Harlan Covington

Natalie, You’ve Been Gone for Five Years—You Never Cared How I Was or What Became of Me Natalie and Ben had lived together for over five years. Ben didn’t earn much—his salary was rather modest, as he was an ordinary labourer. Natalie always dreamed of a comfortable, or even better, wealthy life, so she was thrilled whenever she met men more successful than her husband. One day, Natalie had incredible luck—she caught the eye of a wealthy businessman who promised her a fortune. She fell for his grand promises and left her poor husband to start a new life. Ben was devastated by his wife’s decision. He pleaded with his beloved, begging her not to leave. He promised her everything would change, that he’d work harder, switch jobs, work day and night if he had to, just to make her happy. But Natalie was unmoved—she was already dreaming of sailing white yachts and shopping in Europe’s finest boutiques. Her poor husband could never afford such luxuries. No vow of love or promise could persuade her. Five years later, now thirty-two, Natalie’s rich benefactor lost interest in her amidst a crowd of younger, more alluring women. He told Natalie she was too demanding and quarrelsome, and he lost all affection for her. Having no way to support herself in London, never having had a job in her life, Natalie decided to return to her ex-husband. After all, hadn’t he sworn eternal love and said his heart belonged to her forever? Surely he would be waiting for her. As Natalie approached the flat where she once lived, she heard footsteps and saw a woman open the door, holding a small girl. “Darling, we’ve talked about not opening the door alone,” the woman gently chided the child. “Can I help you?” she asked. Natalie stood speechless on the doorstep. “I’m looking for Ben. Is he home?” Natalie stammered, confused and uncertain. “Ben, someone’s here asking for you! What’s your name?” the woman called for Natalie’s ex-husband, then glanced back at the guest. “Natalie!” Ben said in surprise, then turned to the woman. “Love, could you go inside? I need to talk.” “Who was that?” Natalie asked in astonishment, watching as the woman carried the little girl away. “That’s my wife, Olivia, and in her arms is our daughter, Emily,” Ben replied. “You’re married? You have a daughter? You swore you would never love anyone the way you loved me!” “So many years have passed since that day! I was heartbroken at first, but then I realised life doesn’t end when someone leaves. That’s when I met Olivia, fell completely in love, and she made me happy. She gave me a daughter.” “And me? What about me?” “Natalie, you’ve been gone for five years and never cared how I was or what became of me. You ran after someone else’s money, and all you wanted was wealth and a lavish life. We may never have been rich, but that doesn’t excuse what you did. And now you’ve come back? Did you expect me to sit and wait for you all this time?” “I was foolish! I still love you!” “Natalie, enough of this act. Please go. I don’t need you, and I don’t want to see you. Your boyfriend dumped you, and that’s the only reason you’re here? It makes me sick. Please, just go.” Natalie burst into tears, consumed by her heartbreak and the pain of not being wanted, while Ben was glad to have finally moved on and found happiness—achieving closure and a sense of vindication.

Emily, you havent been around for five years nowyou dont care how Im living or whats become of me Emily

La vida

02

Go Away and Never Come Back — Leave, Do You Hear Me? Michael Whispered with Tears in His Eyes. Go, and Never Return—Ever Again. With Trembling Hands He Unclasped the Heavy Metal Chain and Dragged Berta to the Gate, Pushing Her Out onto the Road. She Didn’t Understand—Was She Being Driven Away? But Why, When She’d Done Nothing Wrong? Go, Please, Michael Repeated, Hugging the Dog. You Can’t Stay Here. He’ll Be Back Any Minute and… Just Then the Door Flew Open and Drunken Victor Stumbled Out onto the Porch, Axe in Hand… If Only People Knew for a Moment How Hard the Life of a Dog Forced onto the Streets Can Be, They’d See Strays with Pity, Not Disdain. But How Could They Know? Dogs Can’t Tell Their Stories or Complain About Their Fate—They Keep All Their Hurt Inside. But Let Me Tell You a Tale—A Tale of Love, Betrayal, and Loyalty… It Begins When Berta Was Unwanted From the Very Start. No One Knows Why Her First Owner Abandoned Her—Perhaps Simply for Being Born. He Didn’t Even Bother to Find Her a Home, Just Left the Two-Month-Old Puppy by the Roadside Outside a Small Village, Where Cars and Lorries Speeded Past. Perhaps He Hoped She Wouldn’t Survive, Either to Traffic or to Hunger. But That Day, Fortune Smiled—Young Michael Cycling on His Birthday Discovered Her, Saved Her, and Took Her in As His Own. Michael Had Long Dreamt of a Dog, and His Parents, Though Reluctant, Let Him Keep Her. He Named Her Berta, and They Fast Became Best Friends. For a Time, All Was Well—Until Michael’s Father, Victor, Lost His Job, Sunk into Drink, and Became Cruel, Lashing Out at His Family and the Dog. One Night, Fearing for Berta’s Life as His Father Raged, Michael Freed Her, Pleading Through Tears for Her to Run Away and Never Come Back. Berta Didn’t Understand, Only That She Was Suddenly Alone Again. Seven Long Years Passed. Berta Wandered Vilages, Survived on Kindness and Scraps, Was Taken In By a Cemetery Groundskeeper, and Lived Among Graves and Loss, Remembering Happier Times. One Day, She Found the Grave of Victor—the Man Who’d Driven Both Her and Michael From Home. Years Later, When Michael Returned at Last, Struggling With His Own Pain and Seeking Closure, Berta Found Him at the Cemetery. Older, Changed by Life, But Still Recognisable. They Reunited—Dog and Owner, Friends Bound by Love and Suffering. Michael Took Berta Home With His New Family, and Together with His Partner, a New Baby, and Even a Stray Kitten, They Built a New Life—One Where Loyalty, Forgiveness, and Hope Triumphed Over Cruelty and Abandonment. And So, Despite All They Endured, Michael and Berta Were Truly Happy, at Last.

