La vida

“Sir, Please Stop Pushing. Ugh. Is That Smell Coming From You? — The Unexpected Story of Margaret and Yuri: New Beginnings, A Bathroom Renovation, and Finding Love at Fifty-Three Despite Family Opposition”

– Sir, please, do stop pushing. Goodness. Is that smell coming from you? – Sorry, –

La vida

011

Oksana, Are You Busy? A Mother’s Request, a Midwinter Mishap, and a New Year’s Night That Changed Everything

Annie, are you busy? her mum asks, poking her head around her daughters door. One minute, Mum!

La vida

Did a DNA Test and Confirmed My Suspicions

June 12 Ive finally managed to run the DNA test, and the results confirmed what Id been suspecting all along.

La vida

– Sir, please, do stop pushing. Goodness. Is that smell coming from you? – Sorry, –

La vida

010

Igor Never Returned From His Holiday: Three Years of Waiting, Sweeping Autumn Leaves, and a Husband’s Sudden Reappearance With Secrets by the Sea

Nigel Didnt Return From His Holiday Still no word from your fellow? No, Vera, not a letter, not a callneither

La vida

0269

My Mother-in-Law Publicly Called Me “Temporary”… So I Let Her Pass Her Own Judgement The First Time I Overheard My Mother-in-Law Laughing at Me Was in the Kitchen It Wasn’t Loud Laughter—It Was One of Those Quiet, Knowing Laughs That Seem to Say, “I Know Something You Don’t” I Was Standing Behind the Door with a Cup of Tea, Wondering for a Moment Whether to Enter—But I Did, Calmly and Unhurried, Without Flinching She Sat at the Table with Two Friends—Women Who Wore Gold, Perfume, and Confidence Like Jewellery And Then, With a Pause as If Searching for Just the Right Word, My Mother-in-Law Announced, “Here’s Our… Young Bride”—Making “Bride” Sound Like a Sample, Like Something That Might Just Be Returned to the Store I Smiled Politely—“Good Afternoon,” I Said—And She Invited Me to Sit, Not Out of Warmth but as Someone Who Wants a Better View I Took My Seat, Tea Still Warm, My Gaze Warmer Still She Looked Me Up and Down and Said, “You’re Very… Diligent. It Shows,”—The First Thorn of the Day I Nodded, As If Accepting a Compliment—“Thank You” One Friend Leaned Toward Me with That Syrupy Tone That Cuts While Pretending Sweetness, “So Tell Me, Where Did You… Come From?” My Mother-in-Law Laughed, “Just Appeared”—As If I Were Dust on the Furniture And Then She Said the Line I’ll Never Forget: “Don’t Worry, Girls. Ones Like Her… Are Temporary. They Pass Through a Man’s Life Until He Wakes Up.” There Were Three Seconds of Silence—Not the Dramatic Kind You Find in Novels, but the Silence of a Test Everyone Was Waiting to See How I Would React: Hurt, Embarrassed, Leave, Cry, or Respond Proudly That’s When I Realised Something Important: She Didn’t Hate Me—She Was Used to Being in Control, and I Was the First Woman Who Wouldn’t Hand Over the Remote I Looked at Her, Not as an Enemy, but as Someone Who Pronounces Judgements, Unaware She Might Be Delivering Her Own “Temporary…” I Repeated Softly, as if Pondering. “Interesting.” She Waited, Ready to Enjoy the Next Moment—But I Didn’t Give It to Her I Smiled and Stood, “I’ll Let You Finish Your Conversation. I Have Dessert to Prepare,”—And Walked Out I Didn’t Leave Humiliated—I Left Calm In the Weeks That Followed, I Noticed Little Things I Hadn’t Before—She Never Asked How I Was, Only What I Was Doing; Never “Glad You’re Well,” but “How Much Will That Cost?”; Rarely Used My Name, Just “She”—As If I Were Something Her Son Had Bought Without Her Approval Years Ago, This Would Have Broken Me—Now, I Wasn’t Looking to “Win” Anyone’s Approval—Just My Own I Started Keeping a Small Notebook—Not Out of Obsession, but for Clarity I Quietly Recorded Each Slight, The Words, The Audience, What Followed, How He (My Husband) Reacted He Wasn’t a Bad Man—Just a Convenient One to Manipulate: “Don’t Take It Personally,” He’d Say, “That’s