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My True Wife – Every Time My Brother Visits, He Asks How I’ve Stayed Married for So Many Years. I Always Say: “Love and Endless Patience—That’s the Secret.” But My Brother Wasn’t Meant for One Woman. He Married Young, Toyed with Asya’s Heart, and Left Her with Only One Precious Porcelain Figurine. After Many Divorces and a Life Spiraling Away, He Tried to Make Amends with a Suitcase Full of Porcelain and His Final Savings. I Carried His Last Gift to the Only Woman He Ever Truly Hurt—The Wife Who Never Stopped Being Family.

MY TRUE WIFE How have you managed to live with the same wife for so many years? What’

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Weary of Mother-in-Law and Wife: That Evening, the Most Stoic Man in Our Village, Steve Johnson, Came to My Rural Clinic—A Man of Few Words and Iron Endurance Who Carried Silent Burdens No One Noticed—But That Night, Even He Broke Down, Teaching Us All That Sometimes Only Kindness Can Mend a Worn-Out Soul

Fed up with the Wife and Mother-in-Law That evening I received a visit from the quietest, most long-suffering

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Mum, I’m Getting Married! – announced Victor cheerfully. “That’s nice,” his mother, Mrs. Sophia Parker, replied rather flatly. “Mum, what’s wrong?” Victor asked, surprised. “Nothing… Where do you plan to live?” his mother squinted at him. “Here, if that’s alright? It’s a three-bedroom flat, surely we’ll all fit?” Victor responded. “Do I even have a choice?” his mother asked. “Well, renting’s really expensive…” Victor said glumly. “So, no choice then,” Mrs. Sophia muttered, resigned. “Mum, rent is so high these days, we’d barely have money for food!” Victor pleaded. “It’s not forever, we’ll save for our own place. We’ll get there much quicker this way.” Mrs. Sophia shrugged. “I hope so… Here’s the deal: you move in, stay as long as you need, but there are two conditions—bills split three ways and I’m not the housemaid.” “Of course, mum, agreed!” Victor replied immediately. The newlyweds had a simple wedding and moved in together: Mrs. Sophia, Victor, and his bride, Irene. From the very first day, Mrs. Sophia always seemed to have somewhere urgent to be. When the young couple came home from work, she was out, leaving empty pans and a messy flat—just as the newlyweds had left it. “Mum, where were you?” Victor asked one evening. “Oh, darling, I was invited to join the Folk Song Choir at the Community Hall. You know I have a voice…” “Really?” Victor said, surprised. “Yes! You’d forgotten, but I mentioned it before. It’s mostly other pensioners like me. I had a lovely time! I’ll go again tomorrow!” Mrs. Sophia said excitedly. “And tomorrow—choir again?” Victor asked. “No, tomorrow is a poetry evening. We’ll read Shakespeare—my favourite, you know.” “Really?” Victor repeated, bewildered. “I told you! You never listen to your own mother,” Mrs. Sophia chided gently. Irene, the daughter-in-law, watched quietly without saying a word. Ever since her son married, Mrs. Sophia seemed to catch a second wind. She joined all sorts of senior clubs; her circle of friends grew, and they’d often visit for late-night tea and biscuits, bringing snacks, chatting, and playing bingo. Sometimes Mrs. Sophia was out for walks—or she’d get so engrossed in her dramas that she didn’t hear the kids come in. She pointedly avoided all housework, leaving everything to Victor and Irene. At first, they said nothing. Then Irene began to give side-eye, then grumbled with Victor, then Victor started to sigh loudly. But Mrs. Sophia paid them no mind, delightedly living her active, golden-years life. One day, she came back home beaming, humming “Greensleeves” under her breath. She breezed into the kitchen where the young couple were glumly eating their soup and announced: “Children, you can congratulate me! I’ve met a wonderful man—we’re off tomorrow to a spa retreat together! Isn’t that lovely?” “It is,” Victor and Irene agreed in unison. “And is it serious?” Victor asked, wary about a new housemate. “Too soon to say—I’ll know after the spa!” Mrs. Sophia declared, helping herself to soup and seconds with a hearty appetite. After the trip, Mrs. Sophia returned disappointed: Alex wasn’t her match, she said, but she insisted her best days were still ahead. Her clubs, walks, and gatherings continued in full force. In the end, one evening the young couple came home to an unkempt, empty kitchen—nothing to eat. Irene had enough, slammed the empty fridge door, and snapped: “Mrs. Parker! Would you mind helping out with the housework? The flat’s a tip and the fridge is bare! Why should we do all the chores and not you?” “And why are we so cranky?” Mrs. Sophia replied, taken aback. “If you lived alone, who’d clean up for you?” “But you’re here!” Irene objected. “I’m not your servant, I’ve done my years of housework! I told Victor, I’m not the maid—those were my terms. If he forgot to mention them to you, that’s not my fault. I’m not doing it! If you’re unhappy, you’re free to live elsewhere!” declared Mrs. Sophia, heading to her room. The next morning, humming “Early One Morning” to herself, dressed in a smart blouse and bright red lipstick, Mrs. Sophia set off for the Community Hall—her Folk Song Choir was waiting.

