La vida

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

La vida

Changed His Mind About the Wedding Archie spent long evenings in his laboratory, endlessly pouring mysterious liquids from one test tube to another and analyzing powders, steadfast in his belief that his diligent work would soon yield a breakthrough—a unique product extracted from the roots of a rare plant. At forty, the enthusiastic scientist was so absorbed in his research that he hardly noticed the admiring glances of young Sophie, the new cleaner at the institute. Driven by dreams of scientific fame, Archie was oblivious to the quiet hours Sophie spent leaning on her mop, watching him from the doorway. But one evening, Sophie plucked up her courage: “Mr. Archie Glen, you’ve been glued to that chair since morning. Fancy a cup of tea? I happened to bring my kettle—and some homemade sausages my mum sent from the village.” At the mention of sausages, Archie paused, intrigued. As Sophie fetched her container, Archie, the ever-thorough scientist, asked: “How long’s the food been in your rucksack today?” Flustered, Sophie replied, “Since this morning, but the changing room’s chilly—heating’s not even on yet!” Archie hesitated, worrying about food safety and microbial growth, yet the aroma eventually got the better of him. He found the sausage irresistible, and even complimented Sophie, who beamed with pride. Their unlikely friendship blossomed into an awkward romance. Archie, who had never paid women much mind in his forty years, now found himself distracted from his formulas and even plagued by scandalously vivid dreams about Sophie. Before visiting Sophie’s family, Archie made every effort: dressing up smartly, dabbing cologne, and letting Sophie tweeze out his grey hairs while he nervously anticipated meeting her mother. But from the moment they arrived at Sophie’s ramshackle countryside home, disaster struck. Her mother was hostile, appalled at Archie’s age, and deeply suspicious, while Sophie’s handsome young stepfather did nothing to ease the tension. Accusations flew, arguments erupted, and poor Archie fled the house as a chair whizzed by his ear—only to get lost in the snowdrifts and suffer a blood pressure spike. After a hectic scene involving a village paramedic, Archie realized he had landed in a world as unpredictable as it was uncomfortable. When Sophie tried to patch things up, Archie discovered his enthusiasm for rustic romance had well and truly vanished. Back in London, Archie was coldly polite, settling back into old habits—counting up food expenses, paying Sophie as a housekeeper, and sending her home after work with firm words and barely a glance. Whatever ideas he’d had about marriage had been thoroughly extinguished. He wasn’t getting married after all.

Changed His Mind About Getting Married Arthur spent long hours in his lab, endlessly transferring liquids

La vida

012

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!

La vida

A Baby for a Friend: How Lily Chose Her Daughter Over Betrayal, Poverty, and Family Schemes—A Tale of Loss, Manipulation, and Maternal Instinct in Modern England

A Child for a Friend When I, Lily Evans, had finally reached the final months of my pregnancy, everything

La vida

012

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?

La vida

016

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

La vida

He Set His Sights on Another Man’s Wife: The Story of Victor Dudnikov, a Moody Art Teacher, His Long-Suffering Wife Sophia, and the Unexpected Visitor Who Changed Everything

Set his sights on another mans wife When they moved in together, James Ashford quickly proved himself

La vida

Bittersweet Bliss – Why Don’t You Like That Young Lady? She’s Sweet, Tidy, Smart—and She Loves You, My Son: Elena’s Stern Advice, Denis’s Reluctance, Failed Loves, And the Unexpected Destiny on a Train That Led to an Unassuming Woman, Three Kids, and Their ‘Sunshine Child’—A Story of Difficult, Yet Cherished, Happiness

BITTERSWEET HAPPINESS Whats wrong with this young lady then? Shes a good girl. Well-mannered, tidy, studies hard.

