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Our relatives came to visit us and brought some gifts with them. And before long, they asked if we could

Mum Left Homeless with Three Children! Our Dad Stole Mum’s Money from the Sale of Our Flat and Disappeared

Mum was left with three children and nowhere to go. Our father took the money from selling our flat and

Bittersweet Bliss: Why Doesn’t This Lovely Young Woman Suit You? – Denis’s Forty Years of Searching for Love, His Mother’s Worries, Failed Romances, a Chance Meeting on a Train, and the Unexpected Joy and Trials of Raising a Child With Down Syndrome

BITTERSWEET HAPPINESS What have you got against that young lady? Shes a lovely girlmodest, tidy, smart

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My True Wife – “How have you managed to stay married to the same woman for so many years? What’s your secret?” my brother would ask every time he visited. “Love and endless patience. That’s all there is to it,” I’d always reply. “That’s not for me! I love all women. Every woman is a mystery, and I have no interest in living with a book I’ve already read,” he’d smirk. My younger brother Peter married at eighteen; his bride, Anna, was ten years his senior. Sweet Anna loved Peter with her whole heart, but Peter only amused himself with her. Anna settled into our crowded family home, where seven relatives lived. She gave birth to their son, Matthew, feeling sure that happiness was within her grasp. The young couple was given a tiny room of their own. Anna cherished her precious collection of porcelain figurines—ten rare pieces, lovingly displayed on an old dresser. Our large family knew how much these delicate figures meant to her. Anna would often admire them, lost in thought. At that time, I myself was considering starting a family and was searching for that one special woman. In the end, my wish came true; my wife and I have been happily married for over fifty years. Peter lived with Anna for ten years. Anna had little to boast of in this marriage; she tried to be a good wife and loved her husband and son deeply—obedient, gentle, and easygoing. But Peter wanted something more. One evening, Peter came home drunk and started picking on Anna, joking coarsely and grabbing her by the arms. Sensing trouble, Anna quietly left the room with little Matthew. Suddenly, a terrible crash echoed from inside. Anna instinctively knew what it was—the sound of her treasured figurines smashing. Dashing back, she saw her beloved collection shattered on the floor. Only one figurine had survived. Anna picked it up and kissed it quietly, her eyes brimming with tears. She said nothing. A crack formed in their marriage that night. From then on, Anna seemed to live outside the family in her mind. Though she did her duties and was a model wife and homemaker, it was all without passion, just going through the motions. Peter began drinking more often, and soon started bringing home crude new friends—reckless women and shady characters. Anna suspected everything, but withdrew in silence, becoming distant and lost. Peter stopped coming home altogether, abandoning his family. Anna understood that, as the saying goes, you can’t catch the wind in the field. Eventually, Anna and Peter divorced quietly, without argument or blame. Anna took Matthew and left for her hometown. The one surviving figurine was left behind as a memory. Peter didn’t waste time mourning. He began living wild and free, without rules or commitments. He fell easily in and out of love, and was married and divorced three times. He loved drinking himself unconscious. Despite all this, Peter was a top economist at a London university—he even co-authored a well-known textbook and was seen as having a brilliant future until alcohol and his chaotic lifestyle undid it all. Eventually, our family believed Peter had settled down after marrying a “spectacular” woman with a seventeen-year-old son. At their modest wedding, it was obvious that Peter and his new stepson would never get along. The inevitable happened—after five years and several violent quarrels, Peter and his wife parted ways. Then more fleeting lovers circled Peter—Lisa, Natalie, Sophie. He loved them all, swept up in each affair as if it would last forever. But fate had its own plans. At fifty-three, Peter was diagnosed with a terminal illness. By then, none of his beloved women remained; they had all quietly slipped away. My sisters and I cared for Peter in his final days. “Simon, there’s a suitcase under my bed. Hand it to me,” Peter struggled to speak. Under the bed, I found a dusty suitcase. When I opened it, I was shocked—it was full of porcelain figurines, each carefully wrapped in a soft cloth. “These… I collected for Anna. I’ve never forgotten her silent reproach the day her collection was smashed. She put up with so much from me. You remember all those work trips across the country? I bought figurines everywhere I went. There’s a false bottom in the suitcase—take the money you’ll find there, too. Give it all to my true wife. Ask her to forgive me. We’ll never meet again. Simon, you must promise you’ll bring these to Anna.” Peter turned away. “I promise, Peter. I’ll do it,” my voice caught in my throat. I knew my brother was slipping away for good. “You’ll find Anna’s address under my pillow,” Peter whispered. He never turned to face me again. Anna still lived in her childhood town; Matthew was unwell with a mysterious illness. Doctors shrugged and suggested going to Europe for help—something I learned from a letter Anna had written, which was under Peter’s pillow. As it turned out, Anna had always kept in touch with her ex-husband, though only by letter—Peter never replied. After Peter’s funeral, I set out to fulfill his last wish. Anna met me at a quiet train station and hugged me warmly: “Oh, Simon, you and Peter look so alike—two peas in a pod!” I handed her the suitcase and gently apologized, as Peter had asked: “Anna, forgive your wayward husband. Here’s something from Peter—money, and a bit more. You’ll see when you get home. Remember, you were always Peter’s true wife. Never forget that.” We parted for good. Later, I received a single letter from Anna: “Simon, thank you and Peter for everything. I’m grateful to God that Peter was part of my life. Matthew and I sold the figurines to a true collector; I couldn’t bear to look at them—every one had passed through Peter’s hands. It’s sad he left us so soon. With the money, we were able to move to Canada, where my sister had long invited us. I had nothing keeping me at home anymore. My only hope had been that Peter would call for us. He never did… But I am happy he still thought of me as his true wife. That means his feelings never died entirely. By the way, Matthew is doing much better here—he really likes it. Goodbye.” No return address…