Mum, Im getting married! I said cheerfully. Thats nice, replied Margaret, my mother, without much enthusiasm.

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We Love Our Grandchildren, But We Just Haven’t Got the Strength to Keep Supporting Them Anymore

Our grandchildren are lovely, but we just dont have the strength to keep looking after them.

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An Enchanting Evening Meal: A Feast to Remember

Dinner Simon. Five years after his divorce Simon finally dared to look for something serious.

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Postage Stamp… When Love Sticks: A Family Torn Apart by a Husband’s Affair, a Sister’s Bitterness, and a Daughter’s Search for Answers—From Heartbreak and Revenge to Finding True Love at Last

A POSTAGE STAMP Williams left Emily, Mum sighed heavily down the line. What do you mean? I asked, confused.

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The Bitterness at the Bottom of My Heart “You belong in care already—get out of our family!” I screamed in a cracking voice. The target of my fury was my cousin, James. Oh, how I loved him as a child! Wheat-blonde hair, cornflower-blue eyes, a cheerful nature—that was James. …Relatives often gathered around the dinner table for special occasions. Out of all my cousins, I singled out James. He could charm with his words, weaving stories like lace. He was also a gifted artist; some evenings, he’d sketch five or six pictures in one sitting. I’d be transfixed—enraptured by their beauty. Quietly, I’d collect his drawings and hide them in my desk, treasuring my cousin’s creativity. James was two years older than me. When he was fourteen, tragedy struck—his mum died in her sleep, unexpectedly. Then came the question: what to do with James? The search turned first to his biological father. That wasn’t simple; his parents had long since divorced. His father had another family and “didn’t want to disrupt their peaceful life.” After that, all the relatives shrugged: “We’ve got our own problems, our own families…” Turns out, relatives are easy to find in daylight, but disappear after sunset. So, with two kids of their own, my parents took James in. After all, his late mum was my dad’s younger sister. At first, I was glad James would be living with us. But… On his very first day in our home, my favourite James’s behaviour unsettled me. Mum tried to comfort the orphan: “Do you want anything? Don’t be shy—just ask.” Immediately, James replied, “A train set.” Mind you, that was an expensive toy at the time. I was taken aback—your mum’s just died, and you’re thinking about a train set? How could you? But my parents bought him his dream toy, and that was just the beginning… “Buy me a tape recorder, jeans, a branded jacket…” This was the 1980s: not only were these things costly, they were hard to get. My parents, sacrificing for us, their own children, made sure the orphan’s wishes came true. My brother and I understood and didn’t complain. …When James turned sixteen, girls came along. My cousin turned out to be a hopeless romantic. Worse, he started pursuing me—his own cousin. But I played sport, and I could dodge his lecherous advances. We even fought over it. I would cry buckets. My parents never knew. Kids rarely share such things. After I pushed back hard, James swiftly turned to my friends, who—much to my annoyance—competed for his attention. …James also stole. Boldly, shamelessly. I remember saving my lunch money in a piggy bank for gifts for my parents. One day, it was empty! James denied everything—swore blind he didn’t take it. Didn’t blush, didn’t even seem embarrassed. My soul was in torment. How could he steal from us, from our own home? James was tearing apart our family. I sulked, upset; he genuinely couldn’t understand why I was so troubled—he thought we owed him everything. I grew to hate him. Finally, I screamed: “Get out of our family!” I remember lashing out at James with words, saying things you couldn’t fit in a hat… Mum barely calmed me down. From then on, James no longer existed for me. I ignored him completely. Later, I learned that our other relatives knew what sort of “specimen” James was too. They lived nearby and had seen it all. Our family lived in another part of town. James’s former teachers warned my parents: “You’ve taken on a burden—James will ruin your own children.” …At his new school, he met Kate. She fell for James for life, marrying him right after school. They had a daughter. Kate endured his antics, lies, countless affairs. Like they say: single, she suffered, married, it doubled. James took full advantage of Kate’s devotion. …He was conscripted into the Army—served in Yorkshire. There, James started a “second” family. Don’t ask me how—it must have been during leave. After demob, James stayed in Yorkshire; he had a son there. Kate, never one for dithering, went to Yorkshire and managed, by hook or by crook, to bring her husband back home. My parents never heard a word of thanks from their nephew—not that they took him in for that anyway. …Now, James Edward is 60 years old. He’s a member of the Church of England. He and Kate have five grandchildren. By all accounts, all seems well, but the bitterness in my heart from my relationship with James lingers, even now… And not even honey can sweeten it.

BITTERNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SOUL You belong in a boarding school, you menace! Get out of our family!

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Vitaly was just three years old when he lost his mother.

Victor Harper was only three when his mother was taken from him. She fell, screaming, as a roaring motorbike

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A Husband Worth More Than Bitterness: My Journey from Heartbreak and Hardship to Divorce—And Back to Unexpected Love with Igor

A HUSBAND MORE PRECIOUS THAN BITTER GRIEVANCES Edward, that was the final straw! Thats it, were done!

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We Love Our Grandchildren Dearly, But We Simply Don’t Have the Strength to Keep Supporting Them Anymore

Our grandchildren are lovely, but we just don’t have the energy to look after them anymore.