Go Away and Never Come Back “Go away, do you hear me?” I whispered through tears. “

La vida

03

A Silver Beard and a Beautiful Soul: My Heartbreak with an English Gentleman from Sheffield, a Family Drama, and How I Finally Found Happiness with a Local Suitor

A GREY BEARD, BUT A BEAUTIFUL SOUL Youve lied to me about everything! Im ending this correspondence.

La vida

07

Go Away and Never Come Back — Leave, Do You Hear Me? Michael Whispered with Tears in His Eyes. Go, and Never Return—Ever Again. With Trembling Hands He Unclasped the Heavy Metal Chain and Dragged Berta to the Gate, Pushing Her Out onto the Road. She Didn’t Understand—Was She Being Driven Away? But Why, When She’d Done Nothing Wrong? Go, Please, Michael Repeated, Hugging the Dog. You Can’t Stay Here. He’ll Be Back Any Minute and… Just Then the Door Flew Open and Drunken Victor Stumbled Out onto the Porch, Axe in Hand… If Only People Knew for a Moment How Hard the Life of a Dog Forced onto the Streets Can Be, They’d See Strays with Pity, Not Disdain. But How Could They Know? Dogs Can’t Tell Their Stories or Complain About Their Fate—They Keep All Their Hurt Inside. But Let Me Tell You a Tale—A Tale of Love, Betrayal, and Loyalty… It Begins When Berta Was Unwanted From the Very Start. No One Knows Why Her First Owner Abandoned Her—Perhaps Simply for Being Born. He Didn’t Even Bother to Find Her a Home, Just Left the Two-Month-Old Puppy by the Roadside Outside a Small Village, Where Cars and Lorries Speeded Past. Perhaps He Hoped She Wouldn’t Survive, Either to Traffic or to Hunger. But That Day, Fortune Smiled—Young Michael Cycling on His Birthday Discovered Her, Saved Her, and Took Her in As His Own. Michael Had Long Dreamt of a Dog, and His Parents, Though Reluctant, Let Him Keep Her. He Named Her Berta, and They Fast Became Best Friends. For a Time, All Was Well—Until Michael’s Father, Victor, Lost His Job, Sunk into Drink, and Became Cruel, Lashing Out at His Family and the Dog. One Night, Fearing for Berta’s Life as His Father Raged, Michael Freed Her, Pleading Through Tears for Her to Run Away and Never Come Back. Berta Didn’t Understand, Only That She Was Suddenly Alone Again. Seven Long Years Passed. Berta Wandered Vilages, Survived on Kindness and Scraps, Was Taken In By a Cemetery Groundskeeper, and Lived Among Graves and Loss, Remembering Happier Times. One Day, She Found the Grave of Victor—the Man Who’d Driven Both Her and Michael From Home. Years Later, When Michael Returned at Last, Struggling With His Own Pain and Seeking Closure, Berta Found Him at the Cemetery. Older, Changed by Life, But Still Recognisable. They Reunited—Dog and Owner, Friends Bound by Love and Suffering. Michael Took Berta Home With His New Family, and Together with His Partner, a New Baby, and Even a Stray Kitten, They Built a New Life—One Where Loyalty, Forgiveness, and Hope Triumphed Over Cruelty and Abandonment. And So, Despite All They Endured, Michael and Berta Were Truly Happy, at Last.

