Im filing for divorce,” Emma said calmly, handing Tom his mug of tea.

La vida

05

There Will Be No Forgiveness — Have you ever thought about finding your mother? The question caught Vicky so off guard that she flinched. She was laying out papers from work on the kitchen table — the pile looked ready to tumble, and she carefully steadied it with her palm. Now she froze, slowly let her hands drop, and looked up at Alex. There was genuine bewilderment in her eyes: where on earth did he get such an idea? Why on earth would she want to track down the woman who’d carelessly shattered almost her entire life? — Of course not, — Vicky replied, trying to keep her voice flat. — What a ridiculous idea. Why would I ever do that? Alex looked a bit awkward. He ran a hand through his hair, as if struggling to gather his thoughts, and managed a small, slightly forced smile, already seeming to regret his question. — Well… — he hesitated, searching for words. — I just know that lots of kids from foster care or children’s homes dream about tracking down their birth parents. So I thought… If you ever wanted to, I’d help. Really. Vicky shook her head. Her chest tightened as if some unseen hand had gripped her ribs. She took a deep breath, calming an unexpected surge of irritation, and looked at Alex again. — Thank you for offering, but I don’t need that, — she said firmly, raising her voice just a touch. — I will never go looking for her! That woman hasn’t existed for me for years. I’ll never forgive her! Yes, it sounded harsh — but what else could she say? Otherwise she’d have to dredge up too many bad memories and lay her soul bare for her fiancé. No, she loved him, she really did, but there are some things you never want to share, even with those closest to you. So she reached for her paperwork again, adopting a busy air. Alex frowned, but didn’t push it. He was clearly troubled by Vicky’s sharpness. Deep down, he couldn’t grasp her attitude! To him, a mother was an almost sacred figure — whether she’d raised him or not. Simply carrying a child for nine months and bringing it into the world made a woman practically angelic in his eyes. He truly believed in that special, unbreakable bond between mother and child that neither time nor circumstances could destroy. Vicky not only didn’t share those beliefs — she rejected them outright, without the slightest doubt. For her, it was painfully simple: how could you possibly want to meet someone who’d treated you so cruelly? Her so-called “mum” hadn’t just dumped her in care — it was worse, far more painful… Years ago, as a teenager, Vicky had finally asked the question that had tormented her for years. She approached the head of the children’s home, Mrs Thompson — a strict but fair woman all the children respected. — Why am I here? — Vicky asked, quiet but resolute. — Did my mum die? Or did she lose her rights? Something really serious must have happened, right? Mrs Thompson froze in the act of sorting her paperwork, then slowly put the papers aside. She was silent for a few seconds, weighing her words, then sighed and nodded for Vicky to sit. Vicky sat, fingers twisting the edge of the chair. Anxiety was churning inside — she could sense that this answer would change everything. — She was stripped of parental rights and faced prosecution, — Mrs Thompson began slowly and carefully. Calm as ever, but in her eyes, worry: she had to tell a twelve-year-old the plain, ugly truth most would want to shield. She could have softened it, she thought, but no — Vicky had the right to know it all. Better reality than ignorance. She paused to gather her thoughts, then continued. — You came to us when you were four and a half. Some concerned passers-by spotted you — a small child, alone, wandering the streets. Later it turned out a woman had abandoned you on a bench at the train station, then boarded the commuter train and left. It was autumn, cold and damp, and you wore only a light coat and wellies. Several hours outside landed you in hospital. You were really unwell and wound up needing a long stay. Vicky sat stock still, as if turned to stone. Her fingers clenched into fists, but her face stayed blank — only her eyes darkened, like storm clouds. She said nothing, but Mrs Thompson knew the girl was absorbing every brutal word. — Did they find her? What did she say for herself? — Vicky whispered, fists still clenched. — They did, and she stood trial. As for her justification… — Mrs Thompson paused, then gave a bitter half-smile. — She claimed she’d run out of money and found a job — only her new boss banned children onsite. You got in her way. It was at a guest house or somewhere. She decided it was easier just to abandon you and start afresh. Vicky didn’t move. The tension in her fists slowly eased, her hands dropped to her knees. She stared straight ahead, as if seeing nothing — her thoughts far away, in that autumn morning she didn’t even remember. — I