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Drifts of Destiny
Drifts of Chance Matthew, a thirty-five-year-old solicitor, loathed New Years Eve. To him, it wasnt a
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You Don’t Deserve It “I thought I’d never trust anyone again after my divorce,” Andrew turned an empty espresso cup in his hands, his voice cracking so convincingly that Kate couldn’t help but lean in. “You know, when someone betrays you, it’s like losing a piece of yourself. She left me scarred for life. I didn’t think I’d recover…” Andrew sighed heavily as he talked at length—about his ex-wife who never appreciated him, the pain that wouldn’t go away, and his fear of starting over. Each word landed softly on Kate’s heart, and she pictured herself as the woman who would restore his faith in love. Together, she would heal his wounds. He’d see that real happiness was only possible with her. Andrew mentioned Max on their second date, somewhere between dessert and coffee… “I’ve got a son, by the way. Seven years old. He’s with his mum, but spends every weekend with me. That’s how the court arranged things.” “That’s wonderful!” Kate beamed. “Children are a blessing.” She could already see it: Saturday breakfasts for three, trips to the park, cozy evenings watching TV. The boy needed a woman’s care, a mother’s warmth. She’d be a second mum—not a replacement, of course, but someone close, someone he could count on… “Are you sure you’re okay with that?” Andrew looked at her with a strange half-smile she mistook for distrust. “Most women run away when they find out about the kid.” “I’m not most women,” she replied, proudly. Their first weekend with Max was a celebration. Kate made blueberry pancakes—his favourite, as Andrew had warned her. She patiently went through his maths book, explained the sums in plain English, washed his dinosaur T-shirt, ironed his school uniform, made sure he was tucked up by nine. “You need a break,” she told Andrew once, smoothing his hair as he lounged on the couch, remote in hand. “I can handle this.” He nodded gratefully—or so she thought. Now she realized it was the nod of a man accepting what he felt was owed to him. Months blended into years. Kate worked as a logistics manager, out of the house by eight, back by seven. Decent salary—by London standards, at least. Enough for two. But there were three of them. “Another delay on the site,” Andrew would sigh, as if lighting struck every time. “The client’s let us down. But there’s a big contract coming soon, I promise.” The “big contract” had been on the horizon for a year and a half. Sometimes closer, sometimes further away, never materializing. But bills were reliable. Rent, utilities, groceries, maintenance, school supplies, new trainers, child support for Andrew’s ex. Kate paid everything quietly. She cut costs, packed leftovers for work, walked in the rain rather than pay for a cab. It had been a year since she’d afforded a manicure—she filed her nails herself now, trying not to remember when a salon wasn’t a luxury. In three years, Andrew gave her flowers exactly three times. Kate remembered each awkward bunch—cheap roses from the Tesco outside their block, wilted and with snapped stems, half-price specials. The first time: as apology after Andrew called her hysterical in front of Max. The second: after a row about her friend dropping in unannounced. The third: for missing her birthday because he stayed too long with mates—he’d simply forgotten. “Andrew, I don’t need expensive gifts,” she tried to choose her words gently. “But sometimes, I’d like to know you think of me. Even just a card…” His face twisted. “All you ever care about is money, isn’t it? Presents? What about love? What I’ve been through?” “That’s not—” “You don’t deserve it.” He flung the words at her like mud. “After everything I do for you, you’ve the nerve to complain.” Kate went quiet. She always did—it was simpler. Easier to live, to breathe, to pretend everything was fine. Meanwhile, Andrew always found money for pub nights with mates. Watching the game, cafés on