Harlan Covington, Author at Trending Link

We’re Moving Into Your Flat — Olivia’s got a great city-centre flat. Newly refurbished, nothing to complain about! — It’s perfect for a single girl, — Rusty smiled at Anna, the way you might humour a child. — But we’re planning for two, maybe even three kids. One after another! It’s noisy in the city centre, the air’s rubbish, and you can never park. And it’s only two rooms. Whereas you’ve got three here. Plus, it’s quiet, and there’s a nursery in the courtyard. — It really is a nice area, — agreed Simon, still not grasping where his future son-in-law was going with this. — That’s why we settled here. — Exactly! — Rusty snapped his fingers. — I keep telling Olivia: why squeeze into a tiny flat when we’ve got the perfect solution? There’s only the three of you here: you, your wife, and your little girl. It’s more space than you need. You don’t even use that third room—it’s just a storage dump now! It would suit us perfectly. Anna was trying to shove the carpet cleaner into a cramped cupboard in the hallway. The vacuum seemed to fight back, its hose snagging on the coat rack, refusing to go where it was put. — Simon, help me out here! — she called towards the lounge. — Either this cupboard’s shrunk or I’ve lost my knack for packing things. Simon popped out of the bathroom—he’d just finished tinkering with the tap. Calm, always a bit slow and steady, he was Anna’s opposite in every way. — I’ve got it, Annie. Pass it here. He took the monstrous cleaner with one swoop, tucking it snugly in the corner of the cupboard. Anna exhaled and leaned against the doorframe. — Tell me, why do we never have enough space? It’s a big flat, three rooms, but every time we clean, it feels like we ought to chuck all our stuff on the street. — It’s because you’re a hoarder, — Simon grinned. — Why do we need three dinner sets? We only use one, twice a year! — Let them be, they’re keepsakes. It was Gran’s flat, after all. After the wedding, Simon’s parents divvied up the inheritance fairly: Simon got Gran’s roomy three-bedroom in a quiet area, and his sister Olivia got a central two-bedroom, right in the “golden square”. Moneywise, it balanced out. Five years, everyone got along famously, no jealousy. Anna thought it would always be that way, but… *** Cleaning done, chaos tamed, they sat down for a breather. Just as the telly flickered on, the doorbell rang. Simon went to answer. — Sis and her fiancé are here, — he told his wife, peeking through the spyhole. First in, Olivia practically bounced inside. Rusty followed, heavy-footed. Anna had only met him twice before. Olly found him at some gym six months ago. Rusty rubbed Anna the wrong way immediately—pompous, superior. He looked down on both her and Simon. — Hey there! — Olivia kissed her brother’s cheek and hugged Anna. — We were just passing by—had to drop in. We’ve got news! — Come on in, then. News is always nice, — Simon invited them to the kitchen. — Cup of tea? — Water’s fine, — Rusty plodded after the host. — This is a serious chat, mate. Truth is, they weren’t “just passing by”. They had a mission. No faffing, forget the tea. Sit down. Anna suddenly felt uneasy—Rusty’s tone gave her the creeps. What was this about? — Well, out with it, — Simon shrugged. Olivia pretended oblivious, busy with her phone, letting her fiancé do the talking. Rusty cleared his throat. — Here’s the deal. We’ve filed our notice: wedding in three months. Obviously, I have big plans for us. Family, a home, happily ever after. We’ve thought about our living situation… We’ll move in here, and you’ll move into Olivia’s! Anna was gobsmacked. She stared at her husband, then at her sister-in-law—still scrolling through her socials as if she wasn’t involved. — Rusty, I’m not sure I understand, — Simon frowned. — What are you getting at? — No hints, just a practical solution. Let’s swap! We move in here, you take Olly’s flat. Olly’s in full agreement, we both think it’s totally fair. Anna was stunned again. — Fair? — she echoed. — Rusty, are you serious right now? You come into our home and suggest we leave because you want more kids? — No need to be so harsh, Anna, — Rusty winced. — I’m just being rational. You have one child, and I hear you’re not planning more. So why do you need all this extra space? It’s just not sensible. We, on the other hand, have potential. — Oh, we’ve got potential, have we! — Anna jumped up. — Simon, are you hearing this nonsense? Simon raised a hand, signalling Anna to stay quiet. — Rusty, maybe you forgot: my parents gave us this flat, just as they did Olly with hers. We’ve spent five years fixing this place up, choosing every skirting board. Our daughter’s got her own room, friends on this block, her routines. And you want us to uproot and swap flats just because it suits you? — Calm down, mate, — Rusty reclined lazily. — You’re family. Olly’s