see… — she said at last, her voice flat, almost lifeless. Then she looked up at Mrs Thompson. — Thank you for telling me the truth. That was the moment Vicky realised, finally and absolutely: she would never search for her mother. Not ever. The idle curiosity that had sometimes flickered at the back of her mind — the thought that one day she might just want to look her in the eyes and ask “why?” — vanished, never to return. Leaving a child alone in the street. She simply couldn’t grasp it! How could anyone possibly do such a thing? Did the woman who gave birth to her really have no conscience, no compassion? Anything could have happened to a little kid. “That’s not a mother, that’s an animal!” Vicky told herself, the old pain twisting inside her. She tried, honestly tried, to find some excuse. Maybe her mother was desperate. Maybe she really had no options. Maybe she thought Vicky would be better off. But every time her reasoning crumbled on the rocks of cold reality: why not just sign the forms? Why not hand her in safely? Why leave a four-year-old alone in the cold autumn air? No answer fit. None eased the pain or turned betrayal into necessity. She could only see it as what it was — deliberate, heartless rejection. With each turn of these thoughts, her resolve hardened. No. She would not seek this woman. She would not ask questions. She would not try to understand. Because no understanding could erase what had been done. And forgiveness — that was beyond her power. And with that decision came an odd, near-physical relief… ******************** — I’ve got a surprise for you! — Alex was almost glowing with excitement, bouncing on the spot in the hallway as if he’d won the lottery. “You’re going to love this! Come on — we can’t keep someone waiting!” Vicky stopped at the bedroom door, mug of cold tea in hand. She looked at Alex in puzzlement, set the mug down, wariness prickling inside her despite his cheerful tone. What was this surprise? And why did she feel a thread of tension, ready to snap? — Where are we going? — She managed to keep her tone conversational. — You’ll see! – Alex’s grin widened even more; he grabbed her hand and led her toward the front door. — Trust me, it’s worth it. Vicky followed, outwardly calm, anxiety coiling inside as they left for the park. She racked her brain — tickets to a concert? Meeting an old friend? Nothing seemed to fit. As they entered the park, Vicky spotted a middle-aged woman alone on a bench: simple but neat — dark coat, scarf, a small handbag on her knees. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, but Vicky couldn’t place it. A relative of Alex’s? A colleague? Alex strode over to the bench; Vicky trailed, still trying to knit the puzzle pieces. As they approached, the woman looked up, a slight smile on her face. Suddenly, inside, something shifted — Vicky realised where she’d seen this face before. In the mirror. Add thirty or forty years. — Vicky, — Alex’s voice was grand, as if announcing a winner, — I’ve found your mum after all these years. Aren’t you happy? The world froze. How dare he? She had told him so clearly she never wanted to see this woman! — Darling! You’ve grown so beautiful! — The woman jumped up, arms out for an embrace. Her voice shook with emotion, eyes shining as if she genuinely wanted this reunion. But Vicky recoiled, stepping away, cold and unmoving. — It’s me, your mum! — the woman pressed on, ignoring (or not registering) the reception. — I’ve searched for you for so long! I always thought about you, always worried… — It wasn’t easy! — Alex added proudly from behind. — I called in favours, made a dozen calls, tracked down the records… But I did it! His triumph was cut short by a sharp slap. Vicky’s hand flew up with no hesitation, her eyes shining with tears of rage and pain. She glared at him, hurt and bewildered — how could he? After all the times she’d said she wanted nothing to do with her mother, that chapter was forever closed! — Are you mad?! — Alex gasped, clutching his cheek, thoroughly shocked. — I did it for you! I was trying to help, to do something good… Vicky said nothing. Inside, everything seethed with pain and anger. A person she’d trusted had broken the most sacred rule: never touch her past. Her most guarded memories had been laid bare, all for his “good intentions.” The woman looked lost, glancing between Vicky and Alex, uncertain. She tried to speak but stopped as she registered the look on Vicky’s face. — I didn’t ask you to find her, — Vicky managed quietly. Her voice was steady despite trembling inside. — I made it clear I didn’t want this! You still went behind my back! Alex lowered his hand, speechless, searching her face for any sign she’d forgive him, that her anger would fade. He found only steely resolve. — I said I never wanted to even hear about her! — Vicky’s whole body shook. She glared at Alex, eyes betraying not only anger but deep, old pain. — This “mother” abandoned