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Raw and Real… In This Family, Everyone Lived Their Own Separate Life Dad, Alex, had more than just a wife — he often had another woman by his side, sometimes more than one. Mum, Jenny, suspected her husband’s affairs but wasn’t exactly a saint herself; she enjoyed spending time with a married colleague outside the home. The two sons were left to fend for themselves, neglected and often wandering about with nothing to do. Their mother insisted that it was entirely the school’s job to raise her kids. The only time the whole family gathered was on Sundays, quickly and silently munching lunch in the kitchen before rushing off in all directions. They might have spent the rest of their days in their broken, sinful, but oddly sweet world, if not for the tragedy that changed everything… When the younger son, Danny, turned twelve, Dad Alex took him to the garage as his helper for the first time. While Danny was exploring the tools, Alex popped out to chat with some car-enthusiast mates working nearby on their motors. Suddenly, thick black smoke billowed from Alex’s garage, followed by flames. No one knew what had happened. (It would later come out that Danny accidentally knocked a lit blowtorch onto a can of petrol.) People froze, panicked. Fire raged. Water was thrown over Alex, who rushed into the inferno. Seconds later, he emerged carrying his lifeless son. Danny was burned all over, save for his face — protected by his hands. His clothes had been reduced to ashes. Firefighters and an ambulance arrived. Danny was alive but barely. Surgeons worked desperately, while his parents waited in agony. A doctor emerged at last: “We’re doing all we can. Your son is in a coma. His chances are one in a million. Medicine can do no more. If Danny fights with everything he’s got, maybe a miracle will happen. Be strong.” Without thinking, Alex and Jenny dashed to the nearest church, drenched by a wild downpour, desperate to save their boy. For the first time in their lives, they entered the sanctuary. There, in the hushed gloom, they found Father Simon. “Our son’s dying! Please, what should we do?” Jenny sobbed. “Ah, so in need you come to God? Are you very sinful?” the priest asked bluntly. “Don’t think so. Never killed anyone,” Alex muttered, avoiding Father Simon’s piercing eyes. “But you killed your love for each other — it lies dead at your feet. Between loving husband and wife, not even a thread should pass. Between you, you could lay a tree trunk and it wouldn’t touch a soul! Pray for your son’s life, children. Pray hard. But remember, it’s all God’s will. Sometimes, God teaches the foolish this way. Otherwise you’d never learn. Love saves all.” Soaked through and through, Alex and Jenny knelt before the icon of St. Nicholas, sobbing out their prayers, making promises, vowing to end all their affairs. The next morning, the phone rang. Danny had come out of his coma. His parents rushed to his bedside. He tried to smile through his pain. “Mum, Dad, please don’t split up,” Danny whispered. “Why do you think we would, sweetheart? We’re together,” Jenny soothed, stroking his hot hand. Danny winced. “I saw it, Mum. And when I have children, I’ll name them after you.” Alex and Jenny exchanged glances, thinking Danny was talking nonsense — children? He couldn’t even lift a finger, barely clinging to life! But from that moment, Danny began to recover. All the family’s efforts went into saving him; the holiday home was sold. The garage and car, lost in the fire, could have helped too — but the only thing that mattered was that their boy survived. Grandparents chipped in however they could. The family rallied together in their shared grief. Even the longest day must end. A year passed. Danny was now at a rehabilitation centre, able to walk and look after himself. There, he met Mary, a girl his own age, also a burns survivor, her face terribly scarred. She was shy, never looking in mirrors. Danny was drawn to her gentle spirit and inner wisdom, wanting to protect her. They spent every free moment together. Both had known unimaginable pain and despair, learned to swallow bitter medicine, grow unafraid of needles and white coats. Time passed… Danny and Mary had a quiet wedding. Two beautiful children followed — a daughter, Charlotte, and, three years later, a son, Eugene. At last, the family seemed settled and at peace. Yet, at this point, Alex and Jenny decided to part ways. Everything with Danny had left them empty and weary. Both craved freedom and calm. Jenny moved in with her sister in the suburbs, but first stopped by the church for Father Simon’s blessing. She often thanked him for Danny’s life, but he always reminded her: “Thank God, Jenny!” He wasn’t pleased she was leaving, but said gently, “If you must, go and rest. Sometimes solitude is good for the soul. But come back! Husband and wife are one!” Alex remained alone in their empty flat. The sons, now with families of their own, lived separately. Even the former couple visited their grandchildren at different times, careful not to cross paths. In short, now everyone was comfortable…

RAW TO THE TOUCH In this family, everyone lived their own life. Tom, the father, had not only his wife

