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Happy Women Always Look Fabulous Lily was deeply shaken by her husband’s betrayal. At forty, she found herself alone—her daughter away at university in another city. Two months ago, her husband Igor had come home, sat down, and announced: “I’m leaving you. I’ve fallen in love.” “In love? With whom?” Lily was stunned. “As men do. I fell for someone else. I feel good with her, I forget about you completely,” he replied matter-of-factly, like it was no big deal. He packed quickly and left. Only afterwards, reflecting, did Lily realise the decision hadn’t been made overnight. He’d been taking his things bit by bit, and that day he just threw them in a suitcase and shut the door on their life together. Lily cried, mourned, and thought nothing good would ever happen to her again. Life seemed to have stopped. She didn’t want to see or talk to anyone. Her phone rang constantly—her daughter, her best friend—but she answered reluctantly, usually hanging up quickly. At work, she didn’t want to talk to colleagues, all of whom looked at her differently; some with pity, others with a smirk. Lily still hoped: Maybe Igor’s fling would lose its appeal, maybe he would return to her. “If he comes back, I’ll forgive him—I still love him.” One weekend morning, Lily woke up early, as always, but lay in bed—no reason to get up, no reason to rush anywhere. Around eleven, her phone rang. “Who bothers calling this early? I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she decided, glancing at the unfamiliar number. Then a thought popped into her head—what if it was Igor, who’d lost his phone or needed a new SIM? What if he wanted to come back? She regretted not answering. As she pondered, the phone rang again. “Hello?” she said into the receiver. “Hi!” chirped a lively female voice. “Sorry, who is this?” Lily replied, voice dripping with irritation. “Lily, it’s me—Kerry! Your old mate!” came the answer. Lily was disappointed; she’d been hoping to hear Igor’s voice. “How are you holding up?” “Not well,” Lily answered, quickly hanging up as tears streamed down. She sat on the sofa and tried to calm herself. Shortly after, someone rang the doorbell. Lily’s heart leapt—could it be that Igor had changed his mind? She opened the door, and found herself face-to-face with a glamorous, confident woman—her old school friend Kerry. Kerry was radiant, with bold lipstick, stylish clothes, and a heavenly perfume that snapped Lily into the present. After school, Kerry had gone off to university in London, and they’d only met once in the last fifteen years. At school, they’d danced at parties, gossiped, swapped secrets. “Wow, you look amazing!” Lily said involuntarily. “Hey, darling. I’ve always looked like this. You… not so much,” Kerry said, giving Lily a top-to-bottom scan. “Well, are you going to let me in, or—?” “Come in,” Lily replied, grudgingly letting her friend into the flat. Kerry had come prepared, heading straight for the kitchen with a bottle of Spanish wine, cake, and oranges. “Get out the wine glasses—let’s toast our reunion!” Kerry chattered away, and Lily, wordlessly, fetched glasses and sliced cake. Without asking more questions, Kerry opened the wine and poured them both drinks. “To our reunion!” she cheered, raising her glass. They toasted, and after another round, Lily finally spilled everything—her pain, her heartbreak. Kerry just listened, then shrugged. “Oh Lily, I thought something truly awful had happened.” “It has!” Lily protested. “Your husband never left you.” “My husband? Please, I left him,” Kerry replied, “after I found out he’d hooked up with some young thing. I filed for divorce right away! He was so shocked—thought he could party on the side and I’d never notice.” “Maybe you didn’t love him,” Lily sighed. “I did love him—a lot,” said Kerry, “but I refuse to stay with someone who hurts me. That’s not love.” “My goodness, Kerry, you make it sound so simple.” “It is! You just complicate everything—and you always have. So where’s your daughter?” “She’s at university, in another city. Staying with an aunt.” “Figures. So your ex ditched you and his daughter, but you’re still suffering.” “But I love him…” “Enough, Lily. Time for my special treatment for heartbreak—no pills needed. Shopping, makeovers, and maybe new romance!” “Ooooh, Kerry…” “Come on, get dressed! We’re off to the shopping centre, then the salon. No excuses. And do you have any cash put by?” “Well, yes—we were saving for a new car for Igor.” “He can make do with his old banger. You need to file for divorce and stop hoping for him to come back. And, actually, we should get your share for that car!” “No, let him keep it,” Lily snapped. “Kerry, are you back from London for good?” “For good—I can’t stand it there anymore. Now get changed—we’re taking you out! Oh, and by the way, Rita Petrov called. There’s a school reunion in a week, and we’re both going. Quite a few of the lads are single. Remember Vic from our class, the one who always had a thing for you since Year Seven?” “Oh Kerry, who would want me now—I’m just an old nag.” “Don’t be daft, Lily! You need to love yourself! We’ll have you looking like a prize-winning filly in no time,” Kerry laughed as she dragged Lily out of the door. “Hey, you remember my Auntie Cathy? She lives near your mum. She’s getting married for the fifth time, but can’t pick between two chaps!” Soon, Lily could hardly recognise herself in the mirror. “Unbelievable! Brand new hair colour, super-short cut—I’d never have thought it would suit me so much,” Lily marvelled. “I look young and gorgeous! Thank God for Kerry, she’s given me a new lease of life. Otherwise, I’d have sunk into bed and mouldered.” The school reunion was held at a local café, nearly everyone was there except a few who couldn’t travel. Many didn’t recognise Lily at first; Vic, now a successful businessman, couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Lily, I didn’t even recognise you—you’re more stunning now than ever! I always fancied you, but you chose Igor instead. Where is he, anyway?” “He left me,” Lily smiled. “He left? Don’t joke, Lily—no one would ever walk away from a woman like you.” “Apparently they do. But it’s for the best.” “I never doubted that. I’m divorced too—been two years. Things took a turn with my business, and my now ex-wife called me a loser and went off with someone younger. But I bounced back, stronger than ever.” Two months later, Lily was out hand-in-hand with Vic, strolling along the Thames after a night at the theatre. Suddenly, she saw Igor walking toward them, looking gaunt and alone. He didn’t recognise her at first. “Maybe his new woman doesn’t feed him well,” she thought snarkily. Igor caught her eye, hesitated, and asked, “Lily?” She turned slowly, smiled, and said, “Oh, hello. This is Igor—my ex-husband. You didn’t recognise him, did you, Vic?” “Hello. Nope, I didn’t,” Vic said. “I’m Lily’s future husband.” Igor’s jaw dropped. Even Lily was surprised—Vic hadn’t actually proposed yet! “How are you?” Lily asked cheerily. “Oh, I’m… fine,” Igor stammered, “You’ve changed so much! You look fantastic.” Lily smiled, took Vic’s arm and said, “Happy women always look fabulous.” “So things are good for you?” Igor muttered. “Of course! And they’re going to get even better,” Lily replied, and walked off with Vic, feeling the burning gaze of her ex-husband on her back.

