Wanda Miranda, Author at Trending Link

“It Doesn’t Look Right That Your Children Will Have Homes and 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 flats, but his son doesn’t, so we should figure out how to help his son get one too. Let me explain: my children are both mine and Anthony’s, while Anthony’s son is from his first marriage. Why should I be the one to worry about his son’s housing? Of course, I knew Anthony had been married before and had a child. That’s one reason I wasn’t in a rush to marry him. We lived together for three years before tying the knot. I carefully watched how he felt about his ex-wife and his son. A year later, I had a son. After another two years, I had a second son. I’m completely happy with Anthony, both as a husband and a father. He makes time for me and the children. He earns good money. Of course, we argue sometimes—what family doesn’t? We lived in the flat I inherited from my dad. My mum divorced him when I was very young. Now she’s remarried, but didn’t have kids with her new husband. Anthony and his ex always lived in rented properties. They tried saving for a mortgage together, but never managed it. After their divorce, his ex moved back in with her parents, and Anthony rented a place on his own. When we married, he moved in with me. We never discussed who owns the flat. It was just our home—we did renovations, bought new furniture. But a year and a half ago, both my grandmothers passed away. They left their flats to me in their wills. While my boys are little, I decided to rent those flats out. Later, each son will get one. Right now, I give my mum the rent from one flat to supplement her pension. The rent from the other helps with my income—extra money is always useful. My husband never interfered in my property affairs—it was none of his business. I told him from the start: when our boys are grown, each gets a flat. He agreed, and that was that. Then, out of the blue, he said: — My son finishes sixth form soon. He needs to start thinking about his future! I wasn’t sure what he was hinting at, but I listened. — Your boys have flats, but my son doesn’t! We must help him get a place—even if it means taking out a mortgage! — Anthony blurted out. I was stunned! I had so many questions. First, I asked why our boys were suddenly “my” children. He told me not to split hairs. — But my son will never inherit anything. I want him to have a home of his own! — That’s great you care—but your son has a mum and dad. Shouldn’t they provide for him? Why isn’t his mother doing it? My husband explained his ex barely makes ends meet, her parents help where they can, and he can’t manage a mortgage on his own. But, if I help, it would all work out. He expected me to agree to help buy his son a flat with a mortgage, in our names, but for his son. But WE would pay the mortgage. We both have good jobs and rental income—we could manage! Anthony pleaded. Yes, maybe we could—but it would mean serious saving. Anthony still pays child support. And once his son goes to university, Anthony will keep helping, because his ex can’t afford it. So, because of his son, my boys and I would have no holidays, no seaside trips—just constant scrimping. All so Anthony can look like a good dad? I would understand if Anthony had provided our boys their homes and wanted to do the same for his eldest. But I provided the flats for my children—Anthony had nothing to do with it. Why should I pay a mortgage for someone else’s son? I told Anthony straight out—if he’s so concerned, his ex can get the mortgage, and pay it from the child support. — I’m not getting involved! He’s furious and hasn’t spoken to me for a week. It’s a shame he doesn’t see my point.

I say, it hardly seems fair that your children will have flats and my son wont. Lets sort him out with

Recently, I Met a Woman Walking Down the Street with Her Eighteen-Month-Old Daughter, Oblivious to the World Around Her—What She Told Me About Her Family Troubles Left Me Speechless

Not long ago, I bumped into a woman out for a walk with her eighteen-month-old daughter, meandering down

Changed His Mind About Getting Married Late Into the Night in a British University Laboratory, Archie Was Absorbed in His Research—Obliviously Ignoring the Glances of Young Cleaner Sophie—Until Her Homemade Sausages and Unexpected Proposal Led Him from Science Triumphs to a Stormy Countryside Encounter with Her Disapproving Mum, a Handsome Stepdad, and a Family Drama That Left Archie Reconsidering Everything About Love, Marriage, and Domestic Bliss

Changed His Mind About Marriage Arthur would stay late into the night at the laboratory, endlessly decanting

