Mitsuko Nagasaki, Author at Trending Link

I Was in This Relationship for Five Years: Two Years Married, Three Living Together, and Most of Our Engagement Spent Long Distance with Visits Every Few Months—How I Discovered My Husband’s Infidelity, Nearly Cheated Myself, and Ultimately Chose to Leave Instead of Becoming What He Was to Me

I was in that relationship for five years. Wed been married for two, and lived together for three.

When Two Stubborn Souls Collide: The Unvarnished Life of My Aunt Pauline, Unwanted Marriage, Family Pressure, Stubborn Husbands, Troubled Sons, and the Bittersweet Cycle of Generations

WHEN A FORCE MEETS AN IMMOVABLE OBJECT My dear auntwho well call Dorothyfound herself briskly swept down

When the Key Turned in the Door, His Heart Nearly Leapt From His Chest and His Soul Rushed to Meet Her… 🤔 — How many more mistakes can you make?! Your errors are just ridiculous! Look at this! — Alison Edwards jabbed her long, manicured nail at the monthly report, almost snapping her polished perfection. — Go! Do it again! And if you can’t manage, then just quit already! — Her boss, always impeccably groomed and attractive, looked downright demonic when angry. Lisa left in silence. There was just over an hour left in the working day—she had to hurry, though she’d already been docked her bonus. It felt like one endless streak of bad luck—complete with extra hurdles. A week ago, she’d called her mother, only to be met with a fresh bout of criticism. Her mum launched into accusations and hung up in a rage, leaving Lisa more upset than usual and now too afraid to call at all. Two days ago she’d lost her bank card, had to cancel it and order a new one. And yesterday, her only companion—Phoebe, her year-old calico cat—had fallen from the third-floor balcony. Lisa watched as the cat eventually stood, shook herself off, and walked away. But when Lisa got outside, Phoebe was nowhere to be found, having vanished ever since. Barely submitting her cursed report, Lisa headed home, not even bothering with the shops. She collapsed on the sofa and sobbed bitterly. Half an hour later, her tears dried, but she felt no better. Gloomy, poisonous thoughts slithered in: Who am I living for? My mother doesn’t want me, I have no family, and even my cat has left me. Suddenly, the idea of ending it all seemed almost comforting. “At least they’ll break their nails and weep someday, but by then it’ll be too late,” she thought darkly, feeling relieved that tomorrow she wouldn’t need to go to work, call her mother, or apologise for things she hadn’t done. A reckless sense of glee took over. She was just a small step away from making a truly terrible decision when the phone rang—a number she didn’t recognise. She nearly ignored it, but thought “What if this is the last human voice I’ll ever hear?” — Hello?… Nobody answered. — If you’re just going to call and not speak, why bother? — Her frustration grew. — Hello… — a low male voice finally came through. — Please, don’t hang up. — Who are you? What do you want? — Lisa was anxious to get on with her “important” plans. — I just wanted to hear another human’s voice… I haven’t spoken to anyone in a week. I thought, if nobody answered me tonight, that would be it… — he sighed shakily. — Can’t you go out to the park or something? That’s all it takes! — Lisa perched on her wide windowsill. — I can’t. I live on the fifth floor. My wife left a week ago… — His voice fell. — No wonder! What kind of man are you?! — Lisa said, not understanding his situation. — I’m in a wheelchair. Less than a year now. Five flights—up and down—is impossible without a lift. — You don’t have legs?! — Lisa asked, horrified, before she could stop herself. — Not quite. Spinal injury. I can’t walk. — She thought she heard a sigh and a smile in his words. They talked for half an hour more. Lisa took down his address. An hour later, she was at his door with two massive carrier bags. Answering was a young, handsome man in a wheelchair. — I’m Lisa! — It only dawned on her now that she didn’t even know his name. — Arthur! — His radiant smile lit up his face as if he’d been waiting his whole life for her. Turns out, they lived not far from one another. Lisa visited every day. Her own hardships paled in comparison to his situation—troubles that had almost cost her the will to live. She grew stronger, more stubborn, more caring. As if by magic, Phoebe reappeared: just waiting for Lisa on her doormat. When her boss Alison tried to start in on her again, Lisa cut her short: — Ms Edwards, you have no right to yell at me or humiliate me. I can’t work under this kind of pressure—I’ll call in sick from this migraine, and good luck finding a replacement! The girls in the office burst out laughing; her boss turned on her heel and left. A call finally came from her mother: — Hello, daughter! Why haven’t you called? How could you be so heartless, so ungrateful? Elizabeth, are you listening?! — her mother shrieked. — Hello, Mum. I don’t want to talk with you in that tone anymore, — Lisa replied evenly. — How dare you?! I’ll hang up! — Go ahead… — she said indifferently. A few days later, her mother rang again. No apology—never her style—but at least the conversation stayed civil. A month later, Lisa moved in with Arthur, renting out her own flat. Friendship turned into trust, gratitude, tenderness—maybe even love. With rent money, Lisa hired a masseuse and booked weekly swimming sessions for Arthur. Slowly, feeling began to return; he could wiggle his toes. Lisa’s mother fell ill, and Lisa took two days off work to care for her. Arthur waited anxiously. Like a loyal hound, he lay on the sofa for days, counting the minutes. It was February and a blizzard raged outside. He knew when Lisa’s bus should arrive, calculated how long it would take her to get home—but the minutes dragged on, and Lisa still wasn’t there. Arthur wheeled himself to the window, but the snowstorm swallowed up everything. Her phone had been off for hours. One hour passed… Two… Three… When the key finally turned in the lock, his heart nearly burst from his chest and his soul leapt to greet her. — Arthur, the bus skidded off the road; we had to wait for the tow service… My phone died straight away, — she called, pulling off her coat. — Arthur! She ran into the living room and stopped dead— He was standing, just two steps from his wheelchair, beaming.