me at four years old! Alone! At a train station! In just a thin coat! You think I can forgive that? Alex went pale but stood his ground. He straightened as if to make his argument unassailable. — She’s still your mum. That’s what matters — she’s your mother! The woman, outnumbered, stepped forward timidly. Her voice was small, apologetic, as though seeking forgiveness she didn’t truly believe she deserved: — You kept getting sick, I had no money for the doctor — I had a chance to earn, at last! I would have collected you, you know? It all could have worked out, we’d be together… Vicky spun on her, not a trace of sympathy — only long-honed bitterness: — Collected me? From a cemetery? — Her words were as cold and sharp as winter wind. — You could have asked social services for help, declared yourself temporarily unfit! Left me in hospital if I was so fragile! But not on the street! Not alone, not in the cold! Alex, desperate to defuse things, tried to take her hand. She pulled away, not even glancing at him. — The past is in the past, we need to live for today, — he insisted, as if convincing himself. — You said you wanted your own family at the wedding. Well, I’ve made your wish come true… Vicky finally looked at him, such disappointment in her gaze that Alex physically recoiled. — I invited Mrs Thompson, the head of the children’s home, and Mrs Lewis, my foster carer, — her voice was quiet now but unshakable. — They are my real mothers! They were there when it hurt! They taught me, supported me, cared. They’re my family. With that, Vicky tore her hand away from Alex and stormed out of the park. Her legs carried her far from that bench, from the conversation, from the man she had trusted more than anyone. There was a storm raging inside, making it hard even to breathe. Such betrayal from her fiancé — she would never have expected it. She hadn’t kept secrets from him. On the contrary: she’d been honest about her childhood, with no sugar-coating. She’d told him about those first days in care, still hoping her mum would come back. Alex had listened, nodded, claimed he understood. He had still gone and found her mother. Still brought her here. “Doesn’t matter, she’s your mother,” his words echoed in her head, stirring up more bitterness. “Never!” Vicky resolved. She would never let that woman into her life, never pretend nothing had happened. She didn’t stop once as she left the park and wandered down the street, barely registering her way. Her mother’s face — older now, fraught with anxious hope — kept flashing up in her mind’s eye. Vicky forced the image away. All she wanted now was to put as much distance as possible between herself and all of this. She didn’t even return to Alex’s place for her things — luckily, she had only a couple of bags there. The proper move-in was set for after the wedding, so most of her things were still in the council flat. That made things easier. Most important was not to go back there now, while the pain was so raw. Her phone buzzed and buzzed — Alex calling, over and over. She stared at the screen, saw his name, and didn’t answer. If she picked up now, she’d probably say things she’d regret. Better to wait out the first wave of hurt. Alex didn’t give up. In addition to calls, a few voice messages came through, his voice edged with irritation: — Vicky, you’re behaving like a child! I tried to do the right thing, and you — you’re just ungrateful! This is just drama, pure drama! A second message, harsher still: — I’ve decided. Linda will be at the wedding. End of. I’m not going to change my mind because of your whims. We’re going to maintain proper family ties. Our children will call her Granny. That’s normal, that’s right! Vicky stood at the bus stop, listening as he ranted, feeling the last strands of her strength fray. She switched off her phone, pocketed it, and looked up at the sky. Her whole world had cracked. She didn’t know how to put it back together. Vicky scrolled through the last messages, still hearing Alex’s unyielding, final words: “Linda will be at the wedding. End of.” That sentence etched itself into her soul. She opened her texts and typed a message, reading it through a few times. A simple line, clear and without ambiguity: “There will be no wedding. I don’t want to see either of you — not you, not her.” She sent it. Watched for the tick to show it had gone through, then put the phone down. Almost instantly her phone lit up — Alex trying to call again. Vicky didn’t move. More messages followed, but she ignored them. Instead, she opened her contacts, found her now ex-fiancé, and blocked his number without hesitation. Silence settled over her like a blanket, bringing a strange sense of relief. Maybe later she’d regret it. Maybe. But for now, it was the only step she could take. She felt the storm inside her give way to weary clarity. It was right. She had no future with someone capable of this… There Will Be No Forgiveness