A Child for a Friend When Lily was nearing the end of her pregnancy, her younger brother left home, her father started drinking again, and her life spiralled into chaos. Every morning, Lily would air out the house, clear away empty bottles from under the table, and wait for her father to wake. “Dad, you know you can’t drink. You barely recovered from your stroke.” “I’ll drink if I want to. Who’s going to stop me? It’s the only way I can cope with the pain.” “What pain, Dad?” “The pain of realising I’m not needed. Not even by you – I’m just a burden to you. I’m a lost cause, Lily. Never should have been born. Never should have married and had kids who only inherited my weakness and poverty. It’s all pointless, love. Easier just to drink.” Already feeling low, Lily grew irritated. “Nothing’s pointless, Dad. Plenty of people have it worse.” “How much worse, love? You grew up without a mother. Your baby will grow up without a father and in poverty.” “Things aren’t always that bleak. Nothing stays the same forever—anything can change in a moment.” With sadness, Lily recalled how not so long ago she’d been happy—preparing to marry Paul. Life had fallen apart, but she knew she had to keep going. That day, her father got drunk again. In frustration, Lily shouted: “Did you spend the emergency money I put aside? How did you find it? Have you been going through my things?!” “Everything in this house is mine,” her father declared, “including the pension you hide from me! My pension.” “And you drank every penny? Did you even wonder how we’ll eat?” “Why should I care? I’m unwell. You’re grown, it’s your job to look after me now!” Lily searched the cupboards. “I remember there were two packs of pasta and some butter left yesterday. They’re gone now! What are we supposed to eat tonight?” She was stunned, slumping into a chair and burying her face in her hands. How could she have known that Auntie Natasha had taken to coming round, keeping her dad company, and robbing the place behind her back? Stealthy as a snake, Natasha had slipped into their lives, doing all she could to tear the family apart. That night Lily cried herself to sleep, lying in bed defeated, hungry and alone. The next morning came a knock at the door – in walked Natasha Ivanova, wearing a trendy coat and heeled boots. She didn’t even bother removing her shoes as she strode in. “Morning. My friend in the council told me you’re in arrears—your power will be cut off soon. What’s going on, Lily? Got any tea?” Without waiting, Natasha went straight to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards and fridge. “I’ll make us tea, you’re expecting just like my Sarah… Honestly, you’ve got nothing here. Not a crumb. Let’s go to the shops.” Lily avoided her gaze. “Aunt Natasha, I can’t offer you tea. You should go.” But Natasha wasn’t leaving. “Things are bad, aren’t they? I told you before—come live with me. Actually, I insist this time. You can’t raise a baby here with your father drinking and no food. You need fruit, vitamins―pack up, you’re coming to live with me.” Lily’s head began to spin and tears ran down her cheeks. Natasha hugged her: “Look here, love, I know how you feel about me. I’m no saint—my own daughter stole your fiancé. But I can’t stand to see you suffer. Like it or not, I’ll take care of you.” Everything after that seemed like a dream – Natasha helped her pack, called a taxi, and off Lily went. *** When Lily went into labour, Natasha didn’t leave her side. “Listen carefully, Lily. I’ve already told the staff you want to give up the baby. So when she’s born, don’t hold her, don’t even look. Just turn away.” In pain, Lily could only groan: “Oh, Aunt Natasha, I don’t care—anything to end this agony…” “Remember, you can’t raise this child yourself. I’ve found a lovely family ready to adopt your baby right away.” After a few hours, a healthy baby girl was born. “Three-point-three kilos, everything is fine.” The nurse wrapped the wailing baby and took her away without showing Lily. But the paediatrician fixed her with a stern look: “What’s this? You’ve given birth to a beautiful, healthy girl, and you won’t even look at her? Anna, bring the baby back and place her on her mum’s chest.” Shaking her head, Lily protested: “I don’t want to. I can’t provide for her, I didn’t want this… There are people who need her more than I do, I’ll sign her over for adoption…” “At least look at her—don’t be silly.” Lily squeezed her eyes shut, but then she felt something soft and warm against her hand. The nurse laid the baby next to her; the tiny girl snuffled, rooting and reaching out. Finally, Lily looked at her daughter. The small, helpless child squinted up at her, stretching out tiny hands across Lily’s chest. “There you are, mummy,” the paediatrician smiled. She brightened as she saw Lily tremble with emotion at the sight of her child for the first time. “What a pretty little girl. She needs you, not some strangers, you see?” Crying, Lily cuddled her daughter and nodded. For the next two hours after the birth, Lily lay beside her girl, unable to take her eyes off her. Her mother’s instinct had awakened. “There it is—the