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His Beard Is Silver, But His Heart Is Golden: My Year-Long Romance with a Sheffield Gentleman, a Heartbreaking Letter, and the True Love I Found Next Door with Good Old Nick

A BEARD OF GREY, BUT A SOUL SO FAIR “You lied to me the whole time! This is the end of our correspondence.

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Forget About Me Forever: A Tale of Lost Love and Lingering Shadows

Forget about me forever, she hissed, as if shed cut a cord, forget you ever had a daughter, my daughter

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Everything Happens for the Best Margaret Smith, a strong-willed mother, had always shaped her daughter, Victoria, in her own image, believing she knew what was best for her. Margaret, a successful woman in the construction business—a field dominated by men—insisted that her daughter follow her guidance at every turn, never allowing a step off her carefully plotted path. Victoria, eager to please and devoted to her mother, did everything she could to live up to these high expectations, even when the pressure became overwhelming. Childhood mishaps and school triumphs alike were met with her mother’s exacting standards, and Victoria graduated top of her class, as was expected. Despite her wishes to attend university in another city, Margaret forbade it—Victoria had to remain under her watchful eye. At university, Victoria fell hard for Josh, a charming, blue-eyed fellow student who was struggling more than she with his studies. Victoria often ended up doing his coursework, and their relationship blossomed, with Josh meeting her parents and even passing Margaret’s scrutiny, though Margaret remained unconvinced of his worthiness. Insisting her daughter could do better, Margaret maintained strict control over Victoria’s life. Despite her mother’s objections, Victoria defied her for the first time and eventually married Josh after university. Life, however, had its twists: Josh, once labeled a mediocre student, landed a prestigious job and began to outshine his studious wife in the professional world. Victoria continued working for her mother and soon felt the trap of never-ending supervision. The marriage soured, with Josh eventually leaving to pursue a new relationship, and Victoria finally broke free—quitting her mother’s company, moving out, and starting over on her own. One day, after a literal misstep and an injured ankle, Victoria was helped by a friendly passerby, John. A hospital visit turned into friendship, and friendship quickly blossomed into love. Four months later, they married, and a year after that welcomed their daughter, Katie. When asked about her wonderful husband, Victoria would just laugh and say, “He picked me up off the street—ask him if you don’t believe me!” Thank you for reading, subscribing, and for all your support. Wishing you every happiness in life.

Whatever Happens is for the Best Margaret Catherinemother of Alicemoulded her child in her own image

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My wife suggested we give up our bedroom to her parents for the entire Christmas holiday, and that we