Thursdays. He’d roll home, half-drunk, stinking of beer and sweat, flopping onto the bed without even noticing Kate was awake. She convinced herself this was normal. Love meant sacrifice. Love meant patience. He would change. He had to. She’d just give more, love harder—after all, he’d suffered so much… Talk of marriage was a minefield. “We’re happy as we are—why bother with a certificate?” Andrew swatted the subject away like a fly. “After what I went through with Melissa, I need time.” “It’s been three years, Andrew. That’s a long time.” “You’re pushing me. You’re always pushing!” He’d storm out, the conversation going nowhere. Kate wanted children. Her own. She was twenty-eight and her biological clock was getting louder every month. But Andrew had no plans to become a dad again—one son was enough, in his view. That Saturday, she asked for just one day—a single day. “The girls have invited me over. It’s been ages. I’ll be back in the evening.” Andrew looked at her as if she’d announced plans to move continents. “And what about Max?” “You’re his dad. Spend the day together.” “So you’re abandoning us? On a Saturday? When I was counting on time to relax?” Kate blinked. For three years, she’d never left them alone. Not once asked for a free day. She cooked, cleaned, tutored, washed, ironed—all on top of a full-time job. “I just want to see my friends. A few hours… And he’s your son, Andrew. Surely you can manage one day?” “You’re supposed to love my son like you love me!” he suddenly yelled. “You live in my flat, eat my food, and now you’ve got an attitude?!” His flat. His food. Kate paid for both, with her own salary. Three years she’d supported a man who shouted because she dared to ask for a day off. She looked at Andrew—at his distorted face, the vein throbbing at his temple, his clenched fists—and saw him, truly, for the first time. Not a wounded soul. Not a casualty of circumstance. But an adult who’d mastered the art of exploiting someone else’s kindness. Kate wasn’t his beloved, nor his future wife. She was a financial donor and free housekeeper. Nothing more. When Andrew left to drop Max at Melissa’s, Kate reached for her overnight bag. Her hands moved steadily—no trembling, no hesitation. Passport. Phone. Charger. A couple of T-shirts. Jeans. She could buy the rest later. None of it mattered. She didn’t bother with a note. What would be the point—explaining herself to someone who never truly saw her? The door shut quietly behind her, no fuss, no drama… The calls started within the hour. First one, then another, then a relentless barrage—her phone buzzing with Andrew’s fury. “Kate, where are you?! What’s going on?! I get home and you’re gone! What the hell do you think you’re playing at?! Where’s dinner? Am I supposed to go hungry? Unbelievable—” She listened to his voice—angry, entitled, self-righteous—and almost laughed. Even now, Andrew only thought of inconveniences to himself. Who’d cook his dinner. Not one “sorry.” Not even, “Are you alright?” Only: “How dare you?” Kate blocked his number, his messaging app, his social media—anywhere he could reach her, she put up a wall. Three years. Three years with a man who didn’t love her. Who used her kindness up. Who’d convinced her sacrifice equalled love. But that wasn’t love. Love doesn’t mean humiliation. Love doesn’t turn a human being into a servant. Strolling through London in the evening, Kate breathed easier than she had in years. She made a promise—never again to confuse love with self-abandonment. Never again to save those who trade on sympathy. To always choose herself. Only herself.
“I thought, after my divorce, Id never be able to trust anyone again,” James murmured, rolling
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Even the Good Ones Get Left Behind
In the mirror, Alice gazed at her own reflection: a beautiful thirty-five-year-old woman with melancholy eyes.
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I’m a Tired Single Mum Working as a Cleaner.
Im a exhausted single mum working as a cleaner. On my way home I spot a newborn abandoned on a cold bus stop.