meaning of my life. My daughter. Doesn’t matter that Paul’s left, or that Dad’s drinking—I’m needed by my child. And that’s enough.” *** Lily was woken by Natasha’s voice. Natasha Ivanova, wrapped in a dressing gown, entered the room and eyed Lily in bed. “Have you forgotten our agreement?” she whispered. “You promised to give up the baby. I’ve arranged for people to adopt her straight away.” “Aunt Natasha, I’ve changed my mind. I’m not giving her away.” “But you have no money, you’re practically homeless—what will you do with a baby?” “I’ll take her home. I won’t burden you anymore. I’ll manage on my own.” Lily saw Natasha’s face twist in rage. “You’ve lost your mind! You have nothing. What are you going to do, beg on the streets?” Her daughter, sleeping in the cot, awoke at Natasha’s shout. Lily got up and moved towards her. “Don’t! I’ll feed her a bottle and say you’ve no milk,” Natasha declared. Shaking her head, Lily replied: “That’s not for you to decide. She’s my daughter. I said I’ve changed my mind and I won’t give her up!” “You can’t! You promised!” Natasha screeched. “Leave.” Natasha stormed out. Lily’s new roommate, quietly lying in her bed, looked over: “Who was that?” “My aunt.” “Awful. You did right sending her packing. I’m Laura—if you ever need help, I’m here. There’s still good people in the world.” “I’m Lily.” “Nice to meet you, Lil. I could tell that woman wanted to snatch your daughter and run. She was odd.” *** Before discharge, Lily had another visitor waiting outside. Her former friend Sarah stood awkwardly, her own pregnancy now undeniable. “Hey.” Lily sat on the bench. Sarah joined her. “I heard you had the baby.” “Yeah, a girl.” Sarah’s eyes darted. “You know Mum found people to adopt your girl, right?” “And?” “They’re lovely, really rich—offering a million for your baby. You could buy a flat or at least a room in a shared house.” “A million, is it? Well, if you’re so worried, maybe you should sell your own kid to them.” Sarah pouted but grabbed at Lily’s arm. “Wait, Lily. Give the baby to me, please! I’ll raise her—she’s Paul’s daughter, after all.” “Think you can manage two babies?” “You don’t understand, Lily! My family’s falling apart!” Lily stood to leave. Sarah clung to her, looking crazed: “I need that child, Lily!” “Let go.” …A couple of hours later, Paul himself burst into the room. Lily recoiled when she saw him. “You’ve had her? Can I see?” “No! Your precious Sarah’s due soon—go look there!” “I need to talk to you, Lily. Since she was born, I can’t think about anything else. Look, I want my daughter. Sign her over to me and I’ll adopt her myself.” Lily shook her head. “I’m not like you—I’ll never abandon someone who needs me. You’re wasting your time—my daughter is not yours to take.” Paul also refused to leave. “Give me the baby! You had no right to have her without me! It’s my child—I’ll get her!” “You? Mummy’s boy? Why not ask your mother if it’s allowed first?” Lily pushed past her ex, scooped up her daughter, and headed for the nurses’ station. “Could you please not let anyone else visit me? I’m not expecting anyone and I certainly don’t want anyone here—this isn’t a public hall!” Epilogue On her discharge, Lily left the hospital clutching her daughter. She wasn’t alone—her roommate, Laura, was also being released to the warm welcome of her husband and mother. Lily paused as she saw the Johnsons’ car outside. Out stepped Paul’s mother, Valerie Johnson. She scrutinised Lily, craning her neck and narrowing her eyes. Lily shivered. Her would-be mother-in-law looked on with the intensity of a wolf poised to attack. Laura noticed her friend’s expression and came to stand beside her. “Who’s that, Lily?” “Paul’s parents.” “She’s glaring like she’s waiting to pounce. This whole family’s gone for you—something’s wrong. My mum’s got a spare room for you, remember? Come home with us.” Lily nodded, feeling the same creeping anxiety. *** While living with her new friends, Lily unexpectedly found love—Laura’s cousin, Ivan, an old bachelor, began courting her. Ivan proved to be a good man: warm, kind. He married Lily, adopted her daughter, and even helped her father-in-law get back on his feet. As for Sarah and Paul—their marriage collapsed. Turns out Sarah was faking her pregnancy, fooling the entire Johnson clan. Natasha Ivanova, wanting to protect her daughter, confessed to her son-in-law that Sarah had miscarried early on, then suggested a “solution.” “Paul, love, don’t be angry with my daughter. She lost the baby, but your conscience isn’t clean either. Your child with Lily will soon be born. I thought—why not take Lily’s baby and raise her as your own? We don’t need to tell your parents about Sarah’s loss. We’ll all pretend Sarah’s still pregnant. Once Lily gives birth, we’ll take the baby and say it’s Sarah’s.” Paul liked his mother-in-law’s plan. And everything would have worked out—until Lily “kicked up a fuss,” refusing to abandon her newborn in the hospital, leaving her former friend and her mother at a dead end. Paul’s mother, Valerie Johnson, was furious when she found out about the deceit and threw Sarah out, forcing her son to divorce.

