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WE ALL JUDGED HER Mila stood in the church and wept. For fifteen minutes or more. I was honestly surprised. “What’s that posh woman doing here?” I thought. Of all people, I never expected to see her in a place like this. I didn’t actually know Mila, but I saw her often enough—after all, we lived in the same block and took our walks in the same local park. Me with my four children, her with her three dogs. We all judged her—me, other mums with their children, old ladies on park benches, neighbours, and I suspect even the passers-by. Mila was stunning—a true head turner, always dressed smartly, always seeming a little frivolous, a bit arrogant. “There she goes again, another man on her arm,” grumbled Old Nina from her post near the front door. “That’s the third one already.” “Well, she can afford it—all that money she’s got,” chipped in her mate Old Maureen, eyeing Mila climbing into her latest fancy car with another new boyfriend. Old Maureen’s son Dave, 45, hasn’t even managed to buy a used car. “She’d be better off having kids—her biological clock must be ticking,” chimed in their usual frenemy, Old Tom. But if there’s one thing they can agree on, it’s judging Mila. After each breakup, the bench would gloat: “Surprised? Slapper! Her flat probably stinks of dog as well!” But nobody disliked Mila as much as we—the mums of the playground—did. While we dashed around after our kids—on the hills, the swings, through bushes and bins, wherever their little hearts led, she would stroll by, unfazed, with her “mongrels,” even smirking at us, as if to say, “You chose this chaos; I live for myself.” While we worried if we could afford new shoes for our little ones, she just breezed through life, her latest hairstyle always perfect. “Typical childfree,” commented my friend Sarah, mum of three lively boys. “The rich have their quirks—dogs, cats, hamsters,” nodded Lucy, currently pregnant with twins, as she fetched her tearaway eldest from a tree. “She’s just selfish, doesn’t want the bother—would rather swan off to Spain or Greece. I haven’t seen the sea in seven years,” sighed Marina, mother of five. And I always agreed—with everyone, even the grumpy bench ladies. Then I’d be off to rescue Tonya, who’d fallen yet again and was howling her heart out in the park. “She should have had a child, not all those dogs,” some grandma once said loudly. “Mind your own business!” Mila snapped. She almost said more, but stopped and walked on with her, honestly, rather nasty dogs. “Rude cow,” called the grandma after her. …I stared at Mila as she sobbed in that church, and then I left. “Excuse me—! Wait up,” I suddenly heard behind me. Mila hurried after me across the church courtyard. “You’re the lady always out with four little girls, aren’t you?” “I am. And you’re the one with three dogs.” She nodded. “Could I…could I talk to you?” she faltered. “You know, I always watch you and your girls, the other mums too—I think you’re all amazing.” She blushed, and I almost said, “But you’re childfree, selfish, a posh cow!” Remembering her “smirks” my heart twisted. So, we sat down on a bench, and Mila began… to talk, tears streaming down her face, desperate to get it all out. Mila grew up in a loving home, always dreaming of a big family. She married for love, but after two miscarriages the doctors announced she’d never have children. Her beloved husband left her. The next man did, too—after endless treatments and nearly dying from an ectopic pregnancy. The third fled just upon hearing children mentioned; what he liked was Mila’s car and salary, not the “burden” of children. “I’d have given anything for a baby!” Mila wept. “I thought you just loved dogs,” I answered…rather stupidly. She smiled through the tears. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love children.” To keep loneliness at bay, she got Teppo, then adopted Mike when friends moved away, and found Fenya as a puppy abandoned in winter. Couldn’t say no. “Should’ve had a baby, not a bunch of dogs,” that bench granny’s words echoed in my head. “And her clock’s ticking…” I remembered Old Tom. It was—to everyone’s shock, Mila was already forty-one, though she looked thirty. She decided to adopt. Little, big, it didn’t matter—she just wanted a child. She met six-year-old Charlie and instantly clicked. He ran up and asked: “Will you be my mummy?” “Yes,” she replied, heart in mouth. But they didn’t give her Charlie; his mother, though severely mentally ill, still had parental rights. “It crushed me,” Mila said. “Why does this child have to suffer? Why can’t I help?” Then along came four-year-old Ellie, who’d been taken home and returned—twice—because of her wild temper. When the second “mum” dragged her back, Ellie crawled after her, clutching at her skirt, begging, “Don’t give me back, Mummy! Please! I’ll be good!” Mila met her, and Ellie asked, “Will you send me back too?” “Never!” Mila promised, barely able to speak for tears. There were hiccups with the adoption, which Mila didn’t explain—but said, “She’s my daughter, I’ll fight for her.” That was Mila’s first ever visit to church. “I just had nowhere else left to go.” The vicar came; they spoke for ages, Mila scribbling notes. “It’ll all turn out right—God bless,” I heard him say. Mila smiled at last. We walked home together. “You probably think I’m proud and arrogant,” Mila admitted. “Truth is, I’m just too tired to explain any more. And I’ve heard it all before anyway…” I kept silent. She invited me and the girls over—to play with her dogs. I agreed, and I will—just not yet. For now, I just feel deeply ashamed. I can’t help thinking: “Why are we so quick to judge? Why do I have so much spite in me?” And all I truly want now is for Mila—the incredible woman we all judged—to finally be happy. That one day, Ellie hugs her, pressing close, calling her “Mum,” knowing she’s safe and loved forever, the three dear dogs dancing and barking all around. And maybe, just maybe, by some miracle, Mila will find a kind husband, and Ellie will have a little brother or sister. It can happen, can’t it? And may no one ever speak a harsh word to them again…

We All Judged Her Amelia was standing in St. Marks, crying her eyes out. She mustve been there for at

La vida

Friends of Friends Came to Visit Us for the Holidays: I Regret Not Saying “No.

