Wanda Miranda, Author at Trending Link

Fate on a Hospital Bed: A Nurse’s Tender Care for a Tuberculosis Patient Leads to Unexpected Love, as a Cold-Hearted Wife Turns Away and Life’s Trials Forge a True Family Over the Years

FATE ON THE HOSPITAL BED “Miss, just take care of him! Im scared to go near him, let alone feed

I Never Took What Wasn’t Mine: The Story of Martha and Nastya—A Schoolgirl’s Envy, a Family’s Downfall, and the Unexpected Turn of Fate That Changed Their Lives Forever

I never took what wasnt mine Back in school, Martha had this complicated cocktail of feelings toward

LIFE BACK ON TRACK “Lada, I forbid you from speaking to your sister or her family! They have their life, we have ours. Did you call Natasha again? Complain about me? I warned you. Don’t blame me for what happens,” Bogdan snarled, gripping my shoulder painfully. As always, I silently retreated to the kitchen, bitter tears stinging my eyes. No, I had never burdened my sister with complaints about my life—our conversations were simply about our elderly parents and family matters. That infuriated Bogdan. He hated my sister Natasha; her family enjoyed peace and comfort, unlike us. When I married Bogdan, I was the happiest girl in the world. Swept up in his whirlwind of passion, I didn’t care that he was a head shorter or that his mother arrived at our wedding barely staying upright. I later learned she was a long-time alcoholic. Love blinded me to everything, but after a year, I started doubting my happiness. Bogdan drank heavily, stumbling home drunk, then came the string of affairs. My salary as a nurse wasn’t great, but Bogdan preferred spending his time with fellow drinkers, never caring to provide for me. Where once I had dreamed of children, now I contented myself with caring for our prize pedigree cat. I no longer wanted a child with an alcoholic. Still, I loved Bogdan. “You silly girl, Lada! There are so many men around you, and you obsess over that little man! What do you see in him? You’re always covered in bruises from his beatings. Think nobody notices your black eyes under makeup? Leave before he kills you,” my friend and coworker would warn me. Bogdan’s anger often became physical—one day he beat me so badly I couldn’t make my shift, locking me in the flat as he left. After that, I lived in fear of him, my heart racing whenever his key turned in the lock. It felt as though he was punishing me for not giving him a child, for being a “bad wife,” for everything. Why did I still love Bogdan? His mother, witch-like, used to admonish, “Lada, obey your husband, love him with all you have, forget your family and friends—they’ll bring you no good.” And so I withdrew from loved ones and submitted entirely to Bogdan. I lived for his tearful apologies, when he begged forgiveness at my feet, showered our bed with rose petals (stolen from a mate’s wife next door). These reconciliations felt magical, lifting me to the clouds—until the cycle of violence resumed. I might still be trapped if not for a twist of fate—a stranger appeared: “Leave Bogdan, I have his son. You’re barren; let me give my child happiness.” I screamed at her to leave, but Bogdan couldn’t deny her claim. When I demanded the truth, he was silent—and I understood everything. “Lada, you never seem happy. Is something wrong?” asked the head doctor at my hospital, Mr. Herman Lyon, previously aloof. “I’m fine,” I stammered. “It’s a blessing to have your life in order. Then the world is beautiful,” he replied, his simple words piercing my soul. I realised my life was chaos—and time, running out, wouldn’t pause for me to sort myself. Eventually, I left Bogdan and moved back in with my parents. Mum was shocked: “Lada, has your husband thrown you out?” “No, Mum. I’ll explain everything later.” Bogdan’s mother called to hurl insults and curses, but I felt free and new, thanks to Mr. Lyon. Bogdan raged, stalked, threatened—but he never guessed he’d lost all hold over me. “Bogdan, don’t waste your time—I’ve moved on. Your son needs you. I’ve turned a new page. Goodbye.” At last, I returned to Natasha and my family. I became myself again, not someone’s puppet. “You’ve changed, Lada—you’re glowing, so full of life, you look like a bride!” my friend exclaimed. Mr. Lyon proposed: “Lada, marry me! I promise you won’t regret it. But please, just call me by my name—save the formalities for work.” “Do you really love me, Herman?” I asked, stunned. “Oh, forgive me—women want to hear it. I suppose I do love you. But I believe in actions more than words,” he answered, kissing my hand. “I will, Herman. I’m sure I can learn to love you,” I beamed. Ten years flew by. Every day, Herman proved his love—no empty words, no lies, just caring and generosity. We never had children of our own, but it never bothered Herman. “We were meant to be just the two of us, and that’s enough,” he always reassured me. His daughter gave us a beloved granddaughter, Sasha, who became the joy of our lives. As for Bogdan, he eventually drank himself to death before he turned fifty. His mother still glares at me if we meet, but her malice no longer touches me. I only pity her. And with Herman, life truly is back on track. Life is beautiful…