A Child for a Friend When Lily was nearing the end of her pregnancy, her younger brother left home, and

He Set His Sights on Another Man’s Wife When they moved in together, Victor Dudley showed himself to be weak-willed and indecisive. His days depended entirely on what mood he woke up in. Occasionally he’d be lively and full of jokes, laughing out loud all day. But mostly, he’d spend his time brooding, endlessly sipping coffee and skulking around the house in a creative funk, just as was typical for people in the arts. And Victor considered himself one of them—he worked at the village school, teaching art, woodwork, and sometimes music if the music teacher was off sick. He was drawn to art, but couldn’t express his creativity at school, so the house suffered instead—Victor claimed the brightest, largest room for a studio. His wife, Sophie, had planned the space as a future nursery, but since the house belonged to Victor, she didn’t protest. Victor filled the room with easels and tripods, scattered paint tubes and clay everywhere, and got to work: painting, sculpting, moulding—sometimes losing himself for days over a bizarre still life or a lumpy figurine. His ‘masterpieces’ never left the house: the walls groaned beneath paintings Sophie couldn’t stand, and shelves buckled under misshapen clay statuettes. If only the creations were beautiful, but no. The handful of old artist and sculptor friends who sometimes visited would fall silent, avert their eyes, and sigh as they gazed awkwardly at the pieces. None of them ever praised Victor’s work. Except for old Leonard Pecks, the eldest of the lot, who after downing a bottle of rowanberry liqueur, announced: “Good Lord, what a senseless mess! I haven’t seen a single worthy thing in this house—apart from its lovely mistress, of course.” Victor couldn’t take the criticism. He shouted, stamped his feet, and demanded his wife kick the ‘insulting’ guest out. “Get out!” he screamed. “You have no appreciation for art! You’re only jealous!” Leonard stumbled out, and a mortified Sophie apologised at the gate: “Please don’t take his words to heart. You shouldn’t have criticised, but I should have warned you in advance.” Leonard just shook his head: “Don’t make excuses for him, dear child. I pity you. Such a pretty home ruined by Victor’s ghastly paintings! For us artists, what we create reflects our soul. And Victor’s soul is bare—as vacant as his canvases.” He kissed her hand farewell and left. Victor sulked for a whole month, smashing sculptures and tearing up paintings before finally cooling down. *** Yet Sophie never argued. She’d decided that once they had children, Victor would give up his obsession and turn the studio into a nursery. For now, she let him amuse himself. After their wedding, Victor tried to play the perfect husband—bringing home fruit and his pay, doting on his young wife. That didn’t last long. He soon grew distant, stopped sharing his wages, and Sophie had to handle everything—the house, the garden, the chickens, and his mother. Victor was overjoyed at the news of Sophie’s pregnancy—but the joy was short-lived. Within a week, Sophie fell ill, was hospitalised, and lost the baby early on. When Victor heard, he became weepy, nervous, even yelling at Sophie. He shut himself in, refusing to let her in the house when she returned home. “You were supposed to bear my child—but you failed! My mum’s in hospital because of you! I wish I’d never married you—you’ve brought nothing but misfortune!” Sophie collapsed on the steps, begging to be let in, but Victor ignored her tears until nightfall. Later, the neighbour came by with terrible news: Sophie’s mother-in-law hadn’t recovered from her heart attack. The loss broke Victor. He quit teaching, took to bed, and told Sophie, “I never loved you. I married you for my mum, she wanted grandkids. But you ruined our lives, and I’ll never forgive you.” The words stung, but Sophie vowed not to abandon her husband. Time passed but things got worse. Victor refused to leave his bed, eating and drinking only the bare minimum, blaming his ulcer, his apathy, everything except himself. Then Sophie found out he’d filed for divorce. She cried for days. She tried comforting Victor, but he rebuffed her: “Once I’m better, I’ll kick you out for good! You’ve ruined my life.” *** Sophie had nowhere to go. Her own mother, who’d been so eager to marry her off, had swiftly moved to the coast to remarry, selling their home and effectively leaving Sophie homeless. She was trapped. *** At last, the food ran out. Boiling the last egg from the chickens, Sophie fed Victor watery porridge. “I’ll go to the village fair, maybe sell a chicken or trade her for food.” Victor moaned: “Why sell her? Make me a proper broth for once, I’m sick of porridge!” Sophie twisted the hem of her only decent dress. “You know I can’t—she’s my favourite, she’d miss me.” Victor sneered, “You give your chickens names? Ridiculous woman, I shouldn’t expect better of you.” As she got ready to leave, Victor commanded, “Take a couple of my sculptures and paintings to the fair—someone might buy them!” Sophie reluctantly picked two clay bird whistles and a lumpy piggy bank, then hurried out before Victor could foist his garish paintings on her too. *** The fair bustled. Sophie felt out of place in her faded dress, the bag pressed close to her chest. At the jewellery stall she tried to sell her hen, but the vendor just scoffed. A young man at the next stall took interest. “How much for the hen? Why so cheap?” “She limps a little but lays well,” Sophie stammered. “I’ll buy her. And what’s that—figurines?” He grinned at her clumsy piggy bank. “I’ll take everything. I love unusual things.” The jeweller snorted, “Why, Dennis, aren’t you done playing with toys yet?” Sophie panicked when she learned Dennis sold kebabs at the fair. “I won’t sell my hen for barbecue!” Dennis laughed, easing her worry. “I’d never! My mum keeps hens—this one will have a good home. You can come visit her yourself.” On her way home, Dennis pulled up in his car. “Do you have more figurines? They’d make great gifts.” “There are plenty more at home!” Sophie smiled, feeling hope blossom. *** Back in the gloomy house, Victor groaned for water as Dennis entered, admiring the bizarre artwork. Victor boasted of his ‘talent,’ while Dennis covertly watched Sophie, noticing her quiet grace. Epilogue To Sophie’s surprise, Victor’s ‘illness’ vanished as soon as someone took an interest in his art. Dennis started visiting every day, buying up Victor’s paintings and trinkets, while clearly drawn to Sophie, not her husband’s ‘art.’ Eventually, Dennis stopped buying. Instead, he left with what he’d truly wanted—Sophie. Dennis and Sophie soon married, and whenever Dennis returned from trips home, he tossed Victor’s ‘masterpieces’ straight into the fire, still reminiscing fondly about spotting Sophie at the fair in her faded dress, instantly sure he’d found his soulmate. Victor, left alone, realised too late what he’d lost—a caring, selfless wife. He’d let true treasure slip through his fingers, and now there was no one left to fuss over him, or to shoulder his world. He Set His Sights on Another Man’s Wife