Just How Mum Is,” But I Refused to Live in “Just How Mum Is” Then Came Family Dinner—Lavish, White Tablecloths, Candles, Fancy Plates She Loved Such Evenings—A Chance to Be Queen of the Stage I Wore an Emerald Green Dress—Nothing Flashy, But Presence that Could Not Be Ignored She Saw Me and Smiled Coldly, “Oh, Tonight You’ve Decided to Pretend to Be… a Lady”—Said Loud Enough for All to Hear Some Laughed, My Husband Smiled Awkwardly I Didn’t Respond Right Away—I Poured Water, Took a Sip, Looked at Her Calmly “You’re Right,” I Said Gently, “I Decided”—The Tone Threw Her Then She Began Her Game—During Dinner, She “Accidentally” Remarked, “You Know, I’ve Always Said My Son Needs a Woman of Our Level, Not Some… Fleeting Love”—More Laughter, More Glances She Continued, Drunk on Attention, “You Can Always Spot the Temporary Ones—They Try Too Hard, Doing Everything They Can to Seem Worthy”—Staring Me Straight in the Eye But I Don’t Fight on Someone Else’s Battlefield—I Let the Other Person Reveal Themselves So I Smiled and Said, “Funny How Someone Can Call Another ‘Temporary’ When They’re the Reason This Home Is Never at Peace” The Room Tilted—Some Heads Turned, Some Faces Froze My Mother-in-Law Narrowed Her Eyes, “Is That It? That’s What You Have to Say in Front of Everyone?” “No,” I Said Calmly, “I’m Not Saying Anything ‘in Front of Everyone’”—Then I Raised My Glass and Stepped Forward “I’ll Only Say This: Thank You for the Dinner, the Table, and Everyone’s Company. And Thank You for the Lessons—Not Everyone Is Lucky Enough to See the Truth of a Person So Clearly”—I Looked at Her Without Hate She Opened Her Mouth, But No Words Came—For the First Time, She Had No Comeback The Crowd Was Frozen My Husband Looked at Me as If Seeing Me for the First Time And Then I Did the Most Important Thing: I Didn’t Continue, Didn’t Insult, Didn’t Get Emotional, Didn’t Defend—Just Let My Words Fall Like a Feather and Weigh Like a Stone I Returned to My Seat and Began Cutting the Dessert as If Nothing Had Happened—But Everything Had Later, At Home, My Husband Stopped Me in the Hallway, “How Did You… Do That? Without Yelling, Without Breaking Down”—The First Time He Didn’t Defend His Mother, the First Time He Admitted There Was a Problem I Didn’t Push, Didn’t Argue, Didn’t Cry—Just Said, “I’m Not Fighting for a Place in Anyone’s Family. I Am Family. And If Someone Can’t Respect Me—They’ll Watch Me from Afar.” He Swallowed, “Does That Mean… You’ll Leave?” I Looked at Him Calmly, “No. Don’t Assume Sacrifice from Fear—We’ll Choose Out of Respect” That’s When He Understood: He Won’t Lose Me Through Shouting—He’ll Lose Me Quietly… If He Doesn’t Grow Up A Week Later, My Mother-in-Law Called—Her Voice Softer, Not from Remorse but Calculation “I’d Like to Talk,” She Said I Didn’t Ask “When”—I Said, “Go Ahead” She Was Silent, Then Admitted, “Maybe… I Went Too Far.” I Didn’t Smirk in Victory—Just Closed My Eyes a Moment “Yes,” I Said Calmly, “You Did.” Silence And Then I Added, “But You Know What’s Good? From Now On, Everything Will Be Different. Not Because You’ll Change… But Because I Already Have.” I Hung Up And I Didn’t Feel Triumph—I Felt Order When a Woman Stops Begging for Respect, the World Starts Offering It On Its Own ❓What Would You Have Done in My Place—Would You Keep Quiet “for the Sake of Peace,” or Stand Your Ground, Even If It Shakes the Whole Family Table?

My mother-in-law told everyone I was temporary so I let her sentence herself. The first time I heard

La vida

Together We Move Forward

They left York on a balmy July morning, just as the motorway was still quiet, the roadhouses only beginning

La vida

Oksana, Are You Busy? A New Year’s Eve Tale of Family, Fate, and Unexpected Love in a Snowy English Town

Emily, are you busy? my mum called, poking her head around my bedroom door. One minute, Mum, my daughter