DEAR WIFE How do you manage to live so long with the same wife? Whats your secret? My brother would always

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After Talking with the Adopted Girl, I Realised Not Everything Was as It Seemed Next to me, on a park bench, sat a five-year-old girl swinging her legs as she told me about her life: “I’ve never seen my dad; he left me and Mum when I was very little. Mum died a year ago. The adults told me she’d passed away.” The girl looked at me and continued: “After the funeral, my Auntie Helen, who was Mum’s sister, came to live with us. I was told she’d done a noble thing by not sending me to a children’s home. They explained that Auntie Helen was now my guardian and that I’d be living with her.” The girl paused, looked under the bench, and carried on: “After I moved in, Auntie Helen started tidying up our house: she put all Mum’s things in one corner and wanted to throw them away. I started crying and begged her not to, so she let me keep them. Now I sleep in that corner. Every night I curl up on Mum’s things and it’s warm there, as if she’s still with me.” “Each morning, Auntie Helen gives me something to eat. She’s not much of a cook—Mum cooked better—but she asks me to eat everything. I don’t want to upset her, so I do. I understand she’s making an effort. It’s not her fault she can’t cook like Mum did. Then she sends me out for a walk, and I can’t come back home until it’s getting dark. Auntie Helen is ever so nice!” “She loves to brag about me to the other aunties she knows. I don’t really know these ladies, but they always come round to visit us. Auntie Helen sits and has tea with them, tells funny stories, says lovely things about me, and spoils us all with sweets.” After saying this, the girl sighed and continued: “I can’t eat just sweets all the time. Auntie never scolds me for anything. She’s always nice to me. Once she even gave me a doll—of course, the doll’s a bit poorly, it’s got a bad leg and one eye that won’t open properly. Mum never gave me a doll that was already broken.” The girl hopped off the bench and began to skip on one leg: “I have to go now because Auntie said the other aunties are coming today, and I need to dress up before they arrive. She promised me a lovely slice of cake afterwards. Goodbye!” The girl jumped off the bench and dashed away to run her errands. I sat there for ages, my thoughts circling around “good” Auntie Helen. I wondered, what was the purpose of that goodness? Why did she need everyone to think she was so noble? Is it possible to look so indifferently at a child who sleeps on the floor, wrapped in her late mother’s clothes…

After speaking with the adopted girl, I realised that not everything was as clear as it seemed.

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My Own Mother Kicked Me Out of Our Home Because She Loved My Stepfather More Than Me!

My very own mother threw me out of the flat because she cared more for my stepfather! I lived with my

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Mum Asked Us to Pay for Vegetables from Her Garden – The Year My Mother Started Selling Homegrown Produce to Her Own Family Because We Wouldn’t Help Out

Last year, my mother did something entirely peculiarshe decided to start selling us vegetables from her

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I Got Married at 50 Thinking I’d Finally Found Happiness, But I Had No Idea What Lay Ahead… My Journey from Bookish Late Bloomer to Unexpected Divorce, Strange Habits, and Returning the Wedding Gifts – Is Lasting Love Possible After 50 in England?

I married at fifty, convinced Id finally found happiness, but I had no clue what awaited me Ive always

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Our Relatives Came to Visit, Brought Gifts—Then Soon Demanded We Put Them Out on the Table

Our relatives came round for a visit and brought some gifts. Before long, they asked if we could serve

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Worn Down by My Mother-in-Law and Wife That Evening, the Most Silent and Patient Man in Our Village, Steven Evans, Came to See Me—A Man as Steadfast as Iron Nails, With Broad Calloused Hands and Centuries of Quiet in His Eyes; Known for His Reluctance to Complain Yet Always the First to Lend a Hand, He Stood in My Small Local Surgery, Shoulders Slumped, Ushanka Gripped in Muddy Hands, and When He Finally Spoke, His Voice Broke with the Weariness of a Husband Pushed to the Edge by Years of Unkindness From Wife and Mother-in-Law, Until With One Tear, One Quiet Confession—“I’m Leaving, Mrs. Simmons. I Can’t Do This Anymore. I Have Nothing Left”—It Became Clear the Real Illness Was a Soul Worn Thin by Indifference, and Its Only Cure Might Just Be a Kind Word, a Cup of Tea, and Learning That the Greatest Comfort Is Belonging—Not Just as a Pair of Strong Hands, But as Someone Who Is Truly Needed and Loved at Home.

Diary entry 12th November Some evenings, the smallest things can leave the deepest marks on your heart.