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As Long As There’s Life, It’s Never Too Late: A Heartfelt Story of Family, Second Chances, and Finding Happiness at Any Age
As long as you’re alive, it’s never too late. A Story Well then, Mum, as we agreed, Ill pick
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The Long-Awaited Granddaughter Natalya Mikhailovna kept anxiously calling her son, who was away on yet another voyage. But there was still no signal. “Oh, what trouble have you gotten into now, my boy!” she sighed, worried, as she dialed his familiar number again. Call after call—no answer until he reached the next port, which might not happen soon. And at a time like this! For the second night, Natalya Mikhailovna couldn’t sleep—her son had really made a mess this time! *** This whole story began a few years ago, back when Misha never dreamed of taking up life at sea. Her son was already a grown man, but things with women never seemed to work out—they were always, as he put it, “not quite right.” With a pang in her heart, Natalya Mikhailovna watched as one relationship after another ended with perfectly lovely, respectable girls (at least in her opinion). “You’re impossible to please,” she’d scold him. “What woman will ever live up to your standards?” “I don’t see your point, Mum. You want a daughter-in-law so badly you don’t care who she really is?” “Of course I care! I want someone who will love you—who’s decent, that’s all!” He’d just stay silent—something that always annoyed Natalya Mikhailovna. What right had her own son, whom she’d raised and comforted, to act as if he knew better than she did? Who was the grown-up in this family anyway? “But what was wrong with Anastasia?!” she’d finally snap. “I’ve told you already.” “Well… fine.” Anastasia was a poor example, but Natalya Mikhailovna wasn’t ready to concede. “Maybe she wasn’t honest with you—but I still don’t quite get it…” “Mum, let’s not get into details. She wasn’t the one for me.” “What about Katie?” “Not Katie, either.” Calm, steady voice. “And Jenny? She was a good girl! Cheerful, helpful around the house—a real homemaker, wasn’t she?” “Yes, Mum, she was very sweet. But it turned out she never really loved me.” “And you? Did you love her?” “I suppose I didn’t.” “And Daria?” “Mum!” “Oh, what—‘Mum’! No one can ever please you! You’re just a womanizer! Why can’t you settle down, start a family, give me grandchildren?” “Let’s drop this pointless conversation!” Mikhail would finally snap, and leave. “He’s just like his father, so particular and stubborn!” Natalya Mikhailovna would fume after him. Months passed, girls drifted in and out of Misha’s life, but the one dream—seeing him happily married and fussing over grandchildren—remained unfulfilled. Then, Misha changed careers after running into an old friend, who offered him a job at sea. He accepted, despite his mother’s protests. “This is a great offer, Mum! Do you know how much guys earn on ships? We’ll be set for life!” “What good is money if you’re never home? You should be building a family, not running off to sea!” “A family needs to be provided for, too! And once I have kids, I’ll settle down for good. Better earn now while I’m still young—and then, everything else will fall into place!” He truly did earn well. After his first trip, he renovated her flat. After his second, he opened a savings account and handed her a bank card. “So you’ll never be in need!” “But I don’t need anything! Except grandchildren—and time’s running out. I’m getting old!” “Stop it, you’re not old! You’ve got years till retirement,” he laughed. Natalya Mikhailovna barely touched the card, living modestly on her own wages at the local chemist. She’d just smile at the growing balance: “Let him see how thrifty his mother is!” That became their routine. When Mikhail returned from a voyage, he’d catch up with friends, stay out late, and see other women—without ever introducing them to his mother. When she confronted him, he replied coldly: “That’s so you won’t get attached or fret over me not marrying them. I have no intention of marrying girls like that, Mum.” It hurt her. Especially when he said: “You’re too trusting. You never really knew those girls. They just acted nice for you; they weren’t what you thought.” The words stung. Trusting, as if that meant foolish. He’d called his own mother a fool! But one evening, she saw him with a new girl—and her old determination flared up. She approached boldly, forcing Misha to introduce the young woman, blushing and all. Milena was her name. She was tall, slim, curly-haired with gentle manners. Natalya Mikhailovna, delighted, thought: “Maybe this, finally, is the right one! Perhaps it’s a good thing nothing worked out with the others.” Their romance lasted Misha’s entire leave. By Natalya’s urging, Milena often visited, quickly endearing herself with her wit and grace. But as Misha prepared to leave for the next voyage—Milena vanished. “We’re not seeing each other