No Forgiveness Shall Come Have you ever wondered about finding your mother? The question materialised

La vida

04

A Father’s True Son “Len, you won’t believe it! Matvey and I have decided to fly out to Turkey again next year!” My stepfather practically glowed with happiness. “He says he needs that hotel with the sea view again. What can I do? He’s my own son, after all.” It struck me how naturally he clarified—his **own** son. “I’m happy for you,” I replied, remembering how good things used to be before this Matvey appeared, “Your own son… And you always said we’re a family. That it makes no difference, whether real or not.” He did say that. That I was his daughter, and it didn’t matter if we were blood. “There you go again… Come on, Len! You’re my daughter, that’s not up for discussion! You know I love you like my own. But Matvey…” He didn’t even realise he’d just proved my point. “Matvey is a son. And I’m just an acquaintance, I suppose.” “Len, what are you on about? I keep telling you, you’re like a daughter to me!” “Like a daughter… Did you ever take me to the seaside? Not once in all those fifteen years you called yourself my dad?” He hadn’t. Arthur always insisted there was no difference between me and Matvey, but as I listened to how much he did for his son, I realised—the difference was massive. “It just never worked out, Len. You know in the old days, money was tight. You know how expensive two weeks in a five-star hotel are…” he muttered, “Costly, that.” “I understand,” I nodded, “Expense. Too pricey to take me. But Matvey, who you met six months ago, you’re already thinking about taking out a mortgage to buy him a flat, so he has somewhere to bring his wife. That’s a small thing, if it’s your son?” “I’m not buying any flat. Who told you that?” “People talk.” “Well, tell them not to spread nonsense.” A flicker of hope. “Really, you’re not?” “Of course not. Oh, and guess where we’re going on Saturday?” he didn’t wait for me to answer, “Go-karting! Back at uni, Matvey was into racing—me, I’m just tagging along.” “Go-karting,” I repeated, “Sounds exciting.” “Absolutely!” “Can I come with you?” The question slipped out before I could help it. Arthur, desperate to say no, rattled off, “Uh… Len… You’d be bored. Honestly. It’s a lads’ thing. Me and Matvey—we’ll have a father-son chat.” How it hurt… “So… interesting for you, but not for me?” “Not exactly… It’s just, you know, we missed out on a lifetime together. We want to make up for it. Just the two of us. You understand?” Oh, I understood. “You understand” had become the cruellest phrase in our new vocabulary. I was meant to understand that blood mattered more than adoption. I was meant to understand my place was now outside the gate. Matvey was perfect. Raised without a father because his mother never told Arthur about him, yet against all odds, he was good, clever, kind. “Dad, I fixed the cages at the animal shelter.” “Oh, and Dad, you know I graduated with first class honours?” “Dad, look, I fixed your phone.” Not just a son—an ideal son. Later that same day, after Arthur had stopped by before going home, I lingered over old photos… Arthur’s wedding to my mother (she died five years ago, leaving just me and Arthur). Us at the cottage… Me finishing school… Nothing would ever be the same. *** “Len, are you awake? I’ve got a question. Urgent,” my stepfather turned up at eight in the morning. “What’s so urgent?” I pushed back my fringe and started the coffee machine. “About that flat for Matvey.” “So it is true?” I breathed. “Sorry but… yes, it is.” “And you lied to me.” “I just didn’t want to upset you. But I need your advice! I’m thinking we have to move quickly—he might get married any time. Best to get him a place now, you know how I struggled at his age…” “So go for the mortgage,” I snapped, not wanting to talk about Matvey’s perfect set-up. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But you know my credit history… Matvey deserves his dad, who he never had, to help him buy a home.” “And your point?” “Will you help, if I ask?” “Depends how.” “I’ll explain. I’ve got £20,000—that’s enough for a deposit. But the bank won’t give me a loan. They’ll give you one. Your credit’s clean. We can put it in your name, I’ll handle the payments, I promise.” Any illusion that there was “no difference between you” was shattered for good. There was a difference. I wasn’t sending Matvey into the firing line. “So Matvey gets the flat, and I get stuck with the mortgage? That it?” Arthur shook his head, as if hurt by my words. As if it was my idea. “Don’t be like that! I’ll pay… I’m not asking you for money. It just needs to be in your name. Just think about it…” “You know, Arthur, I’m not wondering about the mortgage. I’m wondering how you stopped thinking of me as your daughter. You have a real son now. You’ve known him six months. Me, fifteen years—but it’s only him that matters, because he’s your own.” “That’s not true!” Arthur flared, “I love you both the same!” “No—it’s not the same.” “That’s not fair! But he’s my real…” Curtain. I was no longer his daughter. Just the convenient one; good enough until the genuine article appeared. “Fine,” I tried to be polite. “I can’t, Arthur. I’ll need a flat myself one day. And the bank won’t give me a second loan.” Arthur seemed to only just remember I had nowhere of my own. “Oh, right, you’ll need one too…” he fiddled with his watch. “But right now, until you’re ready to buy, you could help me out. I’ve got £20,000—it’s not much more. Only for a couple years.” “No. I’m not signing anything for you.” I never expected him to understand. “Alright,” he said, “If you can’t help me as a daughter… I’ll just figure something else out.” Whether he’d ever truly considered me his child didn’t matter any more. Now, Arthur was only someone I saw in old pictures. One evening as I scrolled through the feed, I saw it. A photo from the airport. Arthur and Matvey, both wearing pale jackets. Arthur’s hand resting proudly on Matvey’s shoulder. Caption: “Off to Dubai with Dad. Family is everything.” Family. I put the phone aside. Suddenly, I remembered a moment from my early childhood, long before my mum married Arthur. I was about five. We lived modestly, and my favourite doll from Granny broke. I cried, but my own father said, “Len, why are you crying over such nonsense? Don’t interrupt me!” He couldn’t be interrupted. His main interest was the bottle. I guess I never had a dad. I thought Arthur had replaced him… But a while later, Arthur tried again. “Len, I think we need to do something about this trust issue between us…” “What trust issue, Arthur? I told you: no.” “You just don’t get it. Matvey… he never knew me. He was fatherless. I have to fix that. He needs somewhere to live. And it’s not like I need anything much from you, just to have your name on the paperwork—I guarantee you won’t spend a penny.” “Who’ll make up for my missing pieces…” That annoyed him. “Len, enough! I don’t want an argument! I love you, really! But you have to understand… Matvey is my real family. When you have kids, you’ll see. Look, I love you both—just differently. Doesn’t mean I don’t need you.” “You need me—as a resource.” “Len, come on! You’re overreacting.” “You switched to him within six months, Arthur,” I said. “I’m not asking you to choose. The choice is obvious. Matvey is your real one. I never was.” Six months passed. Arthur never called. Not once. Once again scrolling through my news feed, I saw another photo. Arthur and Matvey, this time in the mountains. Arthur in fancy ski gear. The caption: “Teaching Dad to snowboard! He might be a bit old for this, but with your son, anything’s possible.” I stared at the photo for a long time. I reached for my laptop to finish a report when my phone buzzed. Unknown number. “Hi, Lena. It’s Matvey. Dad gave me your number but he can’t call. He wanted me to tell you: he sorted the flat without you, but he’s worried about you. And he hopes you’ll come see us over the bank holiday. He can’t explain, but he really wants you there.” I wrote a reply and rewrote it, over and over. “Hi Matvey. Tell Arthur I’m very glad he’s doing well. I’m thinking of him too. But I’m not coming. I’ve got my own plans for the bank holiday. I’m off to the seaside.” I didn’t say I bought my own ticket, that it wasn’t Turkey but Brighton, and I wasn’t going with a father but a friend. I pressed send. And thought: maybe I can be happy without him.