your own sister. Doesn’t her future mean anything to you? Anyway, I’m offering you a straight swap. You’d get a place in a prime area. I even crunched the numbers—it’s a good deal. — This is rich, — Simon chuckled. — You haven’t even married my sister yet, but you’re already after my flat! At last Olivia glanced up from her phone. — Oh, don’t start! — she whined. — Rusty just wants the best for us. It really will be crowded in my place when there are kids. And your hallway’s big enough for five-a-side football. Mum always said—family comes first. Don’t you remember, Simon? — Mum said help each other, Olly, not evict your brother for your own convenience! — Anna shot back. — Can you hear what Rusty’s saying? — What’s wrong with what he’s saying? — Olivia widened her eyes. — He’s making sense. We need it more. You’ve got a spare room anyway. — It’s not spare! — Anna all but shouted. — It’s my home office! In case you forgot, I work in there! — Work, right — Rusty snorted. — Posting pretty pictures online? Olly says it’s just a hobby. You can work from the kitchen table, no need for a study. Simon stood up slowly. — Right, — he said quietly. — Conversation’s over. Out. Both of you. — Simon, seriously? — Rusty didn’t budge. — We came here to have a proper family talk. — Proper? — Simon stepped closer. — You’re asking for my home and insulting my wife at the same time—telling our daughter where she should live? D’you have any shame? — Shame! — Anna joined her husband. — He’s just after what he can get. He hasn’t even proposed yet and already he’s dividing up our property. Olly, do you even realise who you brought into the family? You’ll be next—he’ll toss you out of your own flat! — Don’t you dare talk about him like that! — Olivia sprang up. — Rusty’s looking after me! Our future! You lot… you’re just greedy. Clinging to your precious rooms like misers. Some brother you are! — The greedy one’s your future husband, — Simon pointed to the door. — For the hard of hearing: get out. And forget about the swap—forever. Try this again and we’re done. Rusty rose, adjusted his shirt collar. Not a flicker of embarrassment—just irritation. — Your loss, Si. I thought we could sort something out. But if you’re that stubborn… Come on Olly, we’re leaving! When the door slammed behind them, Anna collapsed onto the sofa, shaking. — Did you see that? Did you actually see that? — She stared at her husband, wide-eyed. — The nerve! Who does he think he is? Simon was silent, standing at the window, watching Rusty swagger to his car and bark at Olivia outside. — Know what’s really gutting? — he finally said. — Olivia actually believes he’s right. She’s always had her head in the clouds, but this… — He’s brainwashed her! — Anna started pacing. — We have to call your mum—your folks need to know what their new son-in-law’s planning. — Wait, — Simon pulled out his phone. — I’ll ring my sister first. Just her. Without that peacock around. He dialled. It rang for ages. Olivia finally picked up, sniffling. — Hello! — she muttered. — Olivia, listen up, — Simon’s voice was steely. — Are you in the car with him? — What’s it to you? — If he’s there, put it on speaker. I want him to hear. — I’m not in the car, — Olivia sobbed. — He dropped me off outside and drove off. Said he needed to cool down because my family is a bunch of selfish prats. Simon, why are you all like this? He just wanted everything to be perfect for us… — Olivia, wake up! — Simon nearly yelled. — Perfect? He waltzed in and tried to wrangle my flat! Do you even get that it’s your inheritance? And he’s already acting like it’s his. Did he even mention the swap before we all sat in the kitchen? There was silence. — No, — Olivia whispered finally. — He said he had a surprise for everyone. That he’d figured out what would be best. — Nice surprise. Decided both our lives for us. Without asking. Who exactly are you marrying, Liv? He’s just a gold-digger. Today my flat, tomorrow your car isn’t big enough, next your parents’ cottage is too good for you. — Don’t say that… — Olivia’s voice trembled. — He loves me. — If he did, he wouldn’t start drama over nothing! He pit us against each other! Anna still hasn’t recovered. Can’t you see, he wanted to split us up? — I’ll talk to him, — Olivia said, uncertain. — Do that. And think hard before you march down the aisle. Simon hung up and tossed his phone on the sofa. — What did she say? — Anna asked softly. — Didn’t know a thing. Rusty had a “surprise” lined up. Anna gave a bitter laugh. — Picture it: Lord of the Manor, moving people around like chess pieces. Flats this way, families that way. Makes me sick. — Well, — Simon put his arm around her. — He’s not getting our home, that’s for sure. But I feel for Liv. He’ll ruin her. *** Simon and Anna’s worst fears didn’t come true—Olivia never made it down the aisle. Rusty dumped her that same