Harlan Covington

Worn Down by My Mother-in-Law and Wife That Evening, the Most Silent and Patient Man in Our Village, Steven Evans, Came to See Me—A Man as Steadfast as Iron Nails, With Broad Calloused Hands and Centuries of Quiet in His Eyes; Known for His Reluctance to Complain Yet Always the First to Lend a Hand, He Stood in My Small Local Surgery, Shoulders Slumped, Ushanka Gripped in Muddy Hands, and When He Finally Spoke, His Voice Broke with the Weariness of a Husband Pushed to the Edge by Years of Unkindness From Wife and Mother-in-Law, Until With One Tear, One Quiet Confession—“I’m Leaving, Mrs. Simmons. I Can’t Do This Anymore. I Have Nothing Left”—It Became Clear the Real Illness Was a Soul Worn Thin by Indifference, and Its Only Cure Might Just Be a Kind Word, a Cup of Tea, and Learning That the Greatest Comfort Is Belonging—Not Just as a Pair of Strong Hands, But as Someone Who Is Truly Needed and Loved at Home.

Diary entry 12th November Some evenings, the smallest things can leave the deepest marks on your heart.

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Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “The orphanage has missed you for years! Get out of our family!” I screamed with a voice on the verge of breaking. The target of my utter fury was my cousin, Danny. Dear God, how I adored him as a child—wheat-blond hair, cornflower-blue eyes, a cheerful spirit. That was Danny all over. The whole family often gathered for festive meals. Of all my cousins, I singled out Danny. He could twist words as deftly as a lacemaker, and he drew with real talent. On a good night, he’d dash off five or six lovely sketches in pencil. I’d stare, entranced, and quietly stash away his drawings in my writing desk, cherishing his art. Danny was two years older than me. When he was fourteen, his mum—my father’s little sister—died suddenly. She just didn’t wake up one morning. The question arose: what to do with Danny? We tried his dad, but it wasn’t simple. His parents had long divorced, and his dad had a new family and refused to upset their happy course. Everyone else just shrugged and muttered about having their own lives. Family in the daylight, but after sunset, nowhere to be found. So, with two children of their own, my parents became Danny’s legal guardians. At first, I was thrilled he’d live with us. However… On his very first day in our house, Danny’s behaviour unsettled me. Mum, wanting to comfort the orphan, asked, “Is there anything you’d like, Danny? Don’t be shy.” Instantly, he replied, “A toy train set.” For the eighties, it was wildly expensive. I was shocked—your mum just died, your world collapsed, yet all you want is a train set? But my parents bought it at once. Then came, “Buy me a tape recorder, jeans, a branded jacket…” Expensive, hard-to-get things. My parents stretched to grant his wishes, denying themselves and us; my brother and I kept quiet and tried to understand. At sixteen, Danny discovered girls. Turned out, my dear cousin was rather a Don Juan—and then he started hitting on me, his own cousin! Fortunately, I was tough and could fend him off, but we fought—physically and emotionally. I cried for hours. I never told my parents; kids rarely voice such personal pain. When I rejected him, Danny swiftly moved on to my friends, who actively competed for his favour. And then Danny started stealing. Blatantly. I’d been saving pocket money to buy presents for my parents—one day my piggybank was simply empty! Danny denied everything, stone-faced, not a blush of guilt. My soul was torn in two—how could he, living under our roof, steal from us? Danny, like a wrecking ball, shattered our family’s harmony. I stewed, resentful, as he genuinely saw nothing wrong—he believed the world owed him. And eventually I yelled at him, for all I was worth: “Get out of our family!” I lashed out at him like a storm, saying more than I could possibly recall. Mum barely managed to calm me. Since then, Danny no longer existed for me—I ignored him completely. Later I learned, other relatives knew just what kind of person Danny was—they all lived close by and had seen it all; our family lived farther away and hadn’t known. Even Danny’s teachers warned my parents: “He’ll be nothing but trouble—even damage your own children.” In his new school, a girl named Kate fell head over heels for him. She married Danny right after school, had a daughter, and patiently endured his antics, lies, endless affairs. The saying “double the trouble when you marry off” fit her perfectly. She gave him unwavering love that, somehow, Danny never deserved. Danny was later called up for National Service, stationed in Yorkshire. There, he set up “another” family. Somehow, during his leaves, he got involved, and after demob, had a son up north. Kate, undaunted, tracked him down and brought him back home to London by hook or by crook. My parents never heard a single thank you from Danny. Not that they expected it. Today Daniel Evans is 60, devoted churchgoer, five lovely grandchildren with Kate. All seems well, yet the bitterness from our relationship with him lingers… And I still can’t bring myself to share honey with him.

BITTERNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SOUL You belong in a childrens home! Get out of our family!

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Postage Stamps and Broken Vows: When Ilya Left Katya, Love, Revenge, and Life’s Unexpected Passions Unfold in a Tale of Family, Heartbreak, and Second Chances

A POSTAGE STAMP Olivers left Emma, Mum sighs heavily. What do you mean? I ask, confused. I dont understand

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When a Husband Is Worth More Than Bitter Grievances “Igor, that was the last straw! We’re getting a divorce. Don’t bother dropping to your knees – it won’t work this time!” I put a firm full stop on our marriage. Of course, Igor didn’t believe me. My husband assumed it would play out like always: he’d kneel, apologise, buy another ring, and I’d forgive. It had happened before. But this time I was determined to break the bonds of matrimony for good. My fingers, loaded down with rings, were empty of happiness. Igor was constantly and heavily hitting the bottle. …And yet, it all began so romantically. My first husband, Edward, went missing in the 90s. Life was frightening back then. He was a difficult man who picked fights. As they say, “the eyes of an eagle, the wings of a mosquito”– all show, little strength. If things weren’t to his liking, he’d throw a fit. I’m sure Edward got caught up in some sort of trouble. No word was ever heard. I was left with two daughters: Lizzie, five, and Rose, just two. Five years passed after his mysterious disappearance. I nearly lost my mind. I had loved Edward desperately, despite his temper. We’d been inseparable, two halves of a whole. I’d decided life was over: I would just raise my girls. Gave up on myself. Those years were harsh. I worked in a factory, paid in irons instead of wages. I had to sell them for food. On winter weekends, standing half-frozen at the market, a man approached me out of pity. “Cold, miss?” he asked gently. “How could you tell?” I tried to joke, though I was frozen through. Yet, his presence felt warm. He offered to help carry my unsold irons and suggested a cafe to warm up. I agreed, desperate not only from the cold but a deeper chill inside. We never made it to the cafe. I dragged him close to my house, left him with my things, and rushed to get my girls from nursery. When we returned, he waited as promised. His name was Igor. I invited him in for tea, and over cups and conversation, he offered me a job with better pay than a year’s worth of factory irons. He was in the midst of a divorce, with a son from his first marriage. Soon, we married and he adopted my girls. Life was good. We bought a four-bedroom flat, filled it with expensive furniture and gadgets, built a summer house, and had seaside holidays every year. Bliss. …For seven cloudless years. Then, having achieved comfort, Igor started to drink. At first, I dismissed it – he worked hard and needed to relax. But drinking became daily, then at work. Pleas fell on deaf ears. I’m a risk-taker. To distract Igor, I decided to have his child – at thirty-nine. My friends laughed but understood. “Go for it, Tanya! Maybe we’ll all become mums again at forty!” they joked. I always said: Better to have a child and never regret it, than not and wonder forever. Our twins were born, bringing our daughters to four, but Igor didn’t stop drinking. I took a wild chance: we moved to the country, started a farm, opened a cafe. Igor became a hunter, out in the woods, shotgun in hand. Things trundled along, until one night when, drunken out of his mind, Igor smashed everything, grabbed his shotgun, and fired into the ceiling. I fled with the girls to the neighbours in terror. Later, seeing the devastation, I gathered our things and went to my mother’s. She said, “What can you do? Every marriage has its troubles. Go back, it’ll pass.” Mum always said: Better to grit your teeth for a handsome husband. A few days later Igor showed up. That’s when I drew the line. He remembered nothing, thought I was making it up. But I was done. We sold the cafe for pennies, hurriedly left for a nearby village, squeezing into a tiny house. The older girls started work and soon married. The twins were still at school. They still loved Igor, kept in touch with him. Through them he begged me to come back; they insisted he’d changed. “Think of yourself! You’re not 25 anymore!” But I held firm – I wanted peace, not drama. …Two years passed. Loneliness gnawed at me. I pawned all my rings for money, couldn’t buy any back. I thought, and remembered. Igor had loved all four daughters, he always cared for me, never failed to apologise. We’d been a good family; you can’t measure happiness by another’s life. In time, even the older girls stopped coming by – only calls now. Youth moves on. Soon my twins would fly the nest, and I’d be alone. So, I had the twins ask Igor about his life – maybe there was another woman? But no: he worked in another city, off drink, single. He left them his address, just in case. One way or another, we’ve now been back together for five years. I did say – I’m a bit of a gambler…