La vida

013

My Beloved Wife —How have you managed to live with the same wife for so many years? What’s the secret?—my brother would ask me every time he visited. —Love and enormous patience. That’s the whole secret,—I’d always reply. —That recipe isn’t for me. I love all women. Each one is a mystery. As for living with a book I’ve already read—no, thank you,—my brother would smirk. My younger brother Peter married at eighteen; his bride was ten years his senior. Kind-hearted Anna fell hopelessly in love with Peter for life. For Peter, she was little more than a fleeting amusement. Anna became a proper part of her husband’s household—one bustling with relatives—and gave birth to a son, Michael. The newlyweds received a tiny room to themselves. Anna treasured her delicate collection of porcelain figurines—ten rare pieces, all displayed proudly on an old dresser. Our large family knew how precious they were to her. She’d often stand, gazing at them in quiet admiration. Back then, I was only getting ready to start a family of my own, searching for that one special woman to be my wife for life. To my delight, I found her and we’ve now been married for over fifty years. Peter and Anna were married for ten years, but it brought Anna little to boast of. She tried her best to be a devoted wife and loving mother, compliant, gentle, agreeable. Still, something was missing for Peter. One evening, my brother came home the worse for drink. Something about Anna annoyed him—her look, her manner—so he started picking at her, joking crudely, grabbing her arms. Sensing an argument brewing, Anna silently left the room, taking little Michael outside. Suddenly, a terrible crash rang out. Anna knew instantly—it was her figurines. She rushed inside and couldn’t believe her eyes. Her beloved collection lay smashed on the floor, all but one piece miraculously spared. Anna picked up the lone survivor, kissed it, but said nothing to her barbarian of a husband. Only her tear-filled eyes spoke. After that, a deep rift formed between Peter and Anna. I think Anna, in her mind, grew distant from the family. She still did all her wifely duties, kept house well, but it was with effort, without enthusiasm. Peter turned more often to drink. Vulgar women and shady friends began turning up. Anna guessed what was going on, but closed into herself and grew distant, untethered. Peter all but abandoned his family, and Anna—watching his antics—realised you can’t chase the wind across a field. In the end, Anna and Peter quietly divorced—without shouting or blame. Anna took Michael and moved back to her hometown. The sole surviving figurine stood on the dresser, left behind in memory. Peter didn’t mourn. Instead, he dived headlong into a wild, reckless life. He fell in love easily and parted ways even more so. He married and divorced three more times, drank heavily, and partied without restraint. Yet, curiously, Peter was a respected economist at a university, often called to consult in other cities. Even a textbook bore his name. His future looked bright, but alcohol and chaos ruined everything. One day, our family thought Peter had finally settled down and was marrying a “stunning” woman. We attended a modest wedding. The bride had a seventeen-year-old son, and it quickly became clear that Peter and the lad would never get along. They were simply too different. Peter ignored the obvious, but after five years, a furious row between the two ended in divorce. Afterward, a string of fleeting “current” sweethearts—Lila, Natalie, Sarah—flitted through Peter’s life. He adored each one, certain he’d found his forever. But life had other plans: at fifty-three, Peter fell gravely ill. By then, no women were left by his side. Only my sisters and I cared for him as his illness confined him to bed. —Simon, there’s a suitcase under my bed. Fetch it,—Peter whispered, too weak to move. I found a dusty suitcase and opened it. Inside—carefully wrapped in soft cloths—was a collection of porcelain figurines. —I gathered these for Anna. I’ve never forgotten that silent reproach when she saw her smashed collection. She endured so much because of me. Remember my business trips? I bought figurines wherever I could. There’s a false bottom—take the money from there. It’s all my savings. Give it to Anna. Ask her to forgive me. We’ll never see each other again. Promise me you’ll give everything to Anna,—Peter turned to the wall. —Alright, Peter. I promise,—I choked out, knowing I’d soon lose my brother for good. —Anna’s address is under my pillow,—he added, never turning to face me again. Anna still lived in her childhood town. Michael was seriously ill, the doctors perplexed. “Go to Europe,” they said, “perhaps you’ll get help there.” I discovered this from Anna’s letter hidden under Peter’s pillow. Anna and Peter had quietly kept in touch, but only through her letters; Peter never replied. After Peter’s funeral, I set out to fulfill his last request. I met Anna at a quiet railway station. She was delighted to see me: —Oh, Simon, you look so much like Peter! Two peas in a pod. I handed Anna the suitcase, as Peter wished: —Anna, forgive your wayward husband. This is for you. There’s money, and something else from Peter. You’ll see at home. Remember, you were always Peter’s beloved wife. With that, Anna and I parted for good. Some time later, I received a single letter from her: “Simon, thank you to both you and Peter. I am grateful God brought Peter into my life. We sold the figurines for a good price—a true collector bought them. I could never look at them without remembering they once passed through Peter’s hands. It’s a pity he left so soon. With the money, Michael and I moved to Canada, as my sister had long invited us. I had nothing left holding me back. I’d hoped Peter would ask me to stay—he didn’t, but he still saw me as his beloved wife. So he didn’t forget me after all. By the way, Michael is doing much better here, and he is happy. Farewell.” No return address.

A WIFE OF ONE’S OWN How do you manage to stay with the same wife for so many years? Whats the trick?

La vida

013

Recently I Met a Woman Strolling Down the Street With Her One-and-a-Half-Year-Old Daughter, Entirely Lost in Her Own World – Her Heartbreaking Tale of Love, Marriage, and the Struggles That Followed Forever Changed the Way I See Family Life

Not long ago, I came across a woman strolling down the street with her eighteen-month-old daughter, completely