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Go, and Never Come Back — “Go, do you hear me?” Mikhail whispered through tears. “Go, and never come back! Never.” With trembling hands, the boy unclipped the heavy metal chain, pulled Berta toward the gate, flung it open, and tried to push her out onto the lane. She didn’t understand what was happening. Could she really be cast out? Why? She hadn’t done anything wrong… “Go, please,” Mikhail repeated, hugging his dog. “You can’t stay here. He’ll be back any minute and—” At that moment, the house door burst open and drunken Vasily stumbled out onto the porch, axe in hand. ***** If only people could imagine, even for a moment, how hard life can be for dogs forced onto the streets, many would surely look at them with more pity and understanding than with outrage and contempt, as so often happens. But how could people ever know the trials our four-legged friends face or what they must endure? Dogs can’t tell their stories. Nor complain of their fate. They hold all their pain inside. Well, perhaps I’ll tell you just one story. A story of love, betrayal, and loyalty… Let me start by telling you that Berta was unwanted from a very young age. What exactly her first owner found so objectionable about her remains unknown. But for some reason, he decided one day to take the two-month-old pup to the nearest village and… leave her by the roadside. Yes, just leave her. He couldn’t even be bothered to take her into the village, where someone might have taken her in. He just left the pup next to the road and drove off to the city with a clear conscience. Cars, buses, lorries, all thundered down that road at terrifying speed – a single wrong move and the tiny puppy could have ended up beneath the wheels. Perhaps that’s what her owner was counting on. Even if she didn’t die in traffic, she never would have survived long without food or water. She was only a baby, after all. But that day, her luck turned. That day, a yet-unnamed little pup met Mikhail. And because of that, she lived. It happened that, on that very day, Mikhail’s dad had given him a brand-new bike for his fourteenth birthday, and the boy was eager to have his first ride. “Just don’t go beyond the village,” Antonina called as he pedalled off, brimming with excitement. “You hear me, son?” “Alright, Mum…” Misha called back joyfully. “All will be well—oooh…” But Mikhail did go beyond the village, because the roads in the village were terrible – pothole after pothole. Not just impractical for cycling, even walking was tricky. And just outside the village, a brand-new tarmac road had recently been laid, and Mikhail wanted to ride on it, fast. There were usually few cars, and being the weekend, the roads were quiet. As he neared the main road and was preparing to turn back, he spotted a little puppy running frantically along the verge, dashing towards cars then springing away at the last moment. It was a frightening sight. “What’s wrong with it… and what’s it doing there?” Mikhail wondered, dismounting. He laid his bike gently on the grass and hurried over to the puppy. ***** “Mum, Dad, look who I found!” Mikhail beamed as he entered the house. “She was dumped on the road. Can we keep her? She’s lovely.” “Misha, you went out past the village?” Antonina scolded. “I told you!” “Mum, I only wanted a quick ride to the road and back,” he said guiltily. “And as you see, it was worth it. That puppy might have died if I hadn’t picked her up.” “And you?” Antonina sighed. “Did you think about yourself, son? You could have been hit by a car. Children mustn’t be alone near the road. Especially on bikes.” “Mum, I promise I won’t do it again. So… what about the puppy? Can we keep her? I’ll look after her. I’ve wanted a dog for ages… and it’s my birthday…” “So it’s your birthday,” Antonina shook her head. “You deserve a good hiding for not listening.” Mikhail hugged the puppy tighter, afraid his parents would take her away. “Tonia, don’t scold the lad like a schoolboy,” his father said, slightly tipsy and in a good mood. “He’s fourteen today! A proper young man. And he’s found a fine puppy. Not some mangy stray – she looks purebred. Let her guard the yard. Keep her, son, I don’t mind.” “Well, if Dad doesn’t mind, I don’t either,” Antonina smiled. “Hooray! Thank you! You’re the best parents in the world!” Mikhail was over the moon. That same day, he named his dog (well, his girl dog) Berta. At first he thought she was a boy, but on closer inspection, discovered otherwise – and she turned out to be a wonderful girl: gentle, kind, affectionate. She and Mikhail bonded instantly. Forgetting all about his new bike, Mikhail and his furry friend spent every day together, and life seemed perfect. What could possibly go wrong when everything ended so well? The puppy was saved from certain