anymore. And you shouldn’t, either,” her son said before departing. Natalya Mikhailovna puzzled and worried, but no answers were forthcoming. *** A year passed. Misha returned several times, but rebuffed all questions about Milena. “I don’t understand, Misha. What was wrong with this one?” she implored. “It’s my business, Mum. Don’t interfere. If we broke up, there was a reason. Please—don’t meddle in my life.” She almost cried. “But I just worry about you!” “You don’t need to! And I told you—don’t talk to Milena! Stop pestering me!” He was gone again, and she resumed her routine, nursing her sadness. Then one day while working at the pharmacy, a young woman came in for baby formula—it was Milena, pushing a stroller. Milena blushed and adjusted the hat on her little girl. “Milena! I’m so glad to see you! Misha won’t explain anything—he left again and won’t let me ask about you!” Natalya Mikhailovna burst out, overjoyed. “Is that so?” Milena answered sadly. “Well, let it be.” Natalya grew anxious. “Please, my dear, what happened between you and Misha? I know my son—he can be difficult. Did he do something to hurt you?” “It’s not important… I hold no grudge. We’ll get going, got other errands.” “But please come visit! Or drop by here—my schedule’s flexible. We should chat, at least!” Milena did come, soon buying formula again. Gradually, she opened up: She’d gotten pregnant with Mikhail’s child, but he’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with the baby, claimed voyages left no room for serious commitments, and disappeared. “We’re not looking for handouts! We’ll manage,” Milena shrugged. Natalya knelt by the stroller, gazing at the child: “Does this mean—she’s my granddaughter?” “Looks like it,” Milena whispered. “Her name’s Annie.” “Annie…” *** Natalya Mikhailovna was beside herself. She learned Milena, from out of town, had been struggling to pay rent. Thinking of Annie leaving for another city, possibly never seeing her again, made Natalya’s heart ache. “Come stay with me, Milena. Both of you! Annie is my granddaughter! I’ll help, you’ll find work, and Misha sends so much money I have nothing to spend it on. Annie will have everything!” “What will Misha say?” “Who cares? He made his bed! Abandoned his child and kept it secret from me! It’s up to me to make things right! When he returns, I’ll deal with him. Mark my words!” Natalya Mikhailovna shook her fist. So that’s how their new life began. She doted on her granddaughter, cutting down her hours at the chemist to spend more time with Annie while Milena worked and came home tired. “On your feet all day, that must be hard!” “It’s just work, lots of angry customers.” “Don’t worry! Go rest—I’ll bathe Annie and put her to bed!” Mikhail’s leave drew closer. Natalya Mikhailovna anticipated greeting him—fists ready to “set him straight”—but Milena grew increasingly anxious. “Once Misha gets home, he’ll throw us out, you’ll see! I should never have moved in,” Milena fretted. “Nonsense! He won’t dare,” Natalya insisted. “If anyone’s in charge of this flat, it’s me!” Despite all Milena’s hesitations, Natalya prevailed—they stayed. “Here’s what I’m thinking,” Natalya one day announced, “I should sign the flat over to Annie at once! Just in case. Misha may never marry, but Annie deserves something. Especially as Misha’s not listed on her birth certificate,” she nodded meaningfully at Milena, who looked away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry… I never expected…” “I understand. But if it ever comes down to it, proving she’s his won’t be easy. Tomorrow, we’ll do the paperwork properly.” “No, please, you don’t have to! My parents have a flat too…” “Don’t try to argue—I’ve already decided!” But at the solicitor’s, they heard: “Your son needs to sign off on the flat before you can transfer it to your granddaughter.” Natalya was frustrated, but Mikhail’s return was only days away. Strangely, Milena now grew distant. “Why are you gone so much these days?” Natalya asked, noticing one night that Milena’s things were packed in a bag hidden behind the bed. “You’re not moving out, are you?!” “Once Misha comes back, I have to go!” “You aren’t leaving with my granddaughter!” Natalya declared. She reminded Milena where the bank card and pin was, insisting she could use it instead of working herself to exhaustion. Milena said nothing. Mikhail arrived two days later. *** On the morning of his return, Natalya peeked into the room—Milena was gone, only Annie sleeping peacefully. “Where’s she gone at this hour? She’s never left this early!” In the kitchen, finishing preparations for Misha’s arrival, she rehearsed confronting her son with Annie in her arms, ready to demand apologies when Milena returned. The doorbell finally rang. Mikhail froze at the door, stunned to see his mother with a little girl. “Hello, Mum. Who’s the kid? What did I miss while I was away?” “That’s what you should know!” “I’m lost, Mum. What happened here?” “Adventures? I found my