When I heard the key turn in the lock, my heart nearly jumped right out of my chest, and it felt as if

Bride for Hire: When Polina Runs Away from Her Groom, Cancels Her Wedding, and Flees to London with Floyd—Only to Become a ‘Fake Fiancée’ in an English Family Drama of Ex-Wives, Grown-Up Sons, and Unexpected Love

BRIDE FOR HIRE The weddings off! Abigail announced at dinner, shocking her parents into silence.

Growing Up Trying Not to Disappoint My Mum—And Realising Too Late That I Was Losing My Marriage Because of It

Oh, I grew up always trying not to let my mum down and without noticing, I started losing my marriage

LAST LOVE “Iro, I’m telling you, I have no money! I gave everything I had left to Natasha yesterday. You know, she has two children!” Utterly distressed, Mrs. Anna Foster put the phone down. She didn’t even want to think about what her daughter had just said. “Why is it like this? My husband and I raised three children, did everything for them. We gave them the best start in life! They’re all university graduates and have respectable jobs. But now, in my old age, I have neither peace nor help.” “Oh, Harry, why did you have to leave me so soon? Life was easier with you,” Anna Foster thought, speaking to her late husband. Her heart squeezed painfully; she reached habitually for her medication. “Only one or two capsules left. If things get worse, I’ll have nothing to help myself. I’ll need to go to the chemist.” Anna Foster tried to stand, but had to sink back into her armchair, dizzy. “It’s alright, the tablet will kick in soon. I’ll feel better.” But the minutes passed, and she felt no better. Anna Foster dialled her youngest daughter: “Natasha…” was all she managed to say before— “Mum, I’m in a meeting, I’ll call you back!” She called her son: “Love, I feel really poorly. I’ve run out of tablets. Could you after work—” He cut her off. “Mum, I’m not a doctor, and you’re not either! Call an ambulance, don’t wait!” Anna Foster sighed heavily. “He’s right, I suppose. If I still feel bad in half an hour, I’ll ring for an ambulance.” She reclined carefully in her chair and closed her eyes, counting silently to a hundred to calm herself. Suddenly, from far away, she heard a sound. The phone! “Hello?” she answered, barely able to move her lips. “Anna, love, it’s Peter! Are you alright? Something told me I should ring you!” “Peter, I don’t feel well.” “I’m coming over! Can you open the door?” “It’s always open these days,” she murmured. The phone slipped from Anna’s hand. She had no strength to retrieve it. “So what,” she thought. Like a film, scenes from her youth flashed before her eyes: There she was, a young girl at university. Two dashing young cadets with balloons for some reason. How funny! she’d mused back then. Grown men, carrying balloons! Oh yes—it was the 9th of May, Victory Day. A parade, a festival! She was between Peter and Harry with those two balloons. She’d chosen Harry—he was livelier, Peter was too reserved. Then life had sent them on different paths: she and Harry to Hertfordshire, Peter to Germany. Many years later, they all met again in their hometown, once the men had retired. Peter had never married, never had children. Why? people would ask… He’d wave it off with a joke: “Unlucky in love—perhaps I should try my luck at cards!” Anna Foster heard voices, conversation. She pried her eyes open with effort: “Peter!” Next to him must be a paramedic. “She’ll be alright now. Are you her husband?” “Yes, yes!” Peter answered. The paramedic gave Peter instructions. Peter never left her side, holding