Happy women always look their best Claire was deeply hurt by her husband’s betrayal. At forty

My Dear Wife – “How have you managed to live with the same woman for so many years? What’s your secret?” My brother never missed the chance to ask these questions whenever he visited. “Love, and endless patience—that’s the whole secret,” I always replied. “That recipe isn’t for me. I love all women. Each one is a mystery. Living with a book you’ve already read? No, thanks,” my brother would smirk. My younger brother Peter married at eighteen. His bride, Asya, was ten years his senior—a sweet woman hopelessly in love with Peter for life, while Peter saw her only as a passing amusement. Asya moved into Peter’s family home, where seven relatives lived, and gave birth to a son, Mitya. She believed her happiness was finally complete. The young couple was given a tiny room, where Asya displayed her cherished collection of rare porcelain figurines—ten delicate treasures that everyone in the family knew meant the world to her. At the time, I myself was searching for the one woman to spend a lifetime with—a dream that ultimately came true. My wife and I have now been married over fifty years. Peter and Asya lasted ten years. Asya could boast of little—the devoted, compliant wife who loved her husband and son wholeheartedly. What more did Peter want? One night, Peter came home drunk, picking on Asya and making crude jokes. Sensing trouble, Asya quietly left with Mitya. Suddenly, there was a terrible crash—the sound of her precious collection shattering. She ran back to find all her treasured figurines in pieces, except for one that miraculously survived. Asya kissed it, eyes brimming with tears, and said nothing. From that day, a rift opened between them. Asya fulfilled her duties, but a spark was gone. Peter drank more, brought home questionable friends and women. Asya withdrew, becoming distant and unreachable. Peter neglected the family, and eventually, they parted ways—without shouting or accusations. Asya took Mitya and moved back to her hometown, leaving the lone surviving figurine behind as a memory. Peter wasn’t lonely for long; he threw himself into a reckless, untethered life of repeated marriages, heartbreaks, and drink. Though a brilliant economist—in-demand at universities, author of a textbook, with a sparkling future—he let it all slip away. At last, thinking he had settled down, our relieved family attended his simple wedding to a stunning woman with a seventeen-year-old son—a stepchild Peter underestimated, and who ultimately drove them to divorce five years later after much strife. Peter bounced from one romance to the next—Lily, Natalie, Sue—believing each was the one. But life had other plans. At fifty-three, Peter fell gravely ill. No women remained but his family. On his deathbed, he asked me, “Simon, there’s a suitcase under my bed—bring it here.” I opened it, stunned to find it packed with delicate porcelain figurines, each carefully wrapped. “I collected these for Asya—never forgot the silent reproach in her eyes when her collection was smashed. My poor wife endured plenty. There’s a hidden compartment with money—give it all to my dear wife. Ask her to forgive me. Promise you’ll do this, Simon.” I choked back tears and solemnly agreed. He pointed to an envelope under his pillow with Asya’s address. Though they hadn’t spoken in years, Asya had kept in touch, writing letters—never replied to, but always sent. After Peter’s funeral, I set off to find Asya. We met at a lonely train platform. She hugged me, “Oh Simon—you and Peter could be twins.” I handed her the suitcase, passed on Peter’s request for forgiveness and his last gifts. It was our final parting. Later, I received one last letter: “Simon, thank you and Peter for everything. I’m grateful to God that Peter was part of my life. Mitya and I sold the figurines to a real enthusiast and used the money to move to Canada—my sister had long invited us, and nothing kept me here. All that remained was hope Peter would call me back—he never did. But I am happy he always saw me as his true wife. Now Mitya is better, and I am content. Farewell.” She left no return address…

THE TRUE WIFE How have you managed to survive so many years with one wife? Whats the trick?