LIFE IN ORDER Linda, I wont have you talking to your sister or her lot anymore! They’

Bittersweet Joy – Why Does This Girl Not Suit You? She’s a Good, Kind, Tidy, Studious Girl Who Loves You, Elena Chided Her Son Denis. After a String of Relationships, He Still Searches for Love, Until an Unexpected Encounter Brings Unlikely Happiness, Three Stepchildren, and a Daughter with Down Syndrome – A Story of Bittersweet, Enduring Love

BITTERSWEET HAPPINESS Whats wrong with this young lady then? Shes a good girl. Modest, keeps things tidy

My True Wife – The Secret to Staying Together for Decades: My Brother’s Question, A Marriage Tested by Betrayal, Broken Porcelain Statues, and a Long-Awaited Act of Forgiveness That Spanned a Lifetime

MY TRUE WIFE How on earth have you managed to stay married to the same woman for all these years?

Worn Down by Family: The Night the Strongest Man in the Village, Steve Johnson, Came to My Countryside Surgery Looking for Help—A Quiet Tale of Tears, Tea, and Learning to Care in an English Country Home

Fed Up with My Wife and Mother-in-Law That evening, the quietest, most steadfast man in our little village

Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “For ages now, the care home has been crying out for you! Get out of our family!” I screamed in a cracking voice. The object of my utter indignation was my cousin, James. God, I adored him as a child! Golden hair, cornflower-blue eyes, a cheerful spirit—that was James all over. …Relatives often gathered at our holiday table. Out of all my cousins, I singled out James. He could charm with his words and was a talented artist, too. Some evenings, he’d sketch five or six pictures in no time at all. I’d stare and melt, unable to tear myself away from the beauty. Quietly, I’d tuck his drawings away in my desk, treasuring my cousin’s art. James was two years older than me. When he turned 14, his mother died suddenly—she just didn’t wake up… The question arose—where would James go now? They rushed first to his biological father. Finding him wasn’t easy: James’s parents had long been divorced, and his dad had a new family—no intention of disrupting their peaceful life. The rest of the relatives just shrugged—they had their own cares and families. Turns out, family is everywhere during the day, but once the sun sets, you can’t find a trace. So, my parents, already with two children, became James’s guardians. After all, his late mother was my dad’s younger sister. At first, I was excited James would be living with us. But… On his very first day, something about his behavior made me uneasy. Mum, trying to comfort the orphan, asked, “Is there anything you’d like, James? Please, don’t be shy.” James answered right away, “A model train set.” Let me note: that toy was expensive. I was shocked—your mum’s gone, and all you want is a train set? My parents bought him his dream, and after that, it snowballed—”Buy me a cassette player, jeans, a branded jacket…” This was the Eighties. Not only was it expensive, but those things were hard to find. My parents, making sacrifices for their own kids, fulfilled the orphan’s every wish. And my brother and I understood—never complained. …When James turned 16, the girls started appearing. My cousin proved very amorous. More disturbing—he started pursuing me, his own cousin. But as an athlete, I dodged all his inappropriate advances. We even ended up fighting. I’d cry buckets. My parents never knew—I didn’t want to upset them. Children usually keep quiet about such things. After I pushed back, James quickly shifted his attention to my friends. They, by the way, competed for his affection. …James also stole—blatantly and shamelessly. I had a piggy bank, where I’d save for gifts for Mum and Dad. One day—it was empty. James denied it outright—never blinked or blushed. My soul was torn apart! How could he? Living in the same house and stealing? He vandalized our family’s bonds. I sulked, but James honestly didn’t see the problem. He thought everyone owed him. I came to hate him. That’s when I shouted at the top of my voice: “Get out of our family!” I lashed him with my words—said so much, you couldn’t collect it all. Mum barely managed to calm me. From that moment, James ceased to exist to me. I ignored him completely. Later, I learned the other relatives already knew what “piece of work” James was—they all lived nearby and had seen plenty. Our family lived in a different part of town. James’s former teachers had warned my parents: “Taking him in, you’re bringing trouble on yourselves—he’ll lead your own kids astray.” …At his new school, James met Kate, who would love him all her life. They married right out of school and had a daughter. Kate patiently endured his outbursts, endless lies, and countless affairs. As they say, misery loves company, and marriage only doubled her woes. James took full advantage of Kate’s unwavering love. …James was drafted into the army, serving in Yorkshire. There, he started another family—somehow, he managed it during leave. After his service, he stayed in Yorkshire, where he’d fathered a son. But Kate, without hesitation, traveled to Yorkshire and by hook or by crook brought him back home. My parents never heard a word of gratitude from James, though that’s not why they took him in. …Now James Edward is sixty. He’s a regular at the local Anglican church. He and Kate have five grandchildren. It all seems fine, but the bitterness from our relationship with James remains to this day… And I wouldn’t eat honey with him for the world.