Set My Sights on Another Mans Wife When we first moved in together, Bradley Underwood proved himself

For Better or Worse: The Story of Antonia, Early Widowhood, Rural Hardship, and New Beginnings Amidst Hope, Hard Lessons, and Unseen Love in an English Village

Through Thick and Thin Elaine became a widow early, at just forty-two. By then, her daughter, Emily

Wife and Father Charlotte only pretended to want to meet Simons parents. What would she gain from such a visit?

His Wife Packed Her Bags and Vanished Without a Trace: A Tale of Betrayal, Choices, and the True Meaning of Family in Modern England

His wife packed her belongings and vanished in an unknown direction. “Stop acting like a saint.

The Carer for the Wife — “What do you mean?” Lidia was sure she’d misheard. “I’m supposed to move out? Why? For what reason?” — “Oh, let’s not have a scene,” Edward grimaced. “What’s not clear? You’ve nothing left to care for here. Where you go is no concern of mine.” — “Ed, what is wrong with you? We were meant to get married, weren’t we?..” — “That was your idea, not mine. I never promised you anything like that.” At thirty-two, Lidia decided it was time to change her life dramatically and leave her little home village behind. What else was there for her here? Endure her mother’s constant nagging? Her mum never let up, always blaming Lidia’s divorce. “How could you lose your husband?” That Vaska wasn’t worth a kind word anyway—always drunk, always chasing after other women! She didn’t even understand how she’d managed to marry him, eight years ago. Divorce hadn’t upset Lidia in the slightest—if anything, it felt like a breath of fresh air. But her and her mum’s rows continued, now about money too, which was always in short supply. So she decided to head to the city and make her own way! Her school friend, Sophie, had done well—married to a widower for five years now. So what if he was sixteen years older, and not a looker? He had a flat, and money. And for heaven’s sake, Lidia was just as good as Sophie! — “At last! You’ve come to your senses!” Sophie cheered. “Pack up, you can stay with us at first and we’ll sort a job.” — “Your Vadim won’t mind?” Lidia questioned. — “As if! He does everything I ask anyway! Don’t worry, we’ll manage!” But Lidia didn’t stay with her friend for long. After a couple of weeks and her first paycheck, she rented a room of her own. Within two months, she got incredibly lucky. — “A lady like you working in the market?” said her regular customer, Mr. Edwards, full of sympathy. Lidia knew all her regulars by name by now. — “It’s cold and miserable—hardly fitting.” — “Needs must,” she sighed. “Money doesn’t grow on trees.” She added, half-joking: — “Or do you have a better offer?” Mr. Edwards hardly seemed a dream man in her eyes: twenty years older, soft from good living, balding and sharp-eyed. He picked over vegetables fussily and paid every penny exactly, but was always well dressed and drove a nice car—not some vagrant or drunk. He wore a wedding band, so as a husband he wasn’t a contender. — “You seem dependable, decent, and tidy,” he switched to an informal tone, “ever cared for an ill person?” — “As a matter of fact, yes. Nursed my neighbour after a stroke, her children were far away and couldn’t be bothered. They asked me to step in.” — “Perfect!” he said enthusiastically, then put on a grave face. “My wife, Tamara, has had a stroke too. Doctors say she’s unlikely to recover. I’ve brought her home but I can’t care for her. Will you help? I’ll pay well.” Lidia didn’t hesitate. Better to be warm—even if it meant cleaning bedpans—than freezing ten hours a day, dealing with picky market shoppers! Edwards even offered her accommodation in their home, so no rent to pay. — “They’ve three separate rooms! You could play five-a-side in there!” Lidia told her friend happily. “And they’ve got no children.” Tamara’s mother—quite the character, only 68 and recently remarried—was preoccupied with her new husband, so no one else could care for the invalid. — “Is she that unwell?” — “Oh yes… The poor woman’s flat on her back, can’t do a thing but mumble. No hope of getting better.” — “You sound almost glad?” Sophie gave her a sharp look. — “Of course I’m not glad,” Lidia said, eyes averted, “but when she’s… gone, Mr. Edwards will be single…” — “Are you serious, Lidia? Wishing someone gone over a flat?” — “I’m wishing nothing, just not missing my chance! Easy for you to say, you’re living in luxury!” They had a fierce argument and didn’t speak for half a