Anna’s hand until she felt better. “Thank you, Peter! I really do feel so much better!” “Good. Here, have some tea with lemon.” Peter stayed, tidied up the kitchen, looked after Anna. Even when she was recovering, he hovered nervously, as if afraid to leave her alone. “You know, Anna, I’ve loved you my whole life. That’s why I never married, never had a family.” “Oh Peter, I had a good life with Harry. He respected me; I loved him. You never said anything, I had no idea how you felt. But what’s the point of talking of it now? The years have gone.” “Anna, let’s live out the rest of our days together—however long we have, let’s be happy!” Anna leaned her head on Peter’s shoulder and took his hand: “Let’s!” she laughed, her heart light with happiness. A week later, Natasha finally rang. “Mum, I saw you called but I’ve just been so busy—” “Oh, it’s fine, love. Just so you’re not surprised, I’m letting you know—I’m getting married!” Silence on the line, broken only by her daughter gasping for breath, searching for words. “Mum, are you out of your mind? You should be in the grave by now, not getting married! And who’s the lucky suitor?” Tears sprang to Anna’s eyes, but she found the strength to reply calmly, “That’s my business.” And hung up. She turned to Peter: “Well, brace yourself. The children will be here in a flash. Prepare for battle!” “We’ll manage! We’ve always pulled through before,” Peter laughed. Indeed, that evening all three children arrived: George, Irene and Natasha. “Well, Mum, introduce us to your Casanova!” George sneered. “You know me already,” Peter said, coming from the other room. “I’ve loved Anna since we were young. When I found her so ill last week, I knew I couldn’t lose her. I proposed, and she kindly accepted.” “Who do you think you are, you old clown? Love, at your age?” Irene shrieked. “Age? We’ve barely just turned seventy! There’s plenty of life ahead—and besides, your mother is still a beauty,” Peter smiled. “So, you’re after her flat, aren’t you?” Natasha said coldly, her tone sharp as a solicitor’s. “Children, really, what does my flat have to do with you? You all have your own homes,” Anna protested. “Nevertheless, part of that flat is our inheritance!” Natasha retorted. “Calm down, I want nothing from you. I have a place to live,” said Peter. “But please, stop speaking to your mother like that—it’s hurtful!” “Who do you think you are, you pompous old playboy!” George charged at Peter, squaring up like a prizefighter. But Peter didn’t flinch. He drew himself up straight and met George’s gaze. “I’m your mother’s husband, whether you like it or not.” “And we’re her children!” cried Irene. “And tomorrow, she’ll be in a care home—or a psychiatric ward!” Natasha chimed in. “No, absolutely not! Pack your things, Anna—we’re leaving!” They walked out together, hand in hand, not looking back. They didn’t care what anyone thought—they were happy and free! A solitary streetlamp lit their way. And the children stood, watching them go, utterly baffled that anyone could find love at seventy.

FINAL LOVE Lucy, I dont have any money, really! I gave my last pound to Susan yesterday. You know shes

Olga Spent All Day Preparing for Her First New Year’s Eve Not With Family, But With Her Boyfriend: Cleaning, Cooking, Setting the Table—She Hoped He’d Finally Appreciate Her and Propose, But Instead He Invited Drunken Friends Who Mocked Her, Leaving Olga to Start a New Life After the Worst New Year’s Eve Ever

Emily had spent the whole day getting everything ready for New Years Eve: cleaning, cooking, laying the table.