THE BITTER END OF THE SOUL Youve been overdue for a boarding school for years! Get out of our family!

Like a Postage Stamp: When Illya Left Katya for Another Woman Eighteen Years His Senior, Katya’s World Collapsed—Years Later, Their Daughter Seeks the Truth About Love, Betrayal, and Second Chances

THE POSTAGE STAMP Ian has left Kate, Mum said, her sigh heavy as winter fog across the fields. What do you mean?

My Husband Meant More to Me Than Any Bitter Grievance “Igor, that was the last straw! That’s it, we’re getting divorced! Don’t bother dropping to your knees like you always do—it won’t work this time!” With those words, I drew a firm line under our marriage. Of course, Igor didn’t believe me. He was convinced it would all follow the usual script: he’d kneel, apologise, buy me another ring, and I’d forgive him, just like always. But this time, I was truly determined to break the chains of our matrimony. My fingers, right down to the pinkies, glittered with rings—yet I had no life. Igor drank himself into a stupor, day after day. And yet, it all started so romantically. My first husband, Eddie, went missing back in the 1990s—those were frightening times to be alive. Eddie was never easy to live with, always rushing headfirst into every scuffle as if he were invincible. Just as they say: eagle’s eyes, mosquito’s wings. If anything rubbed him the wrong way, he’d kick off a right dance—always trouble. I’m convinced today that Eddie got killed in some dodgy row; there was never a word from him again. I was left alone with two little girls—Lizzie, five, and Rosie, only two. Another five years went by after his mysterious disappearance. I thought I’d lose my mind. I truly loved Eddie, despite his explosive temper. We were as thick as thieves, two halves of one whole. I resigned myself: life was over, I’d just raise my girls alone. Gave up on myself. But then… It wasn’t easy in those turbulent times. I worked at a factory and got my pay in… irons, which I’d have to flog at the market for money to buy food. That was my weekend routine. One winter, numb with cold while selling irons, a man approached. He was concerned for me. “Cold out, miss?” he asked gently. “How could you tell?” I tried to joke, but my teeth chattered. Still, his presence brought a feeling of warmth. “Right, silly question. Maybe we can warm up in a café? I’ll help with those irons you didn’t sell.” “Well, lead the way, or I’ll die of frost here,” I croaked out. We never made it to a café. I led him close to home, asked him to watch the bag of irons while I dashed to fetch the kids from nursery. By then, my legs were stone-cold, but my heart felt warm again. Returning with the girls, I saw Igor (that’s how he introduced himself) waiting outside, shifting from foot to foot, smoking. I thought, “I’ll offer him tea, and then—who knows what’s next!” Igor helped me lug the bag to my sixth-floor flat (of course, the lift didn’t work). While I got the girls up to the third floor, he was already coming back down to leave. “Wait, my hero! You’re not leaving before you have some hot tea!” I caught his coat sleeve with my icy fingers. “Well, I don’t know—am I intruding?” Igor eyed the kids. “Don’t be silly! Take the girls’ hands, I’ll dash ahead and put the kettle on,” I said with no hesitation. I didn’t want to let this man slip away—he already felt familiar somehow. Over tea, Igor offered me a job as his assistant, with a better wage than years at the factory could bring. Naturally, I nodded my obedience, itching to thank him a hundred times over… Igor was on his second divorce, with a son by his first marriage. And so it began. Soon after, we married—Igor adopted my girls. It was as if we danced through life. We bought a four-bedroom flat, filled it with sharp furniture and gadgets. We built a lovely cottage. Every year, we holidayed by the sea. Life was a bowl of