year. When they next caught up, Lidia revealed her secret romance with Mr. Edwards. They couldn’t live without each other—or so it seemed—but he’d never leave his wife, he said, so for now, they’d carry on as lovers in secret. — “So you two are carrying on while his wife is bedridden in the next room?” Sophie disapproved. “You realise that’s vile? Or is it all about his supposed fortune?” — “I should’ve known you’d never have a kind word for me!” Lidia was hurt. They stopped talking again, but Lidia didn’t feel guilty (well, maybe only a little). Everyone acts so saintly! The comfortable never understand the desperate, as they say. No worries—she’d cope without her friend. She threw herself into caring for Tamara with devotion and energy. After her affair began with Ed, she took over every household task as well. A man needs more than bedroom pleasures—he needs good food, ironed shirts, clean floors, all that. Lidia thought Ed was perfectly happy, and she was too. She almost didn’t notice when Ed stopped paying her for caring for his wife—it didn’t occur to her, now they were as good as married. He gave her money for groceries and bits and pieces, and she managed the household budget, barely scraping by—but thought nothing of it. Ed was a factory manager, after all—his salary was good. No matter—when they married, it would all sort out. Their passion faded, Ed was less keen to come home, but Lidia blamed his constant fatigue—dealing with a sick wife. What was so tiring, though, since he barely spent a minute a day with Tamara, she couldn’t say, but she felt sorry for him. Even so, when Tamara passed away, Lidia cried. She’d devoted a year and a half to that woman—nothing could change that. She organised the funeral, too—Ed was overcome with grief. He gave her just enough money for the burial, but she made sure everything was done respectfully. No one could reproach her. Even the neighbours—who’d long gossiped about the affair—nodded approvingly at the funeral. The mother-in-law was happy too. Lidia never expected what came next. — “You understand you’re no longer needed here, so you’ve a week to leave,” Ed said coldly, ten days after the funeral. — “What do you mean?” Lidia was sure she’d misheard. “Where am I supposed to go? Why?” — “Oh, spare me the drama!” Ed grimaced. “It’s simple. There’s no one here for you to care for. Where you go isn’t my concern.” — “Ed, wait! Weren’t we getting married?..” — “That was your idea. I never agreed to anything.” The next morning, after a sleepless night, Lidia tried to talk to Ed again, but he repeated exactly what he’d said yesterday, adding, “Please move out quickly.” — “My fiancée wants to redo the place before the wedding,” he added. — “Fiancée? Who?” — “None of your business.” — “Oh, is that so? Fine. I’ll go, but you’ll pay me what I’m owed for my work first. Don’t look at me like that! You promised to pay me £400 a week. I only got that twice. You owe me £6,400.” — “Fast at arithmetic, aren’t you?” Ed sneered. “Don’t get your hopes up…” — “And there’s the housekeeping—pay up! Let’s call it £10,000 to keep it simple, and I’ll disappear without a fuss.” — “Or else what? Off to the courts? You’ve not got a contract.” — “I’ll tell Mrs. Anderson—I know she bought you this flat.” Trust me, once she hears, you’ll be jobless too. You know your mother-in-law better than I do. Edwards’ face changed, but he recovered quickly. — “Who’ll believe you? Stop threatening me. Just get out—I don’t want to see you again.” — “Three days, darling. No money, no peace,” Lidia packed up and went to a hostel. She’d put aside a bit from the housekeeping. On the fourth day, having heard nothing, she returned to the flat—and, perfectly, Mrs. Anderson was there. Lidia saw straight away Ed wasn’t going to pay, so she told everything to his mother-in-law. — “She’s talking nonsense! Making up stories!” Ed spluttered. — “I’d heard things at the funeral, but didn’t believe them,” the mother-in-law shot him a look. “Now it’s all clear. And to you, son-in-law, too—I trust you haven’t forgotten this flat is in my name?” Ed froze. — “So I don’t want to see you here in a week. No, in three days.” Mrs. Anderson made for the door, but paused by Lidia. — “And you, Lidia—still here? Waiting for a medal? Off you go!” Lidia fled that flat like she’d been stung. There was no chance she’d see any money now. Back to the market it would have to be—there’s always work there…

A Carer for the Wife What do you mean? Lydia thought shed misheard. Where do you want me to move?