evening. A tear-stained Olivia turned up at her brother’s late at night and spilled everything. Rusty had shown up, started packing his things immediately. Olivia panicked and asked what was going on. Rusty declared that he wasn’t joining such a stingy family. — He said he doesn’t need “relatives” like us, — Olivia sobbed. — He can’t rely on you, apparently. Said you’d never babysit our kids at the weekend. Wouldn’t even give us money if we needed it. — Oh Olivia, love, why are you upset? — Anna retorted. — You don’t need a man like that! He’s unreliable, only out for himself. Forget him! Olivia moped for a couple months, then started to recover. Looking back, she finally saw his true colours. If she’d married him, she’d have been miserable for life. Must have been fate she didn’t.

Were moving into your flat Olivia has got such a lovely flat in the centre. The decoration is freshhonestly

“It Doesn’t Look Right That Your Children Will Have Homes While My Son Won’t – Let’s Get Him a Flat With a Mortgage!” Recently, my husband Anthony pointed out that my children have their own homes, yet his son does not—and now he insists we must figure out how to get his son a flat as well. I should explain that my children are both mine and Anthony’s, while Anthony’s son is from his first marriage. Why should it fall to me to worry about providing his son with a place to live? Sure, I knew Anthony was divorced with a child before we met, and that’s partly why I didn’t rush to marry him. We lived together for three years before tying the knot. I took my time observing his feelings for his ex-wife and son. A year into marriage, I had a son of my own, then, after another two years, a second. I’m completely happy with Anthony as both husband and father—he devotes time to me and the kids and has a good job. Of course, we have the occasional row, but that’s normal in any family. We’d been living in the flat I inherited from my dad. My mum divorced him when I was in nursery, and later remarried, but she had no other children. Anthony and his first wife had always rented, trying for years to save for a mortgage, but never managed it. After his divorce, his ex moved back in with her parents, and Anthony found a place to rent for himself. When we married, he moved into my flat. We never quibbled about ownership—we just lived together, renovated, bought new furniture. But then, about eighteen months ago, both my grandmothers passed away in succession (my mum’s and my dad’s mums). Each flat was willed to me. With our children still young, I decided to let those flats. One rental goes to top up my mum’s pension, the other supplements my salary—after all, extra cash is always handy. Anthony never meddled in my property affairs, as they were never his concern. I’d made it clear from the start that, when our sons were older, each would receive a flat from me. He agreed and that was that—the matter seemed settled. Then suddenly, Anthony said, “My son will finish sixth form shortly. He’s nearly grown up and needs to think about his future now! Your children have flats—but my son doesn’t! Let’s buy my son a flat with a mortgage!” I was stunned and full of questions. First off, I asked why our mutual children suddenly became just “my” children. But Anthony asked me not to split hairs. “But my son will never inherit anything. I just want him to have a place of his own!” “That’s very thoughtful,” I replied. “But your son has both a father and a mother—surely it’s up to both of you to see to that. Why isn’t his mum involved?” Anthony told me his ex doesn’t earn much, so her parents always help out. He can’t cover a mortgage on his own—but if I get involved, everything will work out. Apparently, I was just expected to agree to Anthony getting a mortgage to buy his son a flat—in his son’s name—while we would both be responsible for paying it off. “We both earn good salaries and have the rental income—we’ll manage just fine!” Anthony insisted. But this would require scrimping and saving substantially. Anthony still pays child support, and when his son goes to university, he’ll help out again, as his son’s mum can’t afford to. It turned out that, for the sake of Anthony’s son, my kids and I would have to forego holidays and weekends at the seaside, and pinch every penny—all so Anthony can appear to be the perfect dad! I could understand if Anthony had provided the flats for our children and now wanted to do the same for his eldest. But those properties come from me—Anthony had nothing to do with them. Why should I pay a mortgage for his son? I told Anthony right away, if he’s worried about his son’s housing, his ex-wife should get a mortgage—with the repayments coming out of his maintenance payments. I made it clear I wouldn’t be involved. Now, Anthony is furious with me and hasn’t spoken to me for a week. It’s a shame he can’t see my point of view.