A HUSBAND IS WORTH MORE THAN BITTER GRUDGES “Peter, that’s it! This was the last straw. We’

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A Christmas Eve Miracle: How Dad Forgot the Gift, a White Kitten Appeared Under the Tree, and Kindness Worked Its Magic on the Entire Family

A Christmas Miracle Tom, can you explain to me, please, just how you managed to forget? I reminded you

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He Hated His Wife. Truly Hated Her… They Spent 15 Years Together—Waking Beside Each Other Every Morning—But Only This Past Year Did Her Habits Begin to Deeply Irritate Him. Especially One: Each Morning, While Still in Bed, She’d Stretch Out Her Arms and Say, “Good morning, sunshine! Today will be a marvellous day.” An Ordinary Phrase, Yet Her Thin Arms and Sleepy Face Filled Him with Disgust. She’d Rise, Gaze Out the Window for a Moment, Take Off Her Nightdress, and Head to the Bathroom. Early in Their Marriage, He Had Admired Her Body, Her Innocent Freedom Edging on Immodesty. Now, Though Her Figure Remained Beautiful, Her Nakedness Made Him Angry. Once, He Even Wanted to Push Her—Shove Her into Starting the Day Faster—But He Settled for Snapping, “Hurry up, I’m sick of waiting!” She Never Rushed. She Knew About His Three-Year Affair and Even Knew the Young Woman Involved, but Time and Quiet Resignation Had Dulled the Wound to Her Pride—Leaving Only Sadness and a Sense of Unimportance. She Forgave His Hostility, Neglect, His Longing to Relive His Youth, Yet She Didn’t Allow Him to Dictate the Pace of Her Life. She Had Lived This Way Since Learning She Was Terminally Ill. Month by Month, Her Illness Consumed Her, with No Hope of Recovery. Her First Impulse Was to Tell Everyone to Ease the Cruelty of the Truth by Sharing It Piece by Piece with Family. But After Surviving the Worst Days Alone, She Decided to Keep Silent. With Each Passing Day, She Found Quiet Wisdom—Learning to Contemplate. She Sought Solitude in a Tiny Village Library, An Hour-and-a-Half’s Walk Away. Every Day She’d Slip Between the Bookshelves Labelled “Mysteries of Life and Death,” Finding Books She Hoped Held All the Answers. Meanwhile, He Felt Alive Only in His Lover’s House—So Warm, Bright, And Familiar After Three Years. He Loved Her Madly, Jealously, Even Desperately. Today, He Arrived with a Solid Decision: Divorce. Why Torture All Three of Them Anymore? He Didn’t Love His Wife—He Hated Her! Here, He Would Start Again, Happier. He Tried Remembering How He’d Once Felt About His Wife But Failed. It Seemed She’d Annoyed Him from the Very Beginning. Pulling a Photo of Her from His Wallet—A Simple Act Sealing His Decision—He Tore It to Shreds. They