Happy Women Always Look Fabulous: Lily’s Journey from Heartbreak to a Glamorous Reunion and New Love After Divorce

Author Wanda MirandaReading 8 minViews 2

Happy women always look their best

Emily had struggled deeply after her husband betrayed her. At forty, she found herself alone; her daughter was at university in another city. Just two months ago, Tom had come home after work and announced:

Im leaving you. Ive fallen in love.

What do you mean? Emily stammered. With whom?

Well, its what men do, isnt it? he replied, almost casually. Ive met someone else. Im happy with her, and when Im with her, I forget about you entirely. So dont try to talk me out of itIve made up my mind.

He packed his bags surprisingly quickly and left. Later, when Emily thought it all through, she realised Tom hadnt decided to go in a single moment; hed been quietly packing for days. On that day, he hurriedly threw things into a suitcase and closed the door behind him.

Emily wept for days, convinced nothing good would ever happen to her again. It felt as if life was over, or at least on pause. She didnt want to see or hear anyone. She didnt wish to speak, and her phone kept ringing. Her daughter called, her best friend called; Emily would answer reluctantly and then hang up just as quickly. She didnt feel like talking to her colleagues at work either. People looked at her differently: some with pity, others with a knowing smirk.

Sometimes Emily found herself hoping, Maybe Tom will grow tired of the woman who stole him from me, come back, and Ill forgive him because I love him.

One Saturday, Emily woke up early as usual but didnt feel like getting up. Eventually, she did. By eleven, her phone rang.

Whos bothering me so early? she thought, ignoring the call and glancing at the unknown number. Suddenly, a thought struck hermaybe it was Tom. Perhaps hed lost his phone or changed his number. Maybe hed decided to come back. She regretted not answering.

While she was contemplating, the phone rang again.

Hello? she said, a hint of hope in her voice.

Hi! came a lively and cheerful female voice.

Who is this? Emily asked, her tone heavy with irritation.

Em! Dont you recognise your old mates now? Its meSophie.

Emily felt instantly disappointed, having somehow expected to hear Toms voice.

So, what is it? she asked.

Emily, are you alright? You dont sound yourself.

No, Emily whispered and hung up, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She sat on the couch, trying to calm down. Not long after, the doorbell rang. Emilys heart skipped a beatcould it be Tom, finally regretting his decision? She opened the door, fingers crossed.

Hi! said a stunning woman, whom Emily eventually recognised as her old school friend, Sophie.

Sophie looked immaculatebright lipstick, trendy clothes, her perfume filling the flat. After leaving school, shed gone to study at university in London, and they had seen each other just once in the last fifteen years. Back in their school days, they were inseparabledancing at parties, swapping secrets, chasing boys.

Sophie, you look amazing, Emily blurted out, unable to mask her awe.

Hello, love. Ive always been this way; its you Sophie gave her a quick once-over. Are you going to let me in or?

Emily stepped aside. Come in, she said, not entirely enthusiastically, but glad of the company.

Sophie didnt come empty-handed; she walked straight to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of Spanish wine, a cake, and some oranges from her bag.

Bring your glasseswe must celebrate! Its been ages since we last caught up, Sophie said, chattering away as Emily poured the wine and sliced the cake.

They clinked glassesfirst for their reunion, then for themselves. After the second glass, Emilys sadness overflowed, and she poured out her story. Sophie just listened and shrugged when Emily finished.

Oh, Emily, I thought something serious had happened!

Isnt it serious? You dont get ityour husband never left you, said Emily gloomily.

Not quite! Sophie replied, I left my husband first when I found out he was seeing some young woman. Filed for divorce before he even realised I knew. He probably thought he could play the field without me noticing!

Maybe you didnt love him, Emily reasoned.

Oh, I did, Sophie replied, but I wont put up with being treated badly. If he cheats, it isnt love.

My goodness, Sophiewhy do you make it sound so easy?

Because it is, Emily. You always complicate things. Anyway, wheres your daughter?

Shes at uni, living with my sister.

I see. So your Tom left both you and your daughter, but youre still hung up on him?

I still love him

Enough, Emily. Lets fix this. You need a cure for the blues.

What kind of cure? Pills wont help.

No pills, silly. Trust methe classic remedies are best: a fresh look, a shopping spree, and maybe a new romance.

Emily rolled her eyes.

Come on, get dressed. Were going to the shopping centreand youre getting a new haircut. And no excuses. By the way, do you have any cash squirreled away?

Some savings, yes. We were saving up for a new car for Tom.

Well, he can manage. Be glad he took the old car. You need to file for divorce and stop hoping hell come back. And dont even think of forgiving him Actually, we could even get you half the value of the car in the settlement.

Let him keep it, Emily replied, surprising herself. Are you staying in London for good?

Yes, Ive had enough of the city for now Anyway, change out of those pyjamaswe have shops to hit. Oh, and Rita Parker called; our school reunion is next week. You and I are going, and lots of people are comingincluding a few single men. Remember how Victor fancied you from year seven?

Really, Sophiewho would want me now, a washed-up old mule?

Dont be ridiculous, Emily. You must learn to love and pamper yourself. Well have you looking like a lively filly in no time! Sophie laughed heartily, heading out the door. Do you remember my aunt Catherine who lives round the corner from your mum? Shes about to get married for the fifth time and cant decide between two suitors!

A while later, Emily barely recognised herself in the mirror.

This makeover is incredible, she marvelled. A different hair colour, stylish short cutshed never imagined shed look younger and prettier. Sophie had certainly worked her magic; without her, Emily would have stayed lost.

The reunion was at a cosy café. Almost everyone came, except for a few who lived far away. Some were shocked by Emilys transformation, and Victorthe same Victor from schoolcouldnt take his eyes off her.

Emily, is it really you? Youre more beautiful than ever. I always fancied you, but you chose Tom from the other class. Where is he now, by the way?

He left me, Emily smiled, without bitterness.

Left you? You must be joking. Who would leave a woman like you?

Apparently, they do, Emily said, but honestly, it was for the best.

Victor nodded. I believe you. Im divorced, too, two years now. My ex wrote me off when my business hit the rocks and went off with someone youngeror at least more successful. But I bounced back, and Im doing better than ever now.

Later, Emily and Victor were walking arm-in-arm along the riverside after seeing a play, strolling through the evening city. Suddenly, she spotted Tomthinner nowwalking alone. He didnt recognise Emily at first.

Looks like shes not feeding him well, Emily mused.

As Tom passed by, their eyes met. He frowned, unsure whether it was Emily or not. They walked past each other until Tom called out:

Emily?

She turned slowly, smiled, and said, Oh, hello Tom. Meet Victormy future husband. Didnt recognise you, did you?

Hello. No, I didnt, Victor replied smoothly. Im Emilys fiancé.

Toms jaw dropped, and Emily hid her own surprise, as Victor had never actually proposed.

How are you? Emily asked Tom, cheery.

Fine alright Tom replied. You look incredible. Youve changed so much.

Emily smiled warmly, squeezed Victors hand, and said, Happy women always look their best.

So