It doesnt look right that your children will have their own homes and my son wont. Lets sort a mortgage for him!

Recently, I Met a Woman Strolling Down the Street with Her 18-Month-Old Daughter, Lost in Her Own World — How Family Troubles Changed Her Marriage and Left Her Longing for Support

Not long ago, I bumped into a woman who was strolling down the street with her one-and-a-half-year-old

Changed His Mind About Marriage Archie Spent Late Nights in His Lab Pouring Liquids from Flask to Flask and Dreaming of Presenting His Unique Discovery, Ignoring the Glances of Young Cleaner Sophie—But After a Homemade Sausage Supper, He Finds Himself Uncomfortably Meeting Her Family in a Dilapidated English Village, Facing Her Disapproving Mother, a Handsome Stepfather, and an Unruly Domestic Drama That Makes Archie Question If Love—and Marriage—Are Truly Worth the Trouble

Changed My Mind About Marriage February 16th I’ve been working late at the university lab again

A Child for My Best Friend When Lily was in the final months of her pregnancy, her younger brother left home and her father began drinking, turning Lily’s life into a living hell. Every morning, Lily would air out the house, pick empty bottles from under the table, and wait for her father to wake. “Dad, you can’t drink! You only just recovered from a stroke.” “I’ll drink if I want to. Who will stop me? It numbs the pain.” “What pain?” “The pain of knowing nobody needs me. Not even you — I’m a burden, Lily. I never should have been born. I never should have married or had children who only inherited my weakness and poverty. Everything is pointless, daughter. Drinking’s simpler.” Already in a foul mood, Lily grew angry. “Nothing is pointless, Dad. Life can get worse.” “How much worse, daughter? You grew up without a mother, and now you plan to raise a child without a father, doomed to the same poverty.” “It’s not all so bleak, Dad. Nothing stays the same forever. Everything can change in an instant.” Lily sadly remembered how not long ago she was happy, preparing to marry Ilya. Yes, life had fallen apart, but she had to live on. That day, her father got drunk again. Lily shouted, “Did you drink the money I put aside for emergencies? How did you find it? You went through my things?” “This is my house and everything in it — including the pension you hide from me! My pension.” “And you’ve drunk it all? Didn’t you think how we’d survive?” “Why should I? I’m a sick man. You’re grown — now you look after me!” Lily searched every cupboard. “I was sure there were two packs of pasta and some butter left yesterday. Now they’re gone! What’s for dinner?” Lily was in shock. She sat down, covering her face with her hands. How could she have known Aunt Natasha had started coming over– getting her father drunk and robbing the house? Natalya had slithered quietly into their home and was doing everything she could to destroy the family. That night Lily sobbed in bed, broken, hungry. In the morning there was a knock at the door and Natalya Anatolyevna entered. In a trendy coat and boots, she didn’t even take her shoes off. “Hello. My friend in the council told me you have utility debts and your electricity will soon be cut off. What’s going on, Lily? Will you at least offer me a cup of tea?” Without waiting for a reply, Natalya went to the kitchen and started searching the fridge and cupboards. “I’ll make tea myself, you’re pregnant like my own Sveta… But you have no sugar, no tea bags — nothing! Come, let’s go to the shop.” Lily avoided her guest’s eyes. “Aunt Natasha, I can’t offer tea. It’s best you leave.” Natalya didn’t give up. “Things are bad, aren’t they? Yes. Remember, I offered for you to move in with me? This time I insist — pack your bags and come now. There’s no future for a baby here, your father drinks, and you don’t have food, let alone fruit or vitamins… Pack up and come.” Lily sat as the world spun; tears slid down her cheeks and Natalya hugged her. “Listen, girl, I know how you feel about me. I can’t be forgiven — my daughter stole your fiancé. But I’m not a monster, and I refuse to watch you suffer. Whether you like it or not, I will take care of you.” The rest was a blur: Natalya helped Lily pack and called a taxi. *** When Lily went into labour, Natalya Anatolyevna was by her side at every moment. “Listen carefully, Lily. I’ve told