Dearest Son Ellen, you simply wouldnt believe it! Matthew and I have decided, were off to Spain again

La vida

01

Twelve Years Later: A Mother’s Desperate Plea on National TV to Find Her Estranged Son—But Is She Sincere, or Is There Another Motive Behind Her Tears?

Twelve Years On “Please, Im begging you, help me find my son!” The womans voice wavers on

La vida

02

A Father’s True Son “Len, you won’t believe it! Matvey and I have decided to fly out to Turkey again next year!” My stepfather practically glowed with happiness. “He says he needs that hotel with the sea view again. What can I do? He’s my own son, after all.” It struck me how naturally he clarified—his **own** son. “I’m happy for you,” I replied, remembering how good things used to be before this Matvey appeared, “Your own son… And you always said we’re a family. That it makes no difference, whether real or not.” He did say that. That I was his daughter, and it didn’t matter if we were blood. “There you go again… Come on, Len! You’re my daughter, that’s not up for discussion! You know I love you like my own. But Matvey…” He didn’t even realise he’d just proved my point. “Matvey is a son. And I’m just an acquaintance, I suppose.” “Len, what are you on about? I keep telling you, you’re like a daughter to me!” “Like a daughter… Did you ever take me to the seaside? Not once in all those fifteen years you called yourself my dad?” He hadn’t. Arthur always insisted there was no difference between me and Matvey, but as I listened to how much he did for his son, I realised—the difference was massive. “It just never worked out, Len. You know in the old days, money was tight. You know how expensive two weeks in a five-star hotel are…” he muttered, “Costly, that.” “I understand,” I nodded, “Expense. Too pricey to take me. But Matvey, who you met six months ago, you’re already thinking about taking out a mortgage to buy him a flat, so he has somewhere to bring his wife. That’s a small thing, if it’s your son?” “I’m not buying any flat. Who told you that?” “People talk.” “Well, tell them not to spread nonsense.” A flicker of hope. “Really, you’re not?” “Of course not. Oh, and guess where we’re going on Saturday?” he didn’t wait for me to answer, “Go-karting! Back at uni, Matvey was into racing—me, I’m just tagging along.” “Go-karting,” I repeated, “Sounds exciting.” “Absolutely!” “Can I come with you?” The question slipped out before I could help it. Arthur, desperate to say no, rattled off, “Uh… Len… You’d be bored. Honestly. It’s a lads’ thing. Me and Matvey—we’ll have a father-son chat.” How it hurt… “So… interesting for you, but not for me?” “Not exactly… It’s just, you know, we missed out on a lifetime together. We want to make up for it. Just the two of us. You understand?” Oh, I understood. “You understand” had become the cruellest phrase in our new vocabulary. I was meant to understand that blood mattered more than adoption. I was meant to understand my place was now outside the gate. Matvey was perfect. Raised without a father because his mother never told Arthur about him, yet against all odds, he was good, clever, kind. “Dad, I fixed the cages at the animal shelter.” “Oh, and Dad, you know I graduated with first class honours?” “Dad, look, I fixed your phone.” Not just a son—an ideal son. Later that same day, after Arthur had stopped by before going home, I lingered over old photos… Arthur’s wedding to my mother (she died five years ago, leaving just me and Arthur). Us at the cottage… Me finishing school… Nothing would ever be the same. *** “Len, are you awake? I’ve got a question. Urgent,” my stepfather turned up at eight in the morning. “What’s so urgent?” I pushed back my fringe and started the coffee machine. “About that flat for Matvey.” “So it is true?” I breathed. “Sorry but… yes, it is.” “And you lied to me.” “I just didn’t want to upset you. But I need your advice! I’m thinking we have to move quickly—he might get married any time. Best to get him a place now, you know how I struggled at his age…” “So go for the mortgage,” I snapped, not wanting to talk about Matvey’s perfect set-up. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But you know my credit history… Matvey deserves his dad, who he never had, to help him buy a home.” “And your point?” “Will you help, if I ask?” “Depends how.” “I’ll explain. I’ve got £20,000—that’s enough for a deposit. But the bank won’t give me a loan. They’ll give you one. Your credit’s clean. We can put it in your name, I’ll handle the payments, I promise.” Any illusion that there was “no difference between you” was shattered for good. There was a difference. I wasn’t sending Matvey into the firing line. “So Matvey gets the flat, and I get stuck with the mortgage? That it?” Arthur shook his head, as if hurt by my words. As if it was my idea. “Don’t be like that! I’ll pay… I’m not asking you for money. It just needs to be in your name. Just think about it…” “You know, Arthur, I’m not wondering about the mortgage. I’m wondering how you stopped thinking of me as your daughter. You have a real son now. You’ve known him six months. Me, fifteen years—but it’s only him that matters, because he’s your own.” “That’s not true!” Arthur flared, “I love you both the same!” “No—it’s not the same.” “That’s not fair! But he’s my real…” Curtain. I was no longer his daughter. Just the convenient one; good enough until the genuine article appeared. “Fine,” I tried to be polite. “I can’t, Arthur. I’ll need a flat myself one day. And the bank won’t give me a second loan.” Arthur seemed to only just remember I had nowhere of my own. “Oh, right, you’ll need one too…” he fiddled with his watch. “But right now, until you’re ready to buy, you could help me out. I’ve got £20,000—it’s not much more. Only for a couple years.” “No. I’m not signing anything for you.” I never expected him to understand. “Alright,” he said, “If you can’t help me as a daughter… I’ll just figure something else out.” Whether he’d ever truly considered me his child didn’t matter any more. Now, Arthur was only someone I saw in old pictures. One evening as I scrolled through the feed, I saw it. A photo from the airport. Arthur and Matvey, both wearing pale jackets. Arthur’s hand resting proudly on Matvey’s shoulder. Caption: “Off to Dubai with Dad. Family is everything.” Family. I put the phone aside. Suddenly, I remembered a moment from my early childhood, long before my mum married Arthur. I was about five. We lived modestly, and my favourite doll from Granny broke. I cried, but my own father said, “Len, why are you crying over such nonsense? Don’t interrupt me!” He couldn’t be interrupted. His main interest was the bottle. I guess I never had a dad. I thought Arthur had replaced him… But a while later, Arthur tried again. “Len, I think we need to do something about this trust issue between us…” “What trust issue, Arthur? I told you: no.” “You just don’t get it. Matvey… he never knew me. He was fatherless. I have to fix that. He needs somewhere to live. And it’s not like I need anything much from you, just to have your name on the paperwork—I guarantee you won’t spend a penny.” “Who’ll make up for my missing pieces…” That annoyed him. “Len, enough! I don’t want an argument! I love you, really! But you have to understand… Matvey is my real family. When you have kids, you’ll see. Look, I love you both—just differently. Doesn’t mean I don’t need you.” “You need me—as a resource.” “Len, come on! You’re overreacting.” “You switched to him within six months, Arthur,” I said. “I’m not asking you to choose. The choice is obvious. Matvey is your real one. I never was.” Six months passed. Arthur never called. Not once. Once again scrolling through my news feed, I saw another photo. Arthur and Matvey, this time in the mountains. Arthur in fancy ski gear. The caption: “Teaching Dad to snowboard! He might be a bit old for this, but with your son, anything’s possible.” I stared at the photo for a long time. I reached for my laptop to finish a report when my phone buzzed. Unknown number. “Hi, Lena. It’s Matvey. Dad gave me your number but he can’t call. He wanted me to tell you: he sorted the flat without you, but he’s worried about you. And he hopes you’ll come see us over the bank holiday. He can’t explain, but he really wants you there.” I wrote a reply and rewrote it, over and over. “Hi Matvey. Tell Arthur I’m very glad he’s doing well. I’m thinking of him too. But I’m not coming. I’ve got my own plans for the bank holiday. I’m off to the seaside.” I didn’t say I bought my own ticket, that it wasn’t Turkey but Brighton, and I wasn’t going with a father but a friend. I pressed send. And thought: maybe I can be happy without him.