VIC, PLEASE DON’T BE UPSET, BUT I WANT MY REAL DAD TO WALK ME DOWN THE AISLE—HE’S MY FATHER AFTER ALL. IT’LL LOOK NICER IN THE PHOTOS IF IT’S ME AND DAD—HE LOOKS SO DAPPER IN A SUIT. VICTOR FROZE WITH HIS TEA IN HAND. OPPOSITE HIM SAT ALINA, THE BRIDE, BEAUTIFUL AND TWENTY-TWO. VICTOR REMEMBERED HER AS A LITTLE GIRL HIDING BEHIND THE SOFA, SHOUTING “GO AWAY, YOU’RE A STRANGER.” BUT HE STAYED—HE TAUGHT HER TO RIDE A BIKE, SAT UP WITH HER THROUGH CHICKENPOX, SOLD HIS MOTORBIKE FOR HER BRACES, WORKED DOUBLE SHIFTS TO PAY HER UNI FEES. “DAD” IGOR ONLY SHOWED UP EVERY FEW MONTHS, BROUGHT A TEDDY, TOLD STORIES OF BUSINESS GLORY, GAVE NOTHING MORE—NOT EVEN CHILD SUPPORT. LATER, ALINA ASKED VIC FOR £1,000 TO COVER THE RESTAURANT DEPOSIT, BECAUSE HER DAD’S BANK ACCOUNT WAS “FROZEN,” AND VIC GAVE HIS OWN SAVINGS—MEANT FOR HIS CAR REPAIRS. ON THE WEDDING DAY, IGOR IN HIS RENTED TUX WALKED HER DOWN THE AISLE; THE GUESTS MARVELED AT THE “FATHER AND DAUGHTER RESEMBLANCE,” NOT KNOWING THE TRUTH. VIC HEARD IGOR BOASTING ON THE PHONE: “LOVELY WEDDING, SUCKERS PAY—SHE’S JUST A RESOURCE.” BUT IT WAS ALINA WHO OVERHEARD, DEVASTATED. VIC OFFERED ONLY HIS JACKET AND KINDNESS. WHEN IT CAME TIME FOR THE FATHER-DAUGHTER DANCE, ALINA TOOK THE MIC: “A FATHER-DAUGHTER DANCE ISN’T WITH THE ONE WHO GAVE YOU LIFE—BUT THE ONE WHO STOOD BY YOU. DAD VIC, THIS DANCE IS YOURS.” THREE YEARS LATER, HOSPITALISED AFTER A HEART ATTACK, VIC SEES ALINA AND HIS GRANDSON; THEY HOLD HIS HAND, CALL HIM “GRANDDAD.” HIS WEALTH ISN’T MONEY—IT’S FAMILY. SOMETIMES, LIFE PUTS EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE. A TRUE FATHER ISN’T THE ONE ON YOUR BIRTH CERTIFICATE, BUT THE ONE WHO HOLDS YOU WHEN YOU FALL. DO YOU HAVE A STEPDAD WHO BECAME MORE THAN A FATHER? OR DO YOU THINK BLOOD MATTERS MOST? 👨‍👧

George, please dont take this the wrong way. But Id really like Dad to walk me down the aisle.

Parental Love: Ellie Sighs with Relief as She Puts Her Children—Four-Year-Old Millie and Little David, Just Eighteen Months—into a London Taxi After an Idyllic Visit to Grandma’s, Filled with Biscuits, Hugs, and a Touch More Joy Than Usual at Home, Only to Face a Heart-Stopping Mix-Up at the Corner Shop That Reminds Every Parent How Fierce and Unbreakable Their Instinct to Protect Truly Is

Parental Love Emily let out a weary but contented sigh as she settled her little ones into the taxi.

I Miss Him—I’ve Never Missed Someone Like This Before, Though I Didn’t Always Feel Entirely Right With Him and There Were Things I Didn’t Like. We Met on Facebook, Exchanged Messages, and Went Out for Coffee—That Night in a Cold, Clear London Park, I Felt a Sense of ‘Home’ in His Embrace, Even Though He Seemed Reserved and Distant. Our Days Became Filled with Deep Conversations, Dreams, and Morning Texts; We Made Things Official but Complications with His Ex-Girlfriend and Financial Strains Began to Surface. As Our Relationship Changed and Fell Apart—From Sharing Medieval-Style Birthday Dinners to Awkward Silences About Food at His Flat—I Realized He Wasn’t the Man I Wanted Beside Me, Despite Our Hopes and Plans. After Tearful Goodbyes, Regretful Messages, and Online Drama with His Past, I Knew I Was Changed—Though I Sometimes Miss the Good Moments, I’m Certain I Brought Him Peace and Pride, and That He Won’t Find the Same With Her, Nor Be the Man He’d Want the World to See.

I miss him. Ive never missed someone in quite this way, not with such odd pangs in my chest, not when