La vida

My Son Missed My 70th Birthday, Claiming Work Kept Him Away—That Evening I Saw Him on Social Media Celebrating His Mother-in-Law’s Birthday at a Restaurant

The phone rang precisely at midday, slicing through the stillness of my waiting. I remember how I hurried

La vida

Leftover Love: A Tale of a Mother-in-Law, Sister-in-Law, and the Battle for One’s Place

Again an envelope for them, and only a jar of pickles for us? I recall sitting at my motherinlaws kitchen

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You don’t love him, but we were happy together – shall we try to start over, what do you say?

You dont love him, and things were good between us; shall we try starting anew, alright? We divorced

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Unwanted: A Short Story.

I first learned that her father was still alive when Olivia fell ill. Shed been feeling poorly for weeks

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A Promise Fulfilled: When Life Takes a Turn, Friendship, Loss and New Beginnings Bring Denis, Arina, and Kirill Together on an Unexpected Journey

A Promise Today, as I drove calmly along the A3, the gently falling autumn drizzle speckled the windscreen

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Aunt Rita: At 47, I Was Just a Cynical, Lonely Woman Living in London—Until an Encounter with a Hungry Boy in the Lift Changed Everything and Showed Me the True Meaning of Kindness and Family

Aunt Margaret Im forty-seven. Just an ordinary womanone you might pass on the street and forget within minutes.

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Antonia Peterson walked through the rain in tears, her sobs hidden by the downpour—at least the rain keeps my sorrow private, she thought. She blamed herself for arriving at the wrong moment, an unwelcome guest; she cried and then burst out laughing, remembering that joke where a son-in-law asks, “So, Mum, you won’t even stay for a cup of tea?” Now, she found herself living out that “mum’s” predicament—laughing and crying all at once. Returning home, she stripped off her wet clothes and curled under a blanket, finally allowed to weep openly, with only her goldfish in the round aquarium to hear her pain. Once, Antonia was admired by many men, yet things never worked out with Nikita’s father. His drinking worsened—first tolerable, then jealous and violent, even beating her in front of their child. Little Nikita described it all vividly to his grandparents; Antonia’s mother sobbed, while her father calmly sent the now ex-son-in-law flying down the stairs (with a broken arm as souvenir), vowing to protect his daughter no matter the cost. Her husband vanished, and Antonia devoted herself to raising her son, wary of new relationships despite many suitors. She built a comfortable life as a catering manager, gradually saving for a flat, and when Nikita decided to marry lovely Anastasia, Antonia gave the newlyweds the new apartment and even paid for their wedding. She continued saving for a car, reasoning that a growing family needed better than their old banger. Today, Antonia hadn’t planned to visit her son, but caught in a rainstorm near their home, she popped by hoping to wait out the weather and share a cup of tea with Anastasia. However, her daughter-in-law, surprised by the visit, coldly asked, “Is there something you want, Mrs Peterson?” Unwelcome, Antonia left tearfully. That night, she dreamt of her goldfish, grown huge and speaking: “Cry all you want, but they couldn’t even offer you tea in the rain! Why keep saving for their car? Why live only for them? You’re clever, beautiful, and independent—go live for yourself, head for the seaside!” Awakening, she understood: don’t sacrifice yourself for the ungrateful. She took her savings and booked a seaside holiday, returning rejuvenated, tanned, and transformed. Her son and daughter-in-law were none the wiser, only contacting her when they needed money or childcare. Antonia stopped avoiding men, and soon caught the eye of her restaurant’s charming manager; life sweetened, and their relationship blossomed. One day, Anastasia dropped by, hinting about a new car and asking why Antonia hadn’t called or visited. Hands crossed, Antonia replied, “Was there something you wanted, Anastasia?”—just as her new suitor appeared, inviting Antonia to tea and suggesting they welcome their guest. “No, Anastasia’s just leaving. She doesn’t drink tea, do you, Anastasia?” With a laugh, Antonia shut the door and winked at her goldfish. That’s how things are now!