Hey love, so you remember how Emma called me last summer, begging me to put her best mates up for a week

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My Mum Is 89 Years Old. Two Years Ago She Moved in With Me. Every Morning, I Hear Her Get Up Around 7:30, Then She Chats Quietly With Her Elderly Cat and Feeds Her. Afterwards She Makes Breakfast and Sits on the Sunny Patio With Her Coffee Until She’s Fully Awake. Then She Grabs the Mop and Sweeps Through the Entire House (About 2,600 Square Feet)—She Says It’s Her Daily Workout. If She’s in the Mood, She’ll Cook Something, Tidy the Kitchen, or Do Her Usual Exercises. In the Afternoon, It’s Time for Her Ever-Changing ‘Beauty Ritual’. Sometimes She Examines Her Massive Wardrobe—Its Museum-Worthy Designer Collection. Some Clothes She Gifts to Me, Others to Friends, and Some She Even Sells—Like a True Businesswoman. I Often Tell Her, “Mum, If You’d Invested All That Money, You’d Be Living in Luxury Now!” She Laughs, “But I Love My Clothes. Besides, One Day All This Will Be Yours. Your Sister—poor thing—has no taste.” To distract ourselves, we walk three kilometres round the local lake about five times a week. Once a month, she has ‘Girls’ Night’ with her friends. She’s a voracious reader and constantly browses my bookcases. Every day, she phones her 91-year-old sister in San Diego, who visits us twice a year and still works as an accountant for a private client. (By the way, my aunt is still working!) Besides her cat, her greatest joy is the tablet I gave her last Christmas. She reads everything about her favourite authors and composers, keeps up with the news, watches ballet, opera, and more. Around midnight, I often hear her mutter, “I really should go to bed, but YouTube just started playing Pavarotti.” Truly, she and her sister seem to have won the genetic lottery. Yet Mum still complains, “I look awful!” I try to keep her positive: “Mum, at your age, most people would already be on the other side.”

My mums eighty-nine years old. Two years back, she upped sticks and moved in with me. Every morning

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Stay Away from Me! I Never Promised to Marry You! Frankly, I Don’t Even Know Whose Child This Is—Maybe Not Even Mine at All? “Go on your way, I’m off,” said Victor, who was only in our village for work, leaving stunned Valentina in disbelief. Was this really the Victor who’d once proclaimed his love and promised her the moon? Now, years later, after heartbreak and raising her daughter Maria mostly alone, Valentina faces the gossip of their small English town when she invites a mysterious new man, Ian, into her home. Despite the neighbours’ suspicions, Ian’s kindness and practical skills slowly transform their lives—and he becomes the loving father Maria never had. This is the moving story of how true parenthood isn’t defined by blood, but by love, care, and shared moments—sometimes the greatest dads are found in the most unexpected places.

Keep away from me! I never promised to marry you! In fact, I dont even know whose child this is!

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“I’m Not Going to Spend My Life with a Worn-Out Old Woman,” Snapped Her Husband: After Thirty-Two Years Together, Igor Left Valentina for Their Thirty-Five-Year-Old Neighbour—But It Took a Literary Club, Her Mum’s Wisdom, and a Chance Encounter to Prove That Life—and Youth—Begin When You Choose Yourself

I dont intend to spend my later years with an old wreck, Martin barked. Thats it! Enough! He slammed

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How a Grandmother Buried Her Newborn Grandson Beneath the Maternity Ward

Margaret Hughes was pushing sixty, and while retirement was staring her in the face she wasnt about to rush it.

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“No, Mum, You Really Shouldn’t Come Right Now — It’s a Long Journey and You’re Not Young Anymore”: My Grown Son Married and Moved to London, Promising to Visit Over Easter, But Didn’t Even Invite Me to the Wedding – Now I Don’t Know If I Should Give Him the £1,500 I Saved for His Big Day

No, theres really no need for you to come now. Just think about it, Mum. Its a long journey, an entire

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Olga Spends All Day Preparing for Her First New Year’s Eve Away from Her Parents—with Her Beloved, Only to Face a Night of Disappointment When Her Much Older, Divorced Boyfriend Tolik Turns the Celebration into a Drunken Party with His Friends, Humiliates Her in Front of Everyone, and Leaves Her Wondering Why She Fell for Such a Miser, Before She Finally Walks Out and Begins a New Chapter in Her Life

Olivia had spent the entire day flitting about her flat, cleaning, cooking, and arranging a splendid

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I’ll Find a Better Husband for My Daughter

Ill find a better husband for my daughter This monthll be tougher, muttered Andrew, refreshing his banking app.

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Come On, Mum, Stop Disturbing Dad Every Evening!

Mum, stop pestering Dad every night! Mum, I have to speak to you as a woman to a woman, the sixyearold