Dearest Son Ellen, you simply wouldnt believe it! Matthew and I have decided, were off to Spain again

La vida

06

There Won’t Be a Wedding “Why are you so quiet today?” Tanya asked. “We agreed: on Saturday we’d go pick out bedroom furniture. But you seem sad. What’s wrong?” Denis knew: it’s now or never. He had to say it now. “Tanya… There’s something I wanted to talk about. About the wedding.” Tanya had waited a long time for this conversation. She and Denis agreed the celebration would be simple, but she saw Denis wanted to give her a real wedding—lots of guests, photos, organisers… She’d been waiting for this talk! “No long preambles, please. I think I know what you’re about to say,” Tanya smiled. But Denis said: “Let’s postpone… Let’s postpone the wedding.” This wasn’t the conversation she’d been preparing for. “Postpone?” She was stunned. “Where’s this coming from? Why? We were just talking about sending invitations… You chose them yourself… We were deciding who to invite! Have you changed your mind about marrying me?” Like some melodrama, he’d say his feelings had faded. But Denis didn’t stick to the script. “It’s just… money’s tight just now,” he mumbled. “My salary’s delayed. We’re not managing to save. And… We’ve only lived together for six months. Isn’t that a bit soon?” “A bit soon?” Tanya spluttered. “Denis, we’ve been together three years! Three years dating and six months living together is ‘a bit soon’ for you?” Denis didn’t look frightened anymore. “Don’t start, Tanya. I don’t want an argument. It’s just… a break. I haven’t changed my mind, but a wedding’s expensive.” “Fine… Let’s just sign at the registry and celebrate with friends afterward.” “Tanya, then it won’t be a real wedding.” “Oh, so be it!” “But it was your dream…” “I’ll get over it!” He’s grasping at straws, she thought. “Tanya…” “Be honest. Has something happened? Are you not sure you love me? Or… have you met someone else? Because ‘it’s too expensive’ is not very convincing.” Denis shook his head. “No, Tanya, I swear. I just want everything to be perfect for us. Right now, I can’t give you the perfect wedding. And yes, six months… We’re still not quite used to each other yet. We need to figure out if we fit…” There was logic in his words… He sounded convincing, but Tanya’s instincts screamed. Rarely had Denis tried so hard to convince her of something. And he’d been the one who insisted they marry sooner. But she pretended to believe him. After, Denis became not just a boyfriend, but the perfect boyfriend, paying attention to little things he’d always missed before, as if making up for the canceled wedding. He’d ask what she wanted in shops… always washed up after meals himself… But he was sullen. Not just thoughtful, truly sullen, sighing at night staring at the ceiling, batting away Tanya’s questions with, “Just tired, that’s all.” Tanya tried not to press. “Later, later, later,” whispered her inner voice. A couple of weeks later, they were invited to Denis’ parents’ house. Tanya resisted for ages. She just didn’t want to go. And Denis hadn’t said a word about the wedding, but surely his parents would—awkward. But they ended up going. Of course, the wedding came up. “So, when will you finally make us happy?” his mum asked after his dad left for the TV. “We’ve already picked a banquet hall—table for twenty. What day should I book?” Denis looked just as sour as Tanya. What to book? There’d be no wedding. “Mum, we talked about this. We’ve postponed it,” he rasped. “Postponed? Why’s that? No money? Denis, why didn’t you think ahead?” After dinner, while the men inspected the never-fixed radio, Tanya went to the bathroom to tidy up. Spotless, like an operating theatre. No dust, nothing but shower gel and shampoo—his mum kept everything else in her room. Tanya always marvelled at that: how could she be bothered to carry it all in each time? Tanya dried her face and listened… The bathroom walls carried sound, especially secrets. Denis had returned to the kitchen and was talking to his mum. Tanya heard… “…Denis, are you planning to break it off with Tanya?” Tanya froze, towel to her chin. What? She didn’t pretend it was imagination. She pressed her ear gently to the tile so as not to make a sound. “Mum, I told you. We’ve postponed, but haven’t broken up.” “Postponed is an excuse!” hissed Galina Sergeyevna. “I see how you suffer. Why do you need her? She’s not wife material. A wife should obey her husband, but this one… Why marry if you’ll just divorce in a year?” “I love her, Mum,” Denis said. Tanya almost melted. But his mum’s next words chased away any sentimentality. “You love her? She’s a sly one, Denis. I told you! She’s turning you against us already, and you’re not even married yet. You’ve stopped helping your sister, you’ve stopped visiting the dacha… She’s changing you, and not for the better.” Tanya