Agreed to Meet in the Restaurant Where, Six Months Ago, They’d Celebrated Their Fifteenth Anniversary. She Arrived First. He Stopped by Home to Gather Divorce Papers, Rummaging through Drawers in a Fluster. In One Drawer He Discovered a Dark Blue Sealed Folder He’d Never Noticed. Kneeling On the Floor, He Tore Off the Tape, Expecting Anything—Even Blackmail Photos. Instead: Medical Reports, Lab Results, Doctor’s Letters—All with His Wife’s Name. Realisation Struck Like Lightning, Sending Chills Down His Spine. Illness! He Googled the Diagnosis. The Screen Displayed: “6 to 18 months.” Looking at the dates, He Saw Six Months Had Already Passed Since Her Tests. After That, Everything Blurred—His Mind Echoing Only the Words, “6-18 months.” She Waited 40 Minutes. No Answer to Her Calls. She Paid the Bill and Stepped Into a Beautiful Autumn Day—Gentle Sun Warming Her Heart. “How Beautiful Life Is—How Lovely to Be Here, With Sunlight and Trees.” For the First Time Since Learning Her Fate, She Felt Truly Sorry for Herself. She Had Kept Her Terrible Secret from Husband, Family, and Friends, Sparing Them at the Cost of Her Own Shattered Life. Soon, All That Would Remain Would Be a Memory. She Walked the Streets, Watching People’s Joyful Eyes Looking Forward—To Winter, Then Spring. She’d Never Know Such Hope Again. Grief Swelled Up and Spilled Over In Endless Tears… He Prowled His Room, Suddenly Overwhelmed by the Fragility of Life. He Remembered His Wife When They First Met, Young and Hopeful. He Once Had Loved Her! It Was as if the Past Fifteen Years Had Vanished, And All that Remained Was Youth, Happiness, Promise… In Her Final Days, He Surrounded Her with Tenderness, Refusing to Leave Her Side—Feeling More Alive Than Ever. He Was Terrified of Losing Her and Would Have Given His Life to Save Hers. If Reminded That Just a Month Ago He Had Hated Her, He’d Swear, “That wasn’t me.” He Saw How Hard Death Was for Her—How She Wept at Night, Believing Him Asleep. He Knew There Was No Greater Punishment than Knowing When You’ll Die. He Saw Her Fighting for Every Day, Clinging to the Faintest Hope. She Died Two Months Later. He Covered the Road from Their Home to the Cemetery in Flowers and Wept Like a Child as Her Coffin Was Lowered into the Earth—A Thousand Years Older, All at Once… At Home, Beneath Her Pillow, He Found Her New Year’s Wish: “To Be Happy With Him Until the End of My Days.” They Say All Wishes Made on New Year’s Eve Come True. Perhaps They Do—Since In That Same Year, He’d Written: “To Be Free.” In the End, Each Received Exactly What They Had Wished For…

He loathed his wife. Loathed her… Theyd spent fifteen years togetheran entire decade and a half.