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Fate on a Hospital Bed: The Story of a Nurse, a Tuberculosis Patient Named Dmitri, His Abandoned Marriage, and the Trials and Triumphs of Love, Loss, and Family Through the Years

FATE ON A HOSPITAL BED Miss, please, take this and look after him! I darent even stand near him, let

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I Came to Visit Because I Missed You, But My Grown Children Feel Like Strangers – A Mother’s Story of Longing and Disappointment

I came to visit because I missed you, but children feel like strangers now. Parents always worry about

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A Struggling Man Rescues a Drowning Woman

Victor Mills, fresh from tucking his meagre evening catch into a wicker basket and making his way down

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I’ll Remind You — “Miss Mary, look, I just can’t get this curl right,” little Tom whispered sadly, poking his paintbrush at a stubborn green leaf on his flower painting that just wouldn’t curl the way he wanted. — “Don’t press so hard on your brush, darling… Like this—paint as if you’re tickling your palm with a feather. There! Well done! That’s not a curl, that’s a masterpiece!” smiled the elderly teacher. “And who’s the lucky person getting such a beautiful picture?” — “It’s for my mum!” Tom beamed, proud now that he’d conquered the stubborn leaf. “It’s her birthday today! This is my present!” His voice was tinged with a touch of pride at the teacher’s praise. — “Oh, your mum’s a lucky lady, Tom. Wait a minute—don’t close your sketchbook yet. Let the paint dry so it won’t smudge. When you get home, carefully tear the page out. Your mum will love it, you’ll see!” Miss Mary watched the small, dark head bent so intently over the drawing, then smiled to herself and returned to her desk. A present for mum! Mary couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen such a beautiful gift. Tom really did have a talent for art! She must call his mum and suggest signing him up for art classes—you can’t let a gift like this go to waste. It might be nice to ask her old pupil if she liked the present too. Mary herself couldn’t tear her eyes from those flourishing leaves and curling stems on the paper. It almost seemed as if they might rustle to life at any moment. Ah, he takes after his mother! Just like her. Larissa was a gifted little artist at his age too… ***** — “Miss Mary, this is Larissa, Tom’s mum,” came the evening call in the teacher’s flat, the young woman’s voice strict through the receiver, “Just phoning to say Tom won’t be in tomorrow.” — “Hello, Larissa! Is something wrong?” Miss Mary asked gently. — “Wrong? He ruined my whole birthday, that’s what! And now he’s lying in bed with a fever—the ambulance only just left!” — “A fever? But he left school perfectly well—and he was bringing you his present…” — “You mean those splodges?” — “What splodges, Larissa? He painted you flowers! I was just about to call you, to suggest art school for him…” — “I don’t know about flowers, but I certainly wasn’t expecting a scruffy heap!” — “A heap? What are you talking about?” Miss Mary was at a loss, frowning more deeply as she listened to Larissa’s agitated explanations. “Larissa, do you mind if I come over for a bit? I’m not far…” A few minutes later, with her former student’s consent—now, somehow, her pupil’s mum—Miss Mary was out the door, carrying an old album full of faded photos and remembered children’s drawings from her very first, long ago, beloved class. Larissa led her guest into a bright but chaotic kitchen. Clearing cake and dirty plates, she started to explain: How Tom arrived home late, caked in mud and water from his bag and clothes… How he pulled a drenched puppy from his jacket, reeking of rubbish, the poor creature thrown into a puddle by older boys—and how Tom had scrambled after him. How ruined textbooks and stained paintings were all that remained, the album on the radiator, nothing left of the flowers but a mess. How the guests left without tasting cake, and how the doctor had scolded her, a careless mother letting her child fall ill… — “So I took the puppy back to the dump once Tom fell asleep. The album’s still drying, but there’s nothing left. I can’t bear to look at it.” She didn’t notice how each word made Miss Mary grow sterner, nor how she darkened completely when Larissa recounted the puppy’s fate. Miss Mary stroked the ruined album and, quietly now, spoke— She talked of green curls and living flowers, of a child’s diligence and bravery beyond his years. Of a boy’s kind heart and about the bullies who’d thrown a helpless puppy into that puddle. Then she stood, took Larissa’s hand, and led her to the window: — “See there? That puddle? Tom could have drowned instead of the puppy. Do you really think he thought about that? Perhaps he was thinking of the flowers on his painting, hoping not to ruin his gift for you? Or have you forgotten, Larissa, how you once cried on a school bench in the old days, hugging a stray kitten you saved from bullies? How the whole class gathered, waiting for your mum? How you didn’t want to go home, blaming your parents when they tossed that ‘scruffy ball of fur’ out… Good thing you changed your mind in time! Well, let me remind you! And Tiddles, the one you couldn’t part with, and floppy-eared Max, that puppy, always by your side until university. Even the rook with a broken wing you nursed in our class pet corner…” From her yellowed album, Miss Mary took an old photograph—a slim girl in a white pinny, clutching a kitten and beaming at the crowd of classmates—and continued, voice gentle but firm: — “Let me remind you of the kindness that once blossomed in your heart in bright colours, against all odds…” An old drawing fluttered from the album onto the table—a little girl holding a scruffy kitten, her other hand clutching her mother’s. — “If it were up to me,” Miss Mary went on more sternly, “I’d shower that puppy and Tom both with kisses! I’d frame those colourful splodges! Because there’s no better present for a mother than raising a child who turns out a decent person!” The teacher didn’t notice Larissa growing paler, worrying glances thrown toward Tom’s bedroom, or the way her fingers clutched that ill-fated album… — “Miss Mary! Please, could you keep an eye on Tom for just a few minutes? I need to—please, I’ll be quick!” Under her teacher’s kind but watchful eyes, Larissa hurried into her coat and rushed out. Not caring about her soaked shoes, she ran back to the dump in the distance, calling and searching beneath cardboard boxes and through rubbish bags, anxious eyes straying again and again towards home… Would he forgive her? ***** — “Tom, who’s that with his nose buried in the flowers? Is that your friend—Digger?” — “That’s him, Miss Mary! Looks just like him, doesn’t he?” — “He does! And the white star on his paw—you painted it perfectly! I remember helping your mum scrub those paws, you know,” the teacher laughed kindly. — “I wash Digger’s paws every day now!” Tom said proudly. “Mum says, ‘If you have a friend, you take care of him!’ She even got us a special bath for him!” — “Your mum’s wonderful,” smiled Miss Mary. “Are you working on another present for her?” — “Yep! Going to put it in a frame. She’s still got those splodges on the wall, but now when she looks at them, she smiles. Can you smile at splodges, Miss Mary?” — “Splodges?” The teacher chuckled. “Maybe… if the splodges are made from the heart. Tell me, how are you getting on at art school? Is it going well?” — “Brilliantly! Soon I’ll be able to paint my mum’s portrait! She’ll love that! But for now—here.” Tom reached into his bag and handed her a folded piece of paper. “This is from my mum—she paints now, too.” Miss Mary unfolded the sheet, squeezing his shoulder gently. Smiling up from the page in a scatter of colourful paints was a beaming Tom, his hand resting on a black-and-white mongrel gazing at him adoringly. On the right stood a petite, fair-haired girl in an old-fashioned uniform, hugging a fluffy kitten… On the left, behind a desk laden with books, sat Miss Mary herself, smiling, her impossibly wise eyes watching over the happy children. In every brushstroke and dab of colour, Miss Mary felt the warmth of a mother’s pride. Tears sparkled, but she smiled as she noticed, in a quiet corner edged with flowers and curling green stems, a single word, lovingly written: “Remember.”