We Refused to Let Our Daughter Back Home — But why wouldn’t you let her in? — Veronica finally asked the question that had haunted her most. — You always let her in before… Her mother gave a bitter smile. — Because I’m scared for you, Nicky. You think we don’t notice how you shrink away when your sister barges in at night? How you hide your textbooks so she won’t ruin them? She looks at you and gets angry. Angry because you’re normal. You have another life ahead of you, and she drowned hers at the bottom of a bottle… Veronica hunched her shoulders over her open textbook — in the next room, the storm was starting all over again. Dad hadn’t even taken off his coat — he stood in the hallway clutching his mobile, yelling. — Don’t give me that nonsense! — he roared into the phone. — Where’s all your money gone? It’s only been two weeks since payday! Two weeks, Larissa! Tanya poked her head out from the kitchen, listened to her husband’s shouting, then asked, — Again? Valeriy just waved his hand and put the phone on speaker — at once, they heard sobbing. Veronica’s older sister could have softened a stone, but her parents had grown calluses after so many years of torment. — What do you mean, “he kicked you out”? — Valeriy began pacing the narrow hallway. — He’s right. Who would put up with your constant “states of nothingness”? Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re thirty, and you look like a battered stray. Veronica cracked her bedroom door open a couple of centimetres. — Dad, please… — the sobbing suddenly stopped. — He left all my things in the stairwell. I’ve got nowhere to go. It’s pouring out, freezing… can I come to you? Just for a few days to get a bit of sleep. Mum jerked forward, reaching for the phone, but Valeriy quickly turned away. — No! — he snapped. — You’re not setting foot here. We agreed last time, didn’t we? After you pawned the TV when we were away at the cottage, the door to this house was closed to you! — Mum! Mum, talk to him! — the phone screamed. Tanya covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders trembled. — Larissa, how could you… — she just said, not looking at her husband. — We took you to the doctor. You promised. The last treatment — they said it would last three years. You didn’t even make it a month! — Those “treatments” are rubbish! — Larissa snapped, her tone flipping from pitiful to aggressive. — They just suck money out of you! I’m suffering, can’t you see? Everything inside is burning, I can’t breathe! And you’re harping on about a television… He’s more sorry for it than me! I’ll get you a new one! — With what money? — Valeriy stopped, staring at a spot on the wall. — What money, when you’ve squandered every penny? Your mates lent it to you again? Or did you haul something more of his out of the flat? — It doesn’t matter! — snapped Larissa. — Dad, I’ve got nowhere to stay! You want me sleeping under a bridge? — Go to a shelter. Go anywhere, — his voice was cold and low. — But you’re not coming here. If I see you outside, I’ll change the locks. Veronica sat on her bed, knees hugged close. Usually, when her sister drove their parents into a rage, the anger would ricochet to her. — What are you doing just sitting there? On your phone again? You’ll turn out just like your sister, useless! — the same phrases she’d heard for three years. But tonight, nobody shouted at her. Nobody picked on her. Dad hung up, took off his coat and both parents went to the kitchen. Veronica crept softly out to the hallway. — Val, you can’t just turn her out like that, — her mother pleaded. — She’ll be lost. You know what she’s like when she’s… like that. She’s not herself… — Am I supposed to be responsible for her forever? — Dad slammed down the kettle. — I’m fifty-five, Tanya. I want to come home and just sit in an armchair. I don’t want to hide my wallet under a pillow! I don’t want to hear neighbours complaining about her showing up with a bunch of shady men and causing trouble! — She’s still our daughter, — Mum said softly. — She was a daughter until twenty. Now she’s just sucking the life out of us. She’s an alcoholic, Tanya. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want it. She likes this life. Wake up, find a bottle, and forget it all! The phone rang again. The parents hesitated, then Dad picked up. — Hello. — Dad… — it was Larissa, again. — I’m at the station. The police are walking around. If I stay, they’ll pick me up. Please… — Listen carefully, — he cut her off. — You’re not coming home. End of story. — So what then, should I just kill myself? — a pitiful threat in her voice. — Is that what you want? The morgue calling you next?! Veronica froze. This was Larissa’s “ace” when other tricks failed. It used to work: Mum would cry, Dad would reach for his heart, and her sister would get money, a bed, a meal, a clean-up. Not tonight. — Don’t threaten us, — Dad said. — You love