death, Mikhail was delighted to have the dog he’d always dreamed of (secretly – he’d believed his father would never allow it), and his parents were happy their son was so cheerful. Happy ever after? If only… But bad things did happen, six months later. It all started when Vasily, Mikhail’s father, lost his job and began to drink, heavily. He spent the family’s savings and ignored all of Antonina’s pleas or warnings. The more she implored, the angrier he became. Eventually, even Antonina got on his nerves. Vasily became a different person – vodka changed him into a cruel, angry brute. He even occasionally hit his wife, often over the smallest things – or no reason at all. Bread missing from the fridge, a leaky roof, rising prices – it was all Antonina’s fault. There was no point explaining: “Me?! My fault?” he’d roar. In reality, it was all down to him. No one forced him to drink. He could have found another job: maybe not in the village, but in the city – as a driver, a loader, anything. His son was soon applying to university, and they needed money. But Vasily didn’t want to work in the city. And since the farm where he’d worked for more than twenty years had gone under, there was no work in the village. Certainly nothing decent. “Tonya! Where have you hidden my vodka?!” Vasily would shout first thing each morning with a hangover. Antonina tried everything to stop him – but nothing worked. Speak back to him, and there’d be a major row; hide his vodka, there’d be violence. Antonina strictly forbade her son to get involved, to avoid catching the worst of his father’s temper. At moments like these, Mikhail would leave and sit with Berta, stroking her head in silence, listening to the sounds of his parents’ arguments. And Berta, sensing his pain, would lick his salty tears. She supported him the only way she could. And she, too, would gaze sadly towards the house. One day, Mikhail got caught in the crossfire himself, when his mother was at the shops and he was out in the yard with Berta. Vasily summoned him, grabbed him by the arm, and cuffed him, again and again. Mikhail tried to bear it but eventually cried out in pain, and, twisting free, managed to escape. Berta, to everyone’s amazement, barked fiercely at Vasily – so fiercely that he faltered. Mikhail seized the moment and fled, but knew his father wouldn’t let this pass and would soon return – with something heavy. What should he do? “Go, do you hear me?” Mikhail whispered through tears. “Go, and never come back! Never.” With trembling hands, the boy unclipped Berta’s chain, pulled her to the gate, swung it open and pushed her towards the road. She didn’t understand what was happening. Could she really be cast out? Why? She’d done nothing wrong… “Go, please,” Mikhail said again, hugging his dog. “You can’t stay here. My dad will come back and he’ll…” At that very moment, the door burst open and out staggered a drunken Vasily, brandishing an axe. “Misha!” came the furious shout. “Misha, why did you let the dog loose? Did anyone ask you to?” “Dad, don’t…” Mikhail said fearfully, backing away. In that moment, Mikhail was so frightened he was ready to run away with his dog. But… he couldn’t leave his mother alone with such a monster. “What do you mean, ‘don’t’? Don’t touch the dog? She shouldn’t have barked at me. I fed her, gave her water, and she barks at me… I’ll sort her out, and then I’ll sort you out. Where’s the respect, eh? I’ll teach you to respect your elders.” Vasily took a step forward, stumbled, managed to grip a post, and then started quickly down the steps. “Bring her here!” “Vasya, don’t, please…” Antonina screamed, returning from the shop. “She’s just a baby! You’ll kill her!” “Don’t you beg me. This cur needs to learn who’s boss! Misha, bring her here!” They couldn’t wait any longer. Mikhail turned to Berta, looked her right in the eyes, kissed her soft black nose and, pushing her hard on the road, shouted: “Go! Go now! And forgive us… Please forgive us, Berta. I never wanted this to happen…” “You little—!” Vasily raged, realising what his son was doing, but too late. And Berta, giving Mikhail one last look, ran towards the woods – the only place she could hide. “Don’t come back, Berta, or he’ll kill you!” Mikhail shouted after her. What happened next, Berta never saw. She only hoped that her beloved boy and his mother would be alright. ***** Since that moment, it wasn’t a month, or even a year – but a whole seven years. Seven long years of waiting and hoping that one day she might see Mikhail again. But each year, hope faded. Mikhail and Antonina were gone from the village. Berta returned only six months after she ran away, but… slowly nudged the slightly open gate and found only a burnt-out house. No one there. Not Mikhail, nor Antonina, nor Vasily (who Berta least wished to see). She returned