cherries… Seven years of cloudless happiness passed. Then, as if reaching the summit of bliss, Igor started hitting the bottle hard. At first, I didn’t react—it’s stressful work, I thought, everyone needs to unwind. But when Igor started drinking at work, I grew uneasy. Persuasion didn’t help. I should mention—there’s an adventurer in me. To distract him from his drinking, I decided… to give him a child. By then, I was nearly thirty-nine. My friends were shocked—but supportive. “Go on, Tanya! Maybe we’ll decide to be young mums at forty too!” they laughed. I always say, “If you end a pregnancy, you might regret it bitterly later, but if you have the baby—even if it was unplanned—you’ll never be sorry.” Igor and I had twins. So now, we were raising four girls in total! Igor’s drinking didn’t stop. I put up with it for a time, but then I craved country living—a farm, some animals, fresh air for the kids. And maybe, with work to do, Igor wouldn’t have time for drink. We sold our flat and our cottage. We bought a house in a small English town and opened a lovely café. Igor took up shooting—bought a shotgun and hunting kit. Lots of game in the woods. Things rolled on, more or less fine, until Igor got drunk one night. I don’t know what poison he drank, but he went wild—smashed everything, even pulled his rifle and fired into the ceiling! The children and I ran to the neighbours, terrified. The next morning, all was still. We tiptoed home to carnage—everything broken, nothing to sit, eat, or sleep on. Igor lay on the floor in a drunken stupor. I gathered what little was left and, with the children filed out to Mum’s, who lived nearby. “Tanya, what am I supposed to do with this gaggle of girls? Go back to your husband—families go through things, it’ll all come out in the wash!” Mum said. She always believed “grin and bear it, at least your man’s handsome.” A few days later, Igor showed up. That’s when I finally drew the line. For what it’s worth, he didn’t even remember his wild rampage. He didn’t believe a word of it. But I was beyond caring. I broke all ties—burned all bridges. What to do next, I didn’t know. But I decided: better to starve and live than be killed by a drunken husband. We sold the café for peanuts, just to get away, and settled in a tiny house in a nearby village. The older girls eventually married. The twins were in year five at school. All the girls loved their “Daddy Igor” and kept in touch. Through them, I heard Igor was begging for me to come back. The girls pleaded too: “Mum, stop being so stubborn. Dad’s changed, he’s apologised a hundred times!” But I wanted a quiet life, free from drama. Two years went by. Loneliness gnawed at me. All the rings Igor gave me were pawned and never bought back. I missed what we had—our house was always full of love, Igor loved all the girls, was never cruel to me, always tried to make amends. We were exemplary, really. What more did I want? Now even the older daughters just called; no time to visit. I understood—they were young and busy. Soon, the twins would fly the nest too, and I’d be left all alone. Girls are like ducklings—they feather up and then they’re gone. So I asked the twins to find out how their dad was getting on—maybe someone else was in the picture? They asked everything. Turned out he lived and worked in another city, hadn’t touched a drop, and was single—no one in his life. He left the girls his address, just in case… Long story short, we’ve been back together for five years now. I did tell you, I’m an adventurer at heart…

MY HUSBAND IS WORTH MORE THAN BITTER GRIEVANCES Robert, that was the last straw! Thats it, were getting

A Christmas Eve Miracle: How Forgetfulness, a Stray Kitten, and Two Kindly Strangers Brought Unexpected Magic to the Bailey Family’s Holiday

A Christmas Miracle Tom, seriously, how could you forget? Emily shot me an exasperated look.