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She Got My Mother-in-Law Back on Her Feet—But I’m Furious Because I Didn’t Weed the Garden Beds “What are you doing here?” shouted my mother-in-law, standing in the middle of the swan-shaped flowerbeds. “Such shame has never happened here before. I never had to hide behind my children—I raised seven, and not a single weed!” Her shouting had already attracted the neighbours. Clinging to the fence like crows, they wasted no time gossiping about everything they’d heard. With an audience, my mother-in-law only grew more theatrical. She went on and on while I stood there speechless. Finally, exhausted from her own drama, she took a deep breath and declared loudly enough for every neighbour to hear: I didn’t say a word. I walked past my mother-in-law calmly, tightening my hold on the child in my arms. Once inside, I packed everything she and I would need for that evening and the morning after, methodically separating the items in a special box. Without a second thought, I tossed my son’s things and my own into a bag and left, saying nothing to her. Three days later, my mother-in-law called: “What did you do with all those things the professor gave her? I asked the neighbour to buy a few, but she said one jar was very expensive, and we don’t touch the ones labelled in foreign languages. So what am I supposed to do? You stormed off upset about something, and now here I am, left to meet my maker?” I didn’t answer. I turned off my phone and removed the SIM card. That was it; I simply couldn’t go any further—I was out of physical and mental strength. A year ago, just before my son was born, my husband lost control of the car on an icy road. My memory of the days is a blur: saying goodbye to him, the ambulance taking him away, and then the next morning, I became a mother. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Without my beloved husband, everything around me seemed unnecessary and meaningless. I nursed and rocked my baby in a daze, simply because I was told to. Then the phone rang. “Your mother-in-law isn’t well. She may not live long after her son.” I made my decision instantly. After checking out of the hospital, I immediately sold our flat in London. I invested part of the money into building a new home so my son would have something for his future. And then I went to care for my mother-in-law. That year, I didn’t live—I simply existed. I barely slept, looking after both my mother-in-law and my infant son. The baby was restless, and my mother-in-law needed my constant attention. Thankfully, I had money. I called the best specialists from across the UK to come and see her. I bought every medication prescribed, and slowly, my mother-in-law returned to normal life. First, I wheeled her around the house, then the garden. By the end, she was strong enough to walk on her own—and then… I no longer want to see or hear from her again. Let her figure out her recovery herself. At least I was wise enough not to spend all my money on her. My son and I moved into a new home. I never imagined it would end up like this. I wanted to share my life with my husband’s mother, since I’m an orphan myself. But now, it’s just me. I need to teach my son: not everyone deserves kindness. Some people care more about tidy vegetable patches than about the people who save their lives.

She woke the whole neighbourhood with her fuss about the garden beds, but I was fuming, for I hadnt weeded them.

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For two years, Mary was nothing more than a caregiver to her husband’s mother.

For two years, Alice was nothing more than a carer for his mother. Alice found herself marrying Arthur

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“We’ll Be Staying With You for a While, Since We Can’t Afford to Rent a Flat! – My Friend Announced to Me I’m a very active woman. Even at 65, I still manage to explore new places and meet all sorts of fascinating people. I look back on my youth with both joy and nostalgia—back then, you could spend your holidays wherever you wanted! You could travel to the seaside, go camping with friends, or take a boat trip down any river—and all for just a little money. Sadly, those days are long gone. I’ve always loved meeting new people. I met friends on the beach, at the theatre—and some friendships lasted for years. One day, I met a woman named Sarah while holidaying at the same B&B. We parted as friends and over the years, sent each other the occasional letter. Then, one day, I received an unsigned telegram: “The train arrives at 3 a.m. Meet me!” I had no idea who had sent it, so my husband and I stayed home. But at 4 a.m., there was a knock at our door. I was stunned when I opened it: Sarah stood there with two teenage daughters, her grandmother, and a man, all with a mountain of luggage. My husband and I were bewildered. But we let them in, and Sarah said to me: “Why didn’t you meet us? I sent you a telegram! You know that costs money!” “Sorry, but we didn’t know who sent it!” “Well, you gave me your address. Here I am.” “I thought we’d just write letters, that’s all!” Sarah explained that one of the girls had just finished school and planned to go to university, so the family had come to support her. “We’re going to stay with you! We can’t afford to rent a flat or a hotel!” I was shocked. We weren’t even related—why should we let them move in? We had to feed our guests three times a day. They brought some food, but never cooked; they just ate ours, and I had to serve them all. After three days, I couldn’t take it anymore and asked Sarah and her family to leave. I didn’t care where they went. A huge row erupted. Sarah started smashing dishes and shouting hysterically. I was just dumbfounded by her behaviour. Then, Sarah and her family started packing. They managed to steal my dressing gown, several towels, and even somehow snuck out with my big saucepan. I still don’t understand how—but it just vanished! And that was the end of our friendship. Thank goodness! I never heard from her again, and never saw her. How could anyone be so brazen! I’m much more cautious now when I meet new people.”

Well have to stay with you for a while, since we cant afford to rent a place! my friend announced to me.

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My Father-in-Law Was Left Speechless When He Saw the Conditions We Were Living In

You know, I met my husband at a mutual friends wedding in London. At that time, Id just moved to the