the staff you want to give the baby up. When she’s born, don’t hold her, don’t feed her. Don’t even look.” Lily writhed in pain. “Aunt Natasha, I don’t care. It hurts… I just want it to end.” “Don’t forget — you can’t raise her alone. I’ve found a lovely couple to adopt your daughter immediately.” A few hours later, a healthy baby girl was born. “Three kilos three hundred, perfectly healthy.” The nurse wrapped the tiny girl up and carried her away, not even showing her to Lily. But the paediatrician frowned at her. “What’s this? You have a beautiful, healthy daughter and won’t even look at her? Elena, bring the baby back, she needs her mum.” Lily shook her head. “I can’t. I have nothing, I never wanted this baby… There are people who need her. I’ll sign — let her be adopted.” “Don’t be ridiculous, at least look at her.” Lily closed her eyes, but felt something soft and warm touch her hand. The nurse laid the baby beside her, the little one nuzzling and rooting blindly; Lily finally looked at her child. Small and helpless, the baby gazed up, squinting. She reached out, arms flailing on Lily’s chest. “That’s it, Mum. Time for a feed,” the paediatrician smiled. She brightened, seeing Lily tremble at the first rush of love for her daughter. “What a pretty girl! She needs you, not adoptive parents — understand?” Lily sobbed, cradled her daughter and nodded. For the next two hours, Lily rested, unable to take her eyes off her baby. Her maternal instinct had awakened. “She is my purpose — my daughter. It doesn’t matter if Ilya’s gone or my dad’s a mess… My child needs me, so I’ll stay.” *** Lily was woken by Natalya’s voice. Natalya, in her dressing gown, entered the ward. “Have you forgotten what we agreed?” she whispered. “You promised to give up the baby. I’ve arranged for her to be taken today.” “Mrs Anatolyevna, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not giving her up.” “But you’ve no money — you’re basically homeless! Where will you take her?” “Home. I won’t trouble you any longer. I’ll manage.” Natalya’s face twisted with rage. “You’ve lost your mind! You have no money! How will you live — by begging?” Natalya’s outburst woke the baby. Lily scooped her up. “Don’t! I’ll feed her. Tell the doctors you’ve no milk,” Natalya insisted. Lily shook her head. “That’s not for you to decide. She’s my daughter and I’m keeping her. I told you: I changed my mind.” “You can’t! You promised!” Natalya was speechless with fury. “Please leave.” Natalya stormed out. Lily’s neighbor lifted her head. “Who was that?” “My aunt.” “What a nightmare. You did the right thing making her leave. I’m Lera. If you need help, I will. There’s good people in the world.” “I’m Lily.” “Nice to meet you, Lily. I thought that lady was going to snatch your baby and run. She was very odd.” *** Before she was discharged, Lily had another visitor waiting in the corridor. Her former friend, Sveta, with a large pregnant belly, shuffled nervously. “Hi.” Lily lowered herself onto a bench. Sveta sat beside her. “I heard you had the baby.” “Yes. A girl.” Sveta looked shifty. “Listen, Mum’s found people desperate to adopt your baby.” “So?” “They’re lovely. They’re rich — they’ll do anything for your daughter.” She squeezed Lily’s arm. “They’re offering a million — a whole million pounds! You could buy a place to live…” “A million?” Lily nodded. “If you’re so worried, why not sell them your own child?” Sveta pouted but wouldn’t let go. “Lily, please — give your baby to me! I’ll raise her, she’s Ilya’s daughter.” “You think you’ll cope with two?” “You don’t understand! My marriage is falling apart!” Lily stood to go, but Sveta grabbed her sleeve, eyes wild. “I need this baby, Lily!” “Let go.” …A few hours later, Ilya himself burst in. Lily recoiled. “You had the baby? Can I see her?” “No! Your Sveta will give birth soon — go to her!” “We need to talk, Lily. Since you gave birth, I can’t rest. I want to take my daughter. Give her up and I’ll adopt her.” Lily shook her head. “I’m not like you — I’ll never abandon someone who needs me. You can’t have her!” Ilya wouldn’t leave. “That baby’s mine — you had no right to have her! I’ll take what’s mine!” “You? Mummy’s boy? Why not ask mummy’s permission first!” Lily pushed past him with her baby and went to the nurse’s station. “Please, can you keep visitors away from me? I don’t want to see