granddaughter, Annie! That’s what’s happened!” Natalya locked eyes with him. “Granddaughter? Are you keeping secrets—do I have siblings?” “Oh, stop the act! Milena told me everything! I raised you better than this! I’m ashamed of you!” “Milena? Wait, first, I asked you not to speak to her. Second, what does this child have to do with it?” Natalya exploded, detailing everything—spiced with heavy reproaches. Mikhail clutched his head: “Mum! You…” “What—you’ll call me foolish again? Go ahead. But I—” “She’s not my child! Milena tricked you, Mum… You’re—so trusting! Wait, I bet she just wanted money, that’s all… What did she get?” “Nothing! You—” “Mum, check your savings! Milena’s probably long gone with them!” “She just went to work!” Natalya insisted. They argued on. Finally, Mikhail agreed to wait for Milena’s return for the truth. They waited into the night. Natalya related the whole story—how she’d met Milena, cared for Annie, and wanted to make things right. Mikhail kept repeating she’d been deceived. “I don’t believe you! Milena’s a wonderful girl—” “She’s a wonderful con artist, from the looks of it. And you fell for it so easily!” “Stop it! When Milena comes back, you can apologize! Meanwhile, I’ll play with my granddaughter.” “She isn’t your granddaughter!” The two glowered at each other. “Anyway,” Mikhail added, “a DNA test will resolve it.” “Exactly—we’ll do just that!” Natalya replied haughtily, and went off. Evening turned to night—Milena never returned. Her phone went unanswered. At the place she claimed to work, nobody knew her; Natalya, desperate, showed Annie’s photo, but no one recognized the woman. Back home, she checked her things—money and the bank card gone, along with Milena’s belongings, except for Annie’s. Only then did Natalya realize she’d been tricked. “How could she? She wouldn’t just abandon Annie, would she?” “She’s done worse,” Mikhail said darkly. “Guys told me—she robbed one of them blind. Then, later, I learned she was pregnant, who knows by who. Claimed it was mine. But everyone said she was with a different man every week.” “I was a fool! Why didn’t you warn me?” “I didn’t want to upset you. You’re—always so open-hearted. No need to spoil that.” “So… what now?” “Police, Mum! Good thing you couldn’t transfer the flat. We’d be out on the street.” They filed a report, but Milena was never found. Months went by. She hadn’t been able to steal much—once Mikhail discovered what happened, he locked the account, and later, the lost card resurfaced at a train station. While authorities searched for the missing mother, Annie stayed with Natalya Mikhailovna. She had to quit work for a time, but Mikhail’s earnings kept them comfortable. The DNA test showed Annie wasn’t his, but by then both had grown too attached to let her go. They chose to raise her as one of their own; in Milena’s absence, parental rights were revoked. It took months for Natalya to become Annie’s legal guardian—there were endless hurdles, and even then, only she, not Mikhail, was granted custody. She returned to work, found Annie a nursery, and settled into this new life. A year later, Mikhail returned from sea—with a wife. “Mum, this is Sonia. We’re going to live together.” “And what about—” Natalya faltered, glancing at Annie’s room, unsure if Misha had informed his bride. But Sonia smiled warmly: “So pleased to meet you, Mrs. Mikhailovna! Misha’s told me everything, and honestly, I admire you so much! If you’ll let me help raise Annie, I’d be honoured—” she glanced at her husband. “Yes, I plan to finish with sailing, and Sonia and I will adopt Annie together. No one can refuse now!” Natalya Mikhailovna beamed with joy: “Oh, my goodness, I’m so happy! Come in, come in—there’s so much food—I cooked for days! Let’s all get to know each other. I’ve never been happier!” She wiped away a tear. The Long-Awaited Granddaughter
A Long-Awaited Granddaughter For two restless days now, I havent been able to sleepafter everything my
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You Don’t Need a Wife, You Need a Housekeeper
You need a housekeeper, not a wife Mum, Daisys chewed my pencil again! Rebecca charged into the kitchen
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I Promise to Love Your Son as My Own. Rest in Peace…
I promise to love your son as if he were my own. Rest in peace Harry Hart was a man who seemed to have it all.
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As Long As There’s Life, It’s Never Too Late: A Heartfelt English Story of Family, Second Chances, and Rediscovering Happiness
While theres life, its never too late. A Story Well then, Mum, just as we agreed, Ill come by tomorrow
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I’m 45 and I No Longer Host Guests in My Home: Why I Swapped Stressful House Parties for Celebrating Birthdays in Restaurants and Finally Put My Own Comfort First
Im 45 years old, and I no longer entertain guests in my home. Some people simply forget theyre guests