Go Away and Never Come Back “Go away, do you hear me?” I whispered through tears. “

La vida

03

Grandad It Was a Summer Evening: On My Way Home from Training, I Saw an Elderly Man Fallen on the Pavement – Everyone Passed Him By Thinking He Was Drunk, But When I Approached to Offer Help, I Discovered the Real Story Behind His Injuries and Why He Risks His Health to Pick Up Broken Bottles by the Playground Each Night. The Unforgettable Lesson from a Family’s Gratitude, a Basket of Raspberries, and a Heartfelt Plea for Us All to Show More Compassion.

Granddad It all unfolded on a balmy summer evening. I was walking home after my netball practice, the

La vida

02

CHOOSE: IT’S EITHER YOUR DOG OR ME! I’M DONE PUTTING UP WITH THE SMELL!—MY HUSBAND SAID. SHE CHOSE HER HUSBAND, DROVE THE DOG OUT TO THE WOODS… AND THAT EVENING HE SAID HE WAS LEAVING HER FOR ANOTHER WOMAN

“CHOOSE: ITS EITHER YOUR DOG OR ME! IM SICK OF LIVING WITH THIS MUTT!” her husband declared.

La vida

06

There’s Still Work to Be Done at Home… Granny Val opened the creaking garden gate with great effort, hobbled to the front door, struggled with the old rusty lock for a while, entered her cold, unheated cottage, and sat down on a chair by the chilly fireplace. The house smelled empty and unlived-in. She’d only been gone three months, yet already the ceilings were shrouded in cobwebs, the ancient chair groaned mournfully, the wind rattled down the chimney—the house seemed to greet her grumpily: Where have you been, mistress? Who did you leave me to? How will we get through the winter now? “Just a moment, my dear house, let me catch my breath… I’ll fire up the stove, we’ll soon be warm again…” Only a year ago, Granny Val was bustling about the old house: whitening the walls, touching up paint, fetching water. Her small, sprightly figure bowed before the icons, tended the kitchen, and darted through the garden, somehow finding time to plant, weed, and water. The house, in turn, seemed to rejoice with its mistress—floorboards creaked cheerily under her light, hurried footsteps, doors and windows flew open at the gentle touch of her weary hands, and the oven diligently baked fluffy pies. They were good together, Val and her beloved old house. Widowed young, she raised three children, educated them all, and sent them off into the world: one son now a ship’s captain overseas, the other a colonel in the military, both far away and rarely able to visit. Only her youngest daughter, Tamara, stayed behind in the village as chief agronomist—always at work, popping in to see her mother on Sundays with pies to cheer her heart, but gone for the rest of the week. Her main comfort was granddaughter Sweetie (or, as the neighbours called her, “Our Svetlana”): tall and beautiful, with huge grey eyes, a golden mane of hair, and a delicate presence that stopped the local lads in their tracks. A clever girl too—agricultural college in the city, returned to work in the village as an economist, married the local vet, and, thanks to a scheme for young families, moved into a new, solid brick house. Though her new home was modern, it lacked the blooming garden of Granny Val’s beloved cottage. Svetlana, though a country girl, had always been shielded from hard work by her grandmother, and with the birth of her son, Vasya, tending the garden fell by the wayside. She begged Granny Val to come live with her in the new house—no more fire to light, everything modern and easy. At eighty, Granny Val’s health began to fail—her once quick legs grew heavy; weary from a lifetime of work, and she finally gave in. Yet after a few short months, she heard, “Gran, I do love you! But you’re always sitting—you worked all your life, but here you just rest. I want to run a bigger household, and I need help…” “But my legs… They don’t work anymore, pet—I’m getting old…” “Hm… You got old just as soon as you moved in with me, it seems…” Soon, Granny Val—having “failed” her granddaughter—was returned to her own home, heartbroken she couldn’t be the support she wished to be. Her steps grew slower, the journey from bed to table a challenge, and church now too far to reach. Father Boris, longtime family priest and once her partner in all parish duties, stopped by and quickly sized up the cold cottage, the threadbare cardigan, the battered shoes. He rolled up his sleeves, cleared out the stove, fetched extra wood, got the fire going, and set the kettle to boil. He helped Granny address envelopes for her monthly letters to her sons—her trembling hand writing large, shaky letters: “I’m living very well, dear son. I have everything, thank God!” The blots on the page betrayed the truth—those stains were salty tears. Neighbour Anna took Granny Val under her wing, a helpful hand only twenty years younger. Father Boris made sure to visit, provide confession and communion, and on holidays Anna’s husband, old sailor Uncle Pete, would bring Granny to services on his motorbike. Life slowly settled again. But tragedy struck—Svetlana, her cherished granddaughter, grew gravely ill. What she thought was a stomach problem turned out to be lung cancer; within six months, she was gone. Her husband took to sleeping by her grave, relying on bottles for comfort. Four-year-old Vasya was left homeless, dirty, unloved. Tamara took in her nephew Vasyenka, but her work kept her too busy. With nowhere else to turn, Vasya was put on the list for council care. The local home was reputable enough—a caring headmaster, proper food, children sent home on weekends. But it wasn’t family, and Tamara’s job kept her out late. Then on a rainy Saturday, Granny Val turned up at her daughter’s with Uncle Pete at the helm. “I’ll take Vasya home with me.” “Mum, you can hardly walk, how will you manage?” “While I live, I won’t send Vasya to a home,” Val replied—and that was final. The usually gentle Val’s firmness stopped Tamara in her tracks, and Vasya’s things were quickly packed. Neighbours tutted: “She needs help herself, yet brings a child into that cold cottage—what is Tamara thinking?” Father Boris visited with dread—would he find a hungry, dirty child and Granny faint with exertion? But in the warm kitchen, he found Vasya clean and happy, listening to nursery stories from a battered record player. Granny Val was bustling around the kitchen as though her legs had never failed—beating eggs, kneading dough, cheerfully preparing tarts for their tea. “Father dear! I tried making your Alexandra some cakes—wait a bit, I’ll send a warm treat home for you!” When he got home, Father Boris recounted the miracle to his wife. Alexandra pulled out an old family diary and read aloud the story of Vera Yegorovna, her great-grandmother, who recovered from her own deathbed rather than leave her new great-grandchild uncared for, saying with a wry smile, “It’s not time for me to go yet—I’ve still got work to do at home!” She lived another ten years, helping to raise her great-granddaughter. And Father Boris smiled at his wife—knowing, as all old houses and loving hearts do, that there’s still work to be done at home.