anyone else. This place is like a train station!” Epilogue On the day she left hospital, Lily held her daughter tightly. She wasn’t alone: her roommate Lera was discharged too, greeted by her husband and mother. Lily paused outside, spotting the Reznikovs’ car. Ilya’s mother, Valerie, stepped out, peering coldly at Lily. Lily felt a chill down her back. Her would-have-been mother-in-law looked ready to pounce. Lera noticed. “Who’s that?” “Ilya’s parents.” “She looks like she’s lying in wait. No, Lily, they’re acting strange — something’s off. I told you Mum’s saving you a room with us. Come on.” Lily nodded, uneasy. *** Living with her new friends, Lily found love: Lera’s cousin Ivan, a lifelong bachelor, began courting her. Ivan turned out kind and generous. He married Lily, adopted her daughter, and even supported her struggling father. As for Sveta and Ilya, their marriage crumbled. Sveta had faked her pregnancy with a cushion, deceiving the entire Reznikov clan. Natalya Anatolyevna, desperate to protect her daughter, confessed the early miscarriage to her son-in-law, and then made an offer she thought was ingenious: “Ilya, dear, don’t blame my daughter. She lost the baby, but you’ve also got a child on the way elsewhere. Why not take Lily’s baby? Adopt her — she’s your flesh and blood. And to avoid upsetting your parents, we’ll say nothing about Sveta’s loss, pretend she’s still pregnant, and when Lily gives birth, we’ll pass the baby off as Sveta’s.” Ilya liked his mother-in-law’s plan. Everything seemed set — until Lily refused to abandon her newborn, catching her former friend and her conniving mother completely off guard. Ilya’s mother, Valerie, furious at her daughter-in-law’s lies, threw Sveta out and made Ilya divorce her.

A Child for a Friend I remember those days clearly, though they seem so long ago now. When Lily was nearing

He Set His Sights on Another Man’s Wife Living together, Dudley revealed himself as a spineless and weak-willed man. Every day depended on the mood with which he woke up. Occasionally, he’d be cheerful and lively all day, cracking jokes and laughing heartily. But most of the time, he was wrapped in gloomy thoughts, drinking cup after cup of tea, and wandering around the house as moody as any stereotypical tortured artist. And indeed, he considered himself one—Victor Dudley worked in a village school, teaching art, woodwork, and sometimes music if the regular teacher was off sick. He longed for creativity, yet couldn’t fully unleash his artistic potential at school, so he took it out on the house—Victor converted the biggest and brightest room into his own studio. This room, incidentally, was the one Sophie had earmarked for a future nursery. But the house belonged to Victor, so Sophie didn’t object. Dudley filled the room with easels, scattered tubes of paint and clay everywhere, and created—he painted obsessively, sculpted, modelled… He might devote an entire night to a peculiar still life or spend the whole weekend making an inscrutable figurine. He never sold his “masterpieces”—everything stayed at home, so every wall was covered with paintings (which, by the way, Sophie didn’t care for), and the cupboards and shelves bowed under the weight of his clay figures and statuettes. And if only these had been beautiful things—but no. The handful of old art school friends who occasionally visited always fell silent, averted their eyes, and sighed while examining his paintings and sculptures. Not one of them ever offered a compliment. Only Leo Percival, who, by the way, was the oldest of the lot, exclaimed, after a bottle of rowanberry gin: “Oh my, what an absolute load of rubbish! What is this supposed to be? I haven’t seen one thing worth a glance in this house—apart from the lovely lady of the house, of course.” Dudley took the criticism badly, shouting, stamping his feet, and demanding his wife throw the rude guest out. “Get out! You scoundrel! You’re the one who knows nothing about art, not me! Ah, now I see the truth—you’re just jealous you can’t hold a paintbrush with your drink-shaking hands, so you belittle everyone and everything!” …Leo dashed down the front steps and lingered at the garden gate. Sophie caught up with him to apologise for her husband: “Please, don’t take what he said seriously. You shouldn’t have criticised his work, but I should’ve