three or four more times, but never found a soul. Deep down, she didn’t sense anything bad had happened to them – they must just have moved on. But where, and when, Berta had no idea. She realised they’d probably never return. Their home was gone, her own family was gone… She wandered for a year or more between villages, never staying in any one place, until she was found by an old man – near the same village where she once lived. Déjà vu… “Lost, are you?” the old man with silver hair and a long beard chuckled. “Want to come live with me?” Berta followed – she had no other option. And the old man, as it turned out, though partial to a drop himself, was kind. He kept her well-fed with broths, porridge, and meaty bones. He took her to work – as a night watchman at the cemetery. At first, Berta was uneasy among so many graves, but she got used to it – and to Nikolai Fyodorovich, as the old man was called. He proved a decent sort, just lonely and longing for company. When he drank, unlike Vasily, he was never violent – if anything, he’d sigh and tell Berta sad stories, about being abandoned by his wife, estranged from his daughter, and his life as a failure. At such times Berta would curl up beside him, listening, knowing how much it meant. When he fell silent, she’d remember happier times: Antonina, Mikhail – and try to forget Vasily, once and for all. But fate had another twist. One day, during her rounds at the cemetery, Berta came across Vasily’s grave. She could hardly believe it: but the scent was the same – full of bitterness and drink. “Why did you stop?” Nikolai Fyodorovich asked, noticing the dog by a grave. “Vasily… that must be the one who burned in his own house.” Berta looked at him in surprise. “Yes, there was such a man. His wife and son, thank God, left for the city, but he drank himself silly and suffocated in the fire. A stupid death. People said he abused his family. If so, he got what he deserved. But… about the dead, speak well or not at all. Let’s go. May the earth rest lightly on him.” Berta lived nearly five years with the cemetery watchman, but when he died, she was alone once again. Old now, she knew no one would take her in, so she decided to remain at the cemetery, where food could sometimes be found. This would be her resting place too; she needed no new master – and she saw Nikolai not as a ‘master’ but as a fellow sufferer. So, as the first snow fell, something utterly unexpected happened. That day, on her usual foraging walk, she heard voices near Vasily’s grave – a man and a woman. Unusual for the usually quiet cemetery. Berta crept closer, curiosity piqued, to see who could be visiting Vasily. “I told you, Oksana – it’s a bad idea coming here,” said the man. “What do I need to be at my father’s grave for? After everything he did, why should I forgive him… for what? For putting my mum in her grave early?” “You must, Misha… forgive and let go. These nightmares will stop, I know it! No matter what, he was your father. And if his memory is haunting your dreams, he needs forgiveness.” “And how would you know that?” “My grandma always said – forgive and everyone will rest easier, you and your father.” “Alright… Maybe you’re right.” Mikhail looked at his father’s grave, frowned, then cleared his brow and said: “I forgive you, Dad. For me, for Mum… and for Berta. If only you hadn’t made me send my best friend away. I hope she’s OK.” All that time, Berta stood quietly behind Mikhail, barely believing her eyes. It was him! Her beloved boy. He had grown, become a man, but she knew him instantly. Would Mikhail recognise her? Sensing eyes on his back, Mikhail turned suddenly and froze. “Mish, what’s wrong?” Oksana asked, worried. “You’ve seen a ghost!” “Not a ghost… a dog,” he murmured. “So? There are dogs at cemeteries all the time. Are you frightened?” “I think… I think I’ve seen her before. Wait, that’s…” He took a few steps towards Berta, hesitated, then took a few more – his doubts falling away with every stride. Berta wagged her tail and stepped closer, then both raced to each other. Oksana scarcely had time to blink, and Mikhail was on his knees, hugging his dog for the first time in seven years, while Berta licked his cheeks, his nose, his chin. Her deepest dream had finally come true: after all those long years of waiting faithfully, she was reunited with her boy. ***** Of course Mikhail took Berta home, and she became fast friends with his new human companion. They all lived together: first three of them; then four, after Berta found a stray kitten and they unanimously adopted him too; then five, as a new baby – Nikita – arrived. Mikhail repaired the village house, and the whole family – people and animals – would visit there every year. And after all the suffering both Mikhail and Berta had endured, they were, at last, truly happy.