Take Him Wherever You Like, Do Whatever You Want with Him, I Can’t Handle It Anymore!

One night, while on the night shift at the hospital in York, I overheard a fragment of a colleagues phone call.

Bitterness at the Bottom of My Soul “It’s high time the children’s home took you in! Get out of our family!” I screamed, my voice cracking with fury. The target of my utter indignation was my cousin, James. Oh, how I adored him as a kid! Sandy blond hair, dreamy cornflower-blue eyes, always up for a laugh – that was James. Family gatherings were frequent in those days. Out of all my cousins, James stood out. He could charm with words like a master storyteller, and he was a talented artist. He’d sketch five, even six pictures in an evening with nothing but a pencil. I’d gawk in awe, sneak the drawings away, and hide them carefully in my desk. I treasured James’s creations. James was two years older than me. When he was 14, tragedy struck – out of nowhere, his mum passed away in her sleep. Suddenly, everyone was asking, “What will happen to James?” First, people tried his biological father, but he was difficult to track down. Divorced from James’s mum for years, he’d started a new family and “didn’t want any disruption.” The rest of the relatives shrugged: “We’ve our own lives, our own kids…” Turns out, family’s close at midday, but when darkness falls, it’s nowhere to be found. So, with two kids of their own, my parents became James’s guardians. After all, his late mum was my dad’s little sister. At first, I was excited: James would live with us! But… On his very first day in our house, I noticed something unsettling. Wanting to comfort him, my mother asked, “Is there anything you’d like, James? Don’t be shy.” James didn’t miss a beat: “A Hornby train set.” I should mention – that was an expensive toy, especially then. I was stunned – his mum had died, and he was dreaming about a train set. How could he? My parents bought it immediately. But then it never stopped… “Buy me a tape recorder, jeans, a branded jacket…” This was the ‘80s – those things were pricey and hard to get. Still, my parents, stretching every penny, fulfilled the orphan’s wishes at the expense of their own children. My brother and I tried to be understanding. When James turned 16, he discovered girls. He was a hopeless flirt, constantly chasing after them – including me, his own cousin. But I was sporty, always dodging his sleazy advances, and we even came to blows. I often cried my eyes out. My parents never knew. Kids rarely spill secrets that private. When I rebuffed him firmly, James wasted no time shifting his attention to my friends – and they competed for it! And then James stole. Oblivious and shameless. I remember my piggy bank – I’d saved lunch money to buy presents for my parents. One day, it was empty. James denied everything, cool as a cucumber. My heart shattered – how could he steal from us, his family? He trampled our trust. I sulked and stewed, but James genuinely didn’t see what he’d done wrong – he truly believed everyone owed him. That’s when I started to hate him, and shouted for him to leave. I lashed out at James, said things that couldn’t fit in a hat… Mum barely calmed me down. From that moment on, James ceased to exist for me. I ignored him in every possible way. Later, it turned out other relatives knew what kind of ‘character’ James was. They’d seen things we hadn’t, since we lived in another part of town. James’s old teachers had warned my parents: “You’re taking on a burden – James will ruin your own children.” At his new school, James met Kate, who fell deeply in love and married him straight after graduation. They had a daughter. Kate endured his antics, constant lies and endless affairs. As the saying goes: “If you think you’ve suffered as a single girl, married life will double your woes.” James would always exploit Kate’s love – she seemed bound to him for life. He was called up for National Service, stationed in Yorkshire. There, somehow, James started another family – apparently during weekend leave. After demob, he stayed behind in Yorkshire because he had a son. But Kate, undaunted, tracked him down and, by hook or by crook, got him back. My parents never received a word of thanks from James, though that’s not why they took him in. Today, James Edward is 60, a regular churchgoer. He and Kate have five grandchildren. Life seems fine, but the bitterness from my dealings with James never left me. And I still can’t stomach honey with him, even now…

BITTERNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SOUL The Council should have taken you years ago to some home!

My True Wife – Every Time My Brother Visits, He Asks How I’ve Stayed Married for So Many Years. I Always Say: “Love and Endless Patience—That’s the Secret.” But My Brother Wasn’t Meant for One Woman. He Married Young, Toyed with Asya’s Heart, and Left Her with Only One Precious Porcelain Figurine. After Many Divorces and a Life Spiraling Away, He Tried to Make Amends with a Suitcase Full of Porcelain and His Final Savings. I Carried His Last Gift to the Only Woman He Ever Truly Hurt—The Wife Who Never Stopped Being Family.

MY TRUE WIFE How have you managed to live with the same wife for so many years? What’

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