ILL REMIND YOU “Miss Mary, the swirl here just wont come out right, whispered little Tom, a Year

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I’m Fed Up With You Turning Up Every Weekend! How My Brother-in-Law’s Entire Family Started Using Our House as Their Weekend Getaway—And What I Did to Finally Get My Life (and Weekends) Back in Order

Ive truly had enough of them turning up every weekend! You might have encountered that particular sort

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Fate Extended a Helping Hand

Fate extended a hand Emily Carter seemed to have a normal family: a father, John, and a mother, Helen

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She Thought Her Husband Had a Hearty Appetite, Until She Discovered His Sister Was Stealing All Their Food

Emily stood in front of the open fridge, her hand pressed to her forehead, eyes narrowed. Yet again

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I Never Took What Wasn’t Mine: The Story of Martha, Nastya, and Lost Chances—From Envy, Hardship, and Schoolyard Cruelty to a Bittersweet Reunion and New Beginnings

NEVER TOOK ANOTHER’S Looking back now, I remember school days, when Margaret held nothing but disdainand

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Fate on a Hospital Bed: A Nurse’s Tender Care for a Tuberculosis Patient Leads to Unexpected Love, as a Cold-Hearted Wife Turns Away and Life’s Trials Forge a True Family Over the Years

FATE ON THE HOSPITAL BED “Miss, just take care of him! Im scared to go near him, let alone feed