Go Away and Don’t Come Back Go, do you hear me? I whispered through tears, my voice shaking.

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Granddad It Happened One Summer Evening: Heading Home from Practice, I Saw an Old Man Fallen on the Pavement. Everyone Passing By Thought He Was Drunk and Avoided Him, but He Was Reaching Out for Help, Mumbling Unintelligibly. My Mum Always Taught Me to Lend a Hand Where I Can, so I Approached and Asked, “Do You Need Help?” He Couldn’t Answer Coherently, Just Reached Out to Me. A Woman Walking Past Warned, “Stay Away, He’s Drunk and Dirty, You’ll Catch Something!” I Noticed His Hands Were Covered in Blood and Fear Rose Up in Me. He Tried to Tell Me What Happened but Only Managed Mumbles—He Pointed to a Bag Beside Him Full of Broken Beer Bottles. That’s Why His Hands Were Bleeding. I Cleaned His Hands with Wet Wipes Before Helping Him Up—Not Wanting to Get Blood All Over My Clothes, If I’m Honest… Once His Hands Were Clean, I Helped Him to His Feet and Tried to Ask His Address, but He Couldn’t Respond Properly. Instead, He Signalled Where to Go and Led Me to a Block of Flats in the Same Estate. He Pointed at the Intercom and Indicated Two Numbers—I Realised It Was His Flat Number. I Buzzed the Flat and a Woman’s Alarmed Voice Came Through. The Old Man Mumbled Again, and Seconds Later a Man and Woman Rushed Out. They Checked Him Over First, then the Man Thanked Me and Carried the Old Gentleman Inside. The Woman Was Eager to Thank Me and Insisted I Wait, Suddenly Remembering Something. She Darted Up the Stairs and Returned with a Massive Basket of Raspberries from Their Own Garden—She Boasted About Them. I Tried to Refuse, but She Was Insistent. She Explained How Distraught They Were When They’d Arrived Home from Their Allotment and Found Grandpa Missing. Here’s the Thing: During the War, He’d Been Captured by the Germans. Holding an Important Post, He Injured His Own Tongue to Stop Himself Talking. With No Sanitation in the Camps, He Developed an Infection and Lost Half His Tongue—Now He Can Hardly Speak, Only Makes Noises Like a Deaf-Mute. Teens in Our Estate Started Drinking Beer in the Playground, Smashing Bottles Everywhere. Even After We Complained to Police, Nothing Changed—Kids Kept Getting Cut. Ever Since My Daughter Sonya Sliced Her Foot, Grandpa Has Been Picking Up the Glass to Keep the Playground Safe for Children, Despite His Bad Legs. We Tried Everything to Stop Him—Even Hiding the Keys—but He Still Slipped Out. Last Time He Fell, He Lay Five Hours on Cold Ground Before Anyone Helped. We Were About to Start Searching When You Called Downstairs. Thank You. After Hearing Her Story, I Was Left Speechless. She Pressed Raspberries into My Hands, and I Bowed—Yes, Bowed—to Her, Words Failing Me. On The Way Home, I Burst Into Tears. Why Is It Like This in Our Country? Why Do We Only Think of Ourselves? To Everyone: If You See Someone Fallen and Unable to Get Up, Don’t Assume the Worst. Approach and Offer Your Help—They Might Truly Need It. Especially to Young People: Let’s Remember We’re HUMANS, Not ANIMALS!

Granddad It was a summers evening, and I was on my way home after sports practice. The air felt thick

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FIRE CRASHERS: A Bold New Adventure Unfolds

Let your wife stay at the country cottage for now, the commanding voice of my motherinlaw bellowed from

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We Meet the Wrong People, We Marry the Wrong Ones: A Life’s Journey of Family, Hardship, and Finding True Love in an English Village

We meet the wrong ones; we marry the wrong ones Lifes journey isnt an easy road, and theres no dodging fate.

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She Stopped Speaking to Her Husband After His Birthday Outburst—and For the First Time, He Got Scared

I stopped speaking to my husband after what he did at my birthday party, and for the first time, he was

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Grandad It Was a Summer Evening: Walking Home From Sports Practice, I Saw an Elderly Man Lying Helpless on the Pavement While Everyone Avoided Him, Thinking He Was Drunk—But Something Urged Me to Help, Leading to an Unexpected Encounter With His Family, a Basket of Raspberries, and a Lesson About Compassion That Left Me in Tears Over Why We Sometimes Forget Our Humanity

Grandad Its a summer evening. Im walking home after training, the sun just starting to dip behind the