warned you how sensitive he is.” “There’s no need to explain, dear girl,” Leo nodded quickly. “Don’t worry, I’ll call a taxi and head home. But you have my sympathies. You’ve got such a beautiful house, but Victor’s dreadful paintings spoil the lot! And those ugly clay figures—honestly, you should hide them from visitors. Knowing Victor, I imagine life’s difficult for you. But this is how it is with us artists—what we create reflects our souls! And Victor’s soul is as empty as all these canvases.” Kissing Sophie’s hand, he left the inhospitable house. Victor raged for days, smashing sculptures, tearing up paintings, and flying into tantrums for a month before he calmed down. *** Throughout all this, Sophie never argued with her husband. She’d decided that in time, when they had children, he’d give up his hobbies and convert the studio into a nursery, but until then, she’d indulge his fancies. For a while after their wedding, Victor put on an act as the model husband, bringing home fruit and his salary, caring for his young wife. But that soon stopped. He grew cold towards her and stopped sharing his wages. Sophie was left caring for the home and her husband alone. There was also the garden, the chickens, and her mother-in-law to look after. …Victor was initially overjoyed at the news of a baby on the way, but the joy was short-lived—within the week, Sophie fell ill, was hospitalised, and lost the pregnancy early on. Victor was transformed by the news: he became sullen, nervous, shouted at his wife and locked himself in the house. Sophie barely made it home from the hospital, only to find Victor refusing to let her in. “Open up, Vic!” “I won’t,” Victor whimpered from behind the door. “Why have you come back? You were meant to carry my baby, but you couldn’t handle it! And today, because of you, my mum has ended up in hospital with a heart attack! Why did I even marry you—you’ve brought nothing but trouble! Don’t stand on the doorstep, go away! I don’t want to live with you anymore.” Sophie’s vision blurred, and she sat down on the steps. “Vic, please… I’m suffering too—open the door!” He didn’t respond, and Sophie sat outside until dark. At last, Victor emerged, thin from grief, locking up behind him but fumbling with the unfamiliar lock—he never really knew where things were, always asking Sophie. Without looking at her, he strode off. When he was gone, Sophie let herself in and collapsed onto the bed. She waited all night for him. The next morning, a neighbour brought terrible news: Sophie’s mother-in-law had died after her heart attack. What happened destroyed Victor. He quit his job, took to his bed, and confessed to Sophie: “I never loved you, and I don’t. I only married you because my mum wanted grandchildren. But you ruined our lives and I’ll never forgive you.” The words hit hard, but Sophie decided not to leave her husband. Time passed, but nothing improved. Victor still refused to get out of bed, lived on water, barely ate. His ulcer worsened, he grew more apathetic, eventually stopped getting up at all, claiming he was too weak from lack of food and vitamins. And then the divorce papers arrived. Sophie wept for days. She tried to embrace Victor, kiss him, but he pushed her away and whispered that as soon as he recovered, he’d throw her out. She’d ruined his life. *** Sophie had nowhere to go—her own mother, having all but married her off straight from school, soon set off to live with a widower down by the seaside. She remarried, briefly returned home to sell the house, and left Sophie homeless. She was trapped by circumstance. *** One day, every scrap of food in the house was gone. Sophie boiled up the last egg, scraped out the last bit of porridge, and spoon-fed Victor. Yes, life had decreed it so—Sophie might have been feeding her own baby by now, had she not overexerted herself with chores, but instead she had to cater to her ex-husband, who did nothing for her. “I’m just popping to the village fete. I’ll try to sell or trade the chicken for food.” Victor, staring lifelessly at the ceiling, croaked, “Why sell it? Make me some broth. I’m tired of porridge.” Sophie twisted the hem of her only dress. “You know I can’t bring myself to—I’d rather trade her. She’s attached to me.” “‘Pesto’—you give the chickens names? How silly. But I shouldn’t be surprised, not from you…” Sophie bit