was glued to the wall, ear to the cold tile. Turning him against them? When? She’d always been as polite as possible to his parents, even when Anatoly Petrovich trashed her new haircut. It hurt, but she kept quiet! She couldn’t remember once purposefully turning Denis against them. If anything, she always encouraged him to keep close—they were important to him. And then it dawned on her: the postponement wasn’t about money. It was his dear mother, lying to her face, who was against the wedding! Tanya hurried back to the kitchen. “Oh, Tanya’s out! We were just saying, it’s best not to delay the registry. Youth is lovely, but I don’t approve of life without a marriage certificate.” How sweet of her. “Absolutely, Mrs Wilson,” Tanya replied. “We won’t wait too much longer. Once we save up, straight to the registry, isn’t that right, Denis?” “Yes, Tanya, you can say we’re practically married,” he agreed. That night, driving home, Denis tried to put his arm around her, but Tanya kept edging away. She didn’t know how to start the conversation. Should she even ask? If Denis hadn’t left her for his parents’ sake, then he must love her… But he’d still cancelled the wedding. “You acted strange when your mum started talking,” she said, watching the city lights disappear behind them. “Me? No, she’s just pushing for a wedding and…” “Don’t lie. She’s not pushing for a wedding. She’s firmly against it. She said I’ve turned you against her. And wants us to break up.” Denis nervously jerked the steering wheel. “So you heard? Tanya, Mum’s just scared her boy will get married and forget her. Classic. Don’t let it get to you. She’ll calm down.” Tanya wasn’t much hurt by a mother who couldn’t let go of her son. What hurt was Denis himself. He hadn’t defended her—just agreed with his mother to avoid conflict. The wedding question left unsolved, Denis stayed as sour as ever, but now, when Tanya hinted at the future, he always answered: “Maybe later…” Then Tanya happened upon Denis’ unlocked phone. “I’m just checking the time,” she told herself. “I won’t read messages. Just take a peek…” The last notification was from his sister Vera. Vera was just two years younger than Tanya, but acted like she was twelve. No work, no uni, living with the parents, entirely at their expense. The message was no riddle: “I get it, I’ll never see that money. She’s got you under the thumb again. Live with her, if some girl is more important than family.” Tanya reread it. “Under the thumb again.” And suddenly, she remembered… Before the cancelled wedding, Vera had phoned Denis begging for money yet again, and Tanya, unable to hold back, had said: “Denis, she’s twenty-seven, still living off your parents, and now wants your money for fun? Maybe she should get a job? Our budget isn’t bottomless.” She’d not have interfered, but she earned as much as Denis and hadn’t agreed to support his family. Denis had reluctantly agreed then—”yes, you’re right, Tanya. It’s time to stop.” Now it was clear who was turning the family against her. She picked up Denis’ phone, copied the chat with Vera, and sent it to her own number. Then set the phone precisely where it had been. Just then, Denis brushed snow off in the hallway. “Got the milk, and your favourite chocolate. I was thinking, maybe we should…” “Denis,” Tanya interrupted. “Well Denis, who else were you expecting?” he joked. Tanya didn’t laugh. “What’s Vera texting you?” she asked. Denis knew to strike first if caught, so he feigned outrage: “You’ve been snooping on my phone!?” Classic defence—shift the blame. “Doesn’t matter what I did, Denis. I want you to explain. Now.” He stood there for a few seconds, his face cycling from anger to panic. “Look, Tanya, don’t take it seriously. She’s just a baby, gets upset at everything.” “Upset at what? Because I asked her to grow up?” Tanya pressed. “She’s used to being able to ask brother for money, that’s all. It’s hard to give up free money. Just forget about it.” “She turned your parents against me?” “Well… yeah,” Denis admitted. “I tried to explain, our money’s ours, Vera should stand on her own… Mum flipped out—said you’d turned me into a doormat, that I’ve abandoned family for you! But I don’t really think that…” “But you cancelled the wedding… Well. She set your family against me. Got it. I can’t deal with them. So what do you actually want? Do you want to marry me? Or are you just putting it off because you can’t say ‘no’ to your mother?” “Of course I want to marry you! Just… not yet. Maybe… later… once things calm down…” So there was her answer. “You know what, Denis—I’ve realised something. I don’t want to marry someone who isn’t sure of their feelings, who flinches every time his sister sneezes. It’s a good thing the wedding’s off.”

No Wedding After All Saturday, 10th February I suppose today I should write down whats happenedmaybe