La vida

015

When He Brought His Mistress to Our Anniversary, I Already Held the Photos That Would Knock the Air from His Lungs When the Woman in the Red Dress Sat Beside Him as if She’d Belonged There Forever, I Didn’t Flinch. Not Because It Didn’t Hurt—But Because in That Moment, I Realised Something Crucial: He Never Expected Me to Have Dignity. He Anticipated Hysteria. Drama. For Me to Be “the Difficult One.” But I Don’t Give Gifts to Those Who Betray Me. I Give Them Consequences. He Was the Man Who Always Spoke of Class. Of Image. Of “the Right Impression.” And That’s Exactly Why He Chose Our Anniversary to Do the Dirtiest Thing of All: To Quietly Humiliate Me in Front of Everyone. I Sat at the Table, Back Straight, in a Black Satin Dress—One of Those Dresses That Doesn’t Shout, but Simply Commands Attention. The Room Was Luxurious—Honeyed Lights, Champagne, Smiles Sharp as Diamond. A Place Where People Don’t Raise Their Voices, but Kill You With a Glance. He Walked in First. I—Half a Step Behind. As Always. And Just When I Thought His “Surprises” for the Night Were Over, He Turned to Me and Whispered: “Just Smile. Don’t Make a Scene.” “What Scene?” I Asked Calmly. “Those… Women’s Scenes. Just Act Normal. Tonight, Don’t Ruin My Mood.” And Then I Saw Her Approach. Not as a Guest, Not as a Friend, but as the Woman Who’d Already Taken My Place. She Sat Beside Him Without Asking, Without Any Embarrassment—As If the Table Was Hers. He Made One of Those “Polite” Introductions Men Think Can Wash Away Filth: “Meet… she’s just a colleague. Sometimes we work together.” And She—She Smiled at Me Like Someone Who’d Spent Years Practising in a Mirror. “Pleasure to meet you. He’s told me so much about you.” No One Else Understood. But I Did. Because a Woman Doesn’t Need an Announcement to Sense Betrayal. The Truth Was Simple: He’d Brought Me to Show Me Off as “The Official.” And He’d Brought Her to Show Her She Was Winning. They Were Both Wrong. The Story Had Started a Month Ago, With His Change. Not a New Scent, Not a New Haircut, Not New Clothes—But His Tone. He Started Speaking to Me Like My Presence Annoyed Him: “Don’t Ask Questions.” “Don’t Interfere.” “Don’t Act Important.” And One Night, While He Thought I Was Sleeping, He Got Up Quietly and Went Onto the Balcony With His Phone. I Couldn’t Hear His Words. But I Heard That Voice… The One Reserved Only For Women You Desire. The Next Day I Didn’t Ask. I Checked. And Instead of Hysteria, I Chose Something Else: Evidence. Not Because I Needed “the Truth”, But Because I Needed the Moment When the Truth Would Hurt Most. I Found the Right Person. A Woman Like Me Always Has That One Friend Who Sees Everything, but Says Little. She Simply Said: “Don’t Cry. Think First.” And Helped Me Get the Photos. Not Intimate. Not Indecent. Just Clear Enough for There to Be No “Explanation.” Photos of the Two Together—in a Car, in a Restaurant, in a Hotel Lobby. You Could See Not Just Closeness… But the Confidence of People Who Thought No One Would Catch Them. And So I Decided What My Weapon Would Be. Not Scandal. Not Tears. A Symbolic Gesture to Flip the Game. Not a Folder, Not a USB, Not a Black Envelope. A Cream-Coloured Envelope—Like an Official Invitation. Beautiful. Elegant. Discreet. When Someone Sees It, Danger Doesn’t Cross Their Mind. And That’s the Best Part. Inside, I Placed the Photos and a Small Handwritten Note With a Single Sentence: “I’m Not Here to Beg. I’m Here to End This.” Back to the Night. There We Sat at the Table. He Talked. She Laughed. I Stayed Silent. Somewhere Inside Me, There Was a Cold Point Called: Control. At One Moment, He Leaned Toward Me and Whispered Sharply, “See? People Are Watching. Don’t Make a Scene.” That’s When I Smiled. Not Like a Woman Who Was Swallowing Pain. But Like a Woman Who’d Already Finished. “While You Were Playing Your Game… I Was Arranging the Grand Finale.” I Stood Up. Slowly. Elegantly. No Dramatic Noise. And The Room Seemed to Pull Back. He Looked at Me With That Expression: What Are You Doing? The Look of a Man Who Can’t Imagine a Woman Having Her Own Plan. But I Did. The Envelope Was in My Hand. I Passed Them as If They Were Museum Pieces—Already Just Exhibits. I Set the Envelope Before Them, Right in the Middle of the Table, Under the Light. “This is for You,” I Said Calmly. He Laughed Awkwardly, Trying to Play It Off. “What Is This, Some Kind of Theatre?” “No. The Truth. On Paper.” She Tried to Open It First— Ego. That Special Greed to See Her “Victory.” But as Soon as She Saw the First Photo, Her Smile Disappeared. She Looked Down Like Someone Realising She’d Stepped Into a Trap. He Snatched the Photos. His Face Changed—from Confident to Pale. “What Is This?” He Hissed. “Evidence,” I Replied. And That’s When I Delivered the Line That Echoed to the Closest Tables: “While You Called Me a Decoration… I Was Gathering Evidence.” The Silence Hung Heavy. It Was As If the Whole Room Stopped Breathing. He Shot Up From His Chair. “You’re Wrong!” I Looked at Him Calmly and Said: “It’s Not About Being Right. It’s About Me Finally Being Free.” She Didn’t Dare Look Up. And He—He Realised the Worst Part Wasn’t the Photos. The Worst Part Was That I Wasn’t Shaking. I Looked at Them One Last Time. And I Made My Final Move. I Took One Photo—Not the Most Scandalous, But the Clearest—and Left It on Top Like a Seal. As If I Were Signing the End. Then I Straightened the Envelope, And Walked Toward the Exit. My Heels Sounded Like Full Stops in a Sentence that Had Waited for Years. At the Door, I Paused. Looked Back Only Once. He Was No Longer the Man Who Controlled the Room. He Was Someone Who Didn’t Know What He’d Say Tomorrow. Because That Night, Everyone Would Remember Just One Thing: Not the Mistress. Not the Photos. Me. And I Left. No Drama. With Dignity. The Last Thing I Said to Myself Was Simple: When a Woman Falls Silent Beautifully—that’s the End. If Someone Quietly Humiliated You in Public, Would You Walk Away With Class… Or Would You Leave the Truth on the Table?