her lip. “If you’re off to the fete,” Victor perked up, “take a couple of my sculptures and paintings—maybe someone will buy them?” Sophie tried to avoid this, but Victor insisted. She grabbed two poorly made bird-shaped whistles and a big, lumpy piggy bank, then hurried out, dreading he’d chase after her with more “art”. After all, she was mortified at the thought of trying to sell his dreadful paintings. *** The day was sweltering. Sophie, in her thin summer dress, sweated in the heat. She stopped by the last stall, clutching the chicken. She hated parting with her beloved hen, the one she’d nursed back to health years before. The bird tried to poke out of the bag, pecking her hand as if sensing her sadness. *** An older stallholder spotted Sophie. “Fancy some jewellery, love? Got silver, gold-plated, lovely chains.” “No, thank you. I’ve come to sell a live hen—she lays big eggs.” “A hen? What’ll I do with her…” Then a young man at the stall perked up. “Show me the chicken.” Sophie nervously passed the chicken to him. “How much? That cheap—what’s the catch?” “She limps a bit, but she’s otherwise healthy.” “I’ll buy her. What’s that?” he asked, nodding at the clay ornaments. “Just some figurines, whistles, and a piggy bank. All handmade. I really need the money.” “I’ll take the lot. I love unusual things.” The jewellery seller snorted. “What do you want with that, Dennis? Toys? Go help your brother with the BBQ.” When Sophie realised he ran the grill stall, she panicked. “Wait! If you’re selling barbecue, I can’t sell you my hen! She’s not a meat bird!” Dennis dodged, holding onto the chicken. “Relax—I’ll give her to my mum. She keeps hens.” “You promise?” He smiled warmly. “Of course. You can come visit her any time. Didn’t know chickens had names.” *** As Sophie walked home, Dennis pulled up in his car. “Excuse me, miss—do you have more clay figurines? I could buy some—for gifts, you know.” Sophie, squinting at the sun, smiled. “We have loads at home!” *** Back at the house, Victor, waking up to the sound of voices, groaned. “Who’s there, Soph? Bring me some water, I’m thirsty.” Standing at the door, Dennis glanced around and eyed the paintings. “Amazing,” he whispered. “Who painted these—was it you?” he asked Sophie as she passed with a glass of water. “I did!” Victor called from bed. “And I didn’t paint—I create!” Propping himself up, Victor stared at the guest. “Why do you care about my pictures, anyway?” he whined. “I like them. I’d like to buy them. And the sculptures—whose are those?” “They’re mine too!” Victor snapped. Shuffling out of bed, Victor hobbled over, eager to show off his “art”, oblivious to the fact that Dennis only had eyes for Sophie. *** EPILOGUE Sophie was astonished by her ex-husband’s “miraculous recovery”. Victor had never been ill—in fact, he perked up as soon as someone showed an interest in his “art”. Dennis came by every day, buying up all the pictures, then the figurines. Victor feverishly made more, but was blind to the real attraction. With every visit, Dennis spoke at length to Sophie on the porch, and—slowly but surely—feelings blossomed. Eventually, Dennis took what he’d always wanted from the Dudley house—Sophie herself. Whenever Dennis returned from the village, he tossed Victor’s paintings on the fire and stashed the grotesque clay figures in a sack, still unsure where to get rid of them. He remembered Sophie’s lovely face—how he’d noticed her at the fete in her summer dress, instantly knowing she was his destiny. Learning of her wretched home life with a delusional “artist”, he had no choice but to come every day, buying dreadful art just to see her. In the end, Sophie realised it too. *** Victor Dudley never saw it coming. Dennis stopped visiting as soon as he married Sophie and took her away. Victor heard about it and, in bitter retrospect, realised he’d been outsmarted. The truth is, finding a good wife isn’t easy—and Sophie had been one. She put up with everything, cared for him, loved him, but Victor had thrown it all away. Too late, he realised he’d lost his greatest treasure. Who would ever look after him again, feed him, fetch his water, or care for his house? He’d lost the best wife he could ever wish for—because he set his sights on someone else’s treasure and never appreciated his own.

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