yourself too much for that. Here’s what will happen… — What? — hope flickered in Larissa’s voice. — I’ll find you a room. The cheapest on the edge of town. I’ll pay one month’s rent. Give you some food money. That’s it. After that — you’re on your own. Find a job, get your act together and you’ll cope. If not — you’re back on the street and I won’t care. — A room?! Not even a flat? Dad, I can’t be alone. It’s scary. And what if the neighbours are dodgy? How am I supposed to manage with nothing? I’ve not even got bedding — that… so-and-so’s kept everything! — Your mum’ll pack bedlinen. We’ll leave it with the concierge. Pick it up outside. Don’t come up. I’ve said enough. — You devils! — screamed Larissa. — Your own daughter, kicked out! You’ve got your three-bed flat, and I’m meant to scurry around like a rat?! Mum finally lost it and grabbed the phone. — Larissa, that’s enough! — she yelled, Veronica jumped. — Dad’s right! It’s your last chance. Room or the street. Decide — tomorrow we won’t even do that! Silence on the line. — Fine, — Larissa muttered. — Just send me the address. And some money — to my card, right now. I’m hungry. — No money, — said Dad. — I’ll buy food and leave it in the bag. I know “what” you’ll spend it on. He hung up. Veronica decided it was time. She entered the kitchen, pretending she’d just come for a drink. She braced herself for a cascade of frustration — Dad would criticise her T-shirt, Mum would complain she didn’t care, was wandering around the house in the middle of a crisis… But her parents didn’t even turn. — Veronica, — said her mother quietly. — Yes, Mum? — In the wardrobe, top shelf, are some old sheets and pillowcases. Could you get them, please? Pack them into the blue holdall from the cupboard. — Okay, Mum. Veronica went off to do it, emptying out the old bag. She wondered how Larissa could possibly cope alone. The last time she’d cooked, she nearly ruined the kitchen. And… the drinking… Veronica knew her sister wouldn’t manage even two days. Back in her parents’ bedroom, Veronica climbed up for the linen. — Don’t forget the towels! — called Dad from the kitchen. — Already packed, — Veronica replied. She saw him gather coats, the bag and food bundles, and disappear without a word. He was clearly off to find that “hole” for Larissa. Veronica went to the kitchen, where her mum sat motionless. — Mum, do you want a pill? — she asked softly. Mum looked up, her voice flat. — You know, Nic… when she was small, I thought she’d grow up to be my helper. That we’d chat about everything. Now I just hope she remembers the address. Just makes it there… — She’ll manage, — Veronica squeezed her mum’s hand. — She always pulls through. — Not this time, — Mum shook her head. — Her eyes are different. Empty. Like there’s nothing left but the shell. I know you’re scared of her, too. Veronica was silent. She’d always thought her parents didn’t care how afraid she was — too busy saving “lost” Larissa. — I thought you didn’t care about me, — she whispered. Mum stroked her hair. — We do care. We just have no strength left. Like they say on airplanes: put your own mask on before the child’s. We’ve spent ten years trying to put the mask on her. Ten years, Nic! Priests, clinics, expensive courses, you name it. Now, we’re suffocating ourselves. A ring at the door. Veronica jumped. — Is that her? — she asked, fearful. — No, your dad’s got the keys. It’ll be the food delivery. Veronica opened the door to the courier, carried heavy bags to the kitchen, and unpacked grains, tinned food, oil, tea, sugar — nothing extraneous. — She won’t eat this, — she said about the buckwheat. — She likes ready meals. — If she wants to live, she’ll learn to cook, — Mum said with sudden determination. — We can’t baby her to the grave. An hour later, Dad returned, worn out. — Found it, — he growled. — Keys’re with me. The landlady’s a retired teacher — very strict. Says if she smells a whiff or hears a noise, Larissa’s out. I told her — do it at once. — Val… — sighed Mum. — What? No more lying. She deserves to know. He grabbed the bag and food, heading out. — I’ll leave these for the concierge. I’ll call her, tell her where to find them. Veronica, lock up behind me and if the phone rings, don’t answer. Dad left. Mum locked herself in the kitchen and sobbed. Veronica’s heart ached. How did it come to this? Her sister just drifting from one drink to the next, tormenting everyone… *** Her parents’ hopes were dashed — a week later, Valeriy got a call. The landlady had thrown Larissa out with the police’s help. She’d brought three men back and partied all night. Still, the parents didn’t abandon their daughter — Larissa was taken to a locked rehabilitation centre. They promised a year would change her. Maybe, just maybe, a miracle will happen…

Not Allowed Home Why didnt you let her in? I finally asked my mother, the question Id been holding in