We still have things left to do at home… Granny Mabel fumbled with the rusty latch, barely managing

La vida

06

Love Isn’t for Show: Ann Worries over Her Silent Husband as She Tends to Chores, Longs for Tenderness, and Struggles with Temptation from the Charming Neighbour—But a Secret Conversation in the Bathhouse Reveals Her Husband’s True, Unspoken Devotion

Love Isnt for Show I stepped out of our cottage with a heavy bucket of pig feed, fuming, and marched

La vida

00

You Were My Teenage Mistake A young girl gave birth at sixteen, the child’s father was also just sixteen. Leaving the scandalous details aside, the couple broke up soon after their son was born. When the girl realized the boy wanted nothing to do with her or the baby, she immediately lost all interest in her child. The son was raised by his grandparents—her own parents. At eighteen, the girl moved to a nearby city with a new boyfriend, never called, never wrote. Her parents didn’t seek her out. Shame and pain lingered—how could she abandon her child? They raised their grandson, who still considers them his parents and is deeply grateful for his childhood, education, and everything. At eighteen, the boy’s cousin got married. All the relatives attended, including his biological mother, now on her third marriage and with two daughters—one ten years old and the other just one and a half. The boy was nervous and excited to meet his mother and sisters—and of course, to ask, “Mum, why did you leave me?” No matter how wonderful his grandparents were, he missed and remembered his mother, even keeping her only surviving photo. His grandfather had burned the rest. At the party, his mother chatted cheerfully about her wonderful daughters. “And me, what about me, Mum?” he asked. “You? You were my teenage mistake. Your father was right, I should have had an abortion,” she replied nonchalantly, turning away. Seven years later, living in his comfortable two-bedroom flat with his wife and son (thanks to his grandparents and in-laws), he got a call from an unknown number. “Son, hi, your uncle gave me your number. It’s your mum. Listen, I know you live near the university your sister attends. Could she stay with you for a while? She’s family, the dorm is awful, rent is expensive, my husband left, things are hard—one daughter’s a student, one’s just starting school, the littlest one’s off to nursery soon,” she said. “You’ve got the wrong number,” he replied and hung up. He picked up his son, held him close, and said: “Right, let’s get ready—first we’ll meet with Mum, then afterwards, a visit to Grandma and Grandpa, shall we?” “And can we all go to the countryside this weekend, Dad?” his little boy asked. “Of course we can. Family traditions are too important to break!” … Some relatives criticised him for not helping his sister, but he believes his loyalty belongs to his grandparents, not to the woman for whom he was just a mistake.

You know, there’s this story about a girl named Emily Taylor who had a baby when she was just sixteen.

La vida

00

Living Together with My Mum: At 57, I Celebrate Life Side-by-Side with My 86-Year-Old Mother in Our Quiet English Home

I live with my mum. Mum is eighty-six years old now. Life worked out in a way I never expected.