When he brought his mistress to our anniversary as if it were the most natural thing I already held the

La vida

“Oh, You Drive Me Crazy!!!… You don’t like the way I eat, the way I dress, you say I do everything wrong!” Pavel’s voice broke into a shout. “You can’t do anything right!” Marina sobbed. “You never earn decent money… I can never count on your help at home… And we don’t even have children…” she added quietly. Belka, their white-and-ginger cat of ten, perched on top of the wardrobe, silently witnessed yet another “tragedy.” She knew—she could *feel*—that Mum and Dad loved each other, truly loved each other… So she didn’t understand why they had to say such hurtful things, making everyone miserable. Mum ran crying to the bedroom, while Dad started chain-smoking in the kitchen. Belka, sensing her family was falling apart, pondered: “This house needs happiness… and happiness is children… We need children… But where do you get children?” Belka herself couldn’t have kittens—she’d been spayed years ago—and as for Mum… the doctors said it was possible, but something just never seemed to work out… The next morning, after her humans left for work, Belka, for the first time ever, crept out the window to visit her neighbour’s cat, Tabby, for a chat and a bit of advice. “Why on earth would you want kids?” Tabby scoffed. “Look at mine—they come over, I have to hide! They’ll smear lipstick on your whiskers or cuddle you so tight you can’t breathe!” Belka sighed, “We want good children… If only we could find them somewhere…” “Well…” Tabby thought out loud, “that stray Molly from the street has a litter… five of them, in fact. Take your pick.” Taking her chances, Belka leapt from balcony to balcony, down to the street. Trembling with nerves, she squeezed herself through the basement window bars and called out, “Molly, could you pop out for a moment, please?” From the depths of the basement came the faintest of mews. Cautious and wary, Belka snuck inside and followed the sound of tiny cries. Under a radiator, right on the bare stones, lay five helpless, blind kittens, nosing the air, desperately wailing for their mum. Belka sniffed them—Molly hadn’t been there for at least three days; the poor things were starving… Near tears, Belka carefully carried each kitten to the entryway. She curled up beside the hungry, mewing bundle, trying desperately to keep them from wandering off, all the while anxiously watching down the street for Mum and Dad to appear. When Pavel silently met Marina after work, they returned home in silence. Near the doorway, they stopped in their tracks—on the front step lay their Belka, (who frankly had never set paw outside alone), and five little kittens, squeaking as they tried to feed from her. “How on earth…?” Pavel stammered. “It’s a miracle…” Marina breathed, and, grabbing Belka and the kittens, they hurried inside… As they settled Belka, purring happily, and her new litter in a box, Pavel asked, “So what do we do with them?” “I’ll feed them with a dropper… once they’re a bit bigger, we can find them homes… I’ll ring my friends…” Marina whispered. Three months later, overwhelmed by it all, Marina sat stroking the feline “pack,” gazing into the distance and softly repeating, “This can’t really be happening… this just can’t be…” Then she and Pavel wept tears of joy, he lifted her into his arms and they talked and talked over each other, laughing and crying: “I’m so glad I finished the house!” “Yes, perfect for a little one to play outside!” “And the kittens can all run around, too!” “There’s plenty of room for all of us!” “I love you!” “And I love you even more!” Sage old Belka blinked away a tear—because, finally, life was coming together…

“How you get on my nerves!” shouted Paul, his voice cracking as he lost his patience. “