Antonia Peterson was walking through the rain and crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks, blending with

La vida

My Son Missed My 70th Birthday, Claiming He Had to Work—But That Evening I Saw Him Celebrating His Mother-in-Law’s Birthday in a Restaurant on Social Media

The phone rang precisely at noon, slicing through the thick silence that had filled the house all morning.

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Leave Her at the Maternity Ward, They Urged Relatives

Leave her in the maternity ward, the relatives kept saying, their voices flat as a stone. Why did you

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The Promise Dennis confidently steered the car down the motorway, his friend Cyril sitting beside him as they returned from a business trip to a neighbouring city, sent by their boss for a two-day assignment. “Cyril, we handled everything brilliantly, and landed a massive contract—our boss will be thrilled,” Dennis beamed. “Definitely, mate, we got lucky,” Cyril agreed. They worked together in the same office. “It’s great coming home when someone’s waiting for you,” Dennis said. “My Aria’s pregnant and suffering morning sickness. I feel awful for her, but we really wanted a baby—she says she’ll endure anything for our child.” “Having a baby is wonderful. Marina and I haven’t had any luck—she can’t carry to term. We’re trying IVF again—the first go didn’t work out,” Cyril confided. He’d been married to Marina for seven years and longed for a child. Dennis had married late, at thirty-two, after a few relationships that hadn’t meant much—until he met Aria and fell head over heels. For him, there was no one else. When Dennis introduced Cyril to Aria, and Cyril stood as best man at their wedding, he’d felt a twinge of envy. Aria was beautiful and gentle—the sort you fall for instantly. Light autumn rain speckled the windscreen, the wipers clearing it now and then while the friends chatted. Dennis’s phone rang; he picked up. “Hi, Aria, yes, we’re on our way—should be home in a couple of hours. How are you feeling? Still sick? Take it easy, don’t lift anything; I’ll do it all when I get home. Love you, see you soon.” Cyril listened, picturing Aria waiting anxiously for Dennis, and thought about Marina—how she never called, never worried about him, convinced he was devoted to her. She was nothing like Aria; everything in her life was organised—work, home. Suddenly Dennis swerved; a van hurtled towards them. The crash was unavoidable, but at the last second they hit a post on Dennis’s side, spinning off the road. Cyril came to with blood on his arm and a throbbing head. The car was upright, his door open. He saw Dennis—motionless. People rushed over, cars stopped. Cyril lay on the wet grass, aching and disoriented, waiting for an ambulance. Dennis was stretchered away, and as Cyril leaned over, Dennis whispered: “Take care of Aria…” They were taken to hospital. Cyril’s arm was broken, with a severe concussion, but he was conscious, constantly asking the doctors: “How’s Dennis? My friend, is he alright?” Eventually a nurse told him: “Dennis didn’t make it…” Cyril was devastated. He couldn’t attend the funeral, but Marina did, telling him how Aria wept, unable to believe her husband was gone, barely able to stand by his coffin. After his discharge, Cyril and Marina visited Dennis’s grave. Standing in silence, Cyril promised: “Don’t worry, my friend. I’ll look after your wife, as you asked…” Two days later, Cyril called at Aria’s door. Seeing him, she broke down. “How do I live without him? I can’t accept he’s gone.” “Aria, I promised Dennis I’d help you. We’ll get through this together. Call me whenever you need anything—I’ll visit you.” Time passed. Aria recovered a little, terrified her pregnancy might end from grief, as the doctor warned. Cyril visited twice a week—bringing groceries, vitamins, driving her to appointments. Aria never took advantage; only asked if truly necessary. “Cyril, I hate taking up so much of your time.” “It’s no trouble—I promised Dennis.” Cyril felt conflicted—Aria was his dream woman, yet the situation unsettled him. While Aria battled illness, Cyril and Marina faced yet another round of tests and disappointment—childlessness their constant heartache. Marina didn’t know Cyril helped Aria—he’d saved her number in his phone as “Charity,” just in case. After their second unsuccessful attempt, tension built between Cyril and Marina. She blamed Cyril, while he grew indifferent. Marina noticed his behaviour shift—he was distracted, irritable, often out for mysterious errands. Infidelity seemed unlikely; their marriage was untroubled physically. Cyril knew things weren’t right at home, though work flourished. He returned to a project initiated with Dennis, successfully completed and landed another big contract. As Aria’s pregnancy progressed, she grew more helpless. Her parents lived far away in northern Britain; she was alone in the city, plagued by headaches and swollen feet, but rarely complained to Cyril. Once, arriving with groceries, Cyril found her on a stepladder, hanging new curtains. “I’ve just cleaned the window—putting up curtains,” she said cheerily. “Get down, now,” Cyril barked, eyeing her pregnant belly, “If you fall, it’s no joke.” He helped her down, feeling a shudder run through him as they stood close. “Thanks, Cyril,” she said, dashing off as nausea struck. Cyril wiped sweat from his brow, thinking, “Can Dennis see me from wherever he is? This is what he asked.” Later, Aria suggested, “Dennis, would you help me set up the nursery? I found the perfect wallpaper.” Cyril couldn’t let pregnant Aria tackle it alone—so they decorated together (with Aria mostly supporting and providing moral support). Meanwhile, Cyril was torn—between his despondent wife, always talking about infertility, and Aria, now nearing her due date. Marina sensed she needed to stay busy to preserve the marriage and dove into her work, writing for magazines. When she was invited to write a regular column for a prestigious publication, she gladly accepted—her fee was substantial. She returned home delighted, loaded with treats and a couple bottles of wine. “Wow, what’s all this? Are we celebrating?” Cyril asked, arriving home. “Yes, I landed a great contract—let’s celebrate! I’ve waited ages for this.” She laid out snacks; they watched their favourite film and sipped wine. Suddenly Cyril’s phone rang. Peeking over his shoulder, Marina read “Charity” on the screen. Cyril hurried to the kitchen. “What’s happened?” he asked quietly. “Cyril, sorry, but I think I’m in labour… The ambulance is on the way.” “But it’s too early.” “Seven months is possible,” she said, voice tight with pain. “I’ll come to the hospital,” Cyril said. He dressed quickly, Marina watching him anxiously. “You’re leaving?” “Yes,” he fumbled for an excuse, “The boss called about charity—needs me urgently. I’ll explain later. Please believe me…” But Marina was suspicious. “Charity? Bosses don’t call about charity at this hour. Cyril’s lying.” Cyril raced to the hospital, found Aria already admitted. He waited two hours before the nurse told him Aria had delivered a baby boy. Relieved, he returned home, drained and worried. Marina was awake, scrutinising Cyril’s exhausted face. “Your ‘charity work’ has worn you out,” she remarked caustically. Cyril slumped onto the sofa, still in his coat. “Yes, Marina. Yes… Aria had her son tonight. I promised Dennis I’d help her. She’s completely alone,” he confessed. “I see… It all makes sense now,” Marina sighed. “So now you’ll be helping Aria with her newborn too, right?” “Yes,” Cyril replied sincerely. “Well then… you know me, Cyril. I won’t put up with you spending your time on someone else’s child—especially when we can’t have one of our own and likely never will. I’m filing for divorce, and you can do as you like. Maybe I’ll meet someone else and get pregnant.” Cyril met her gaze in surprise—she still blamed him for their infertility. “Your choice, Marina. I won’t argue. I must help Aria and the baby.” Time passed. Marina filed for divorce. Cyril moved in with Aria to support her and baby Danny. In time, they married, and two years later a daughter was born. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and for your support. Wishing you all the best in life!

The Promise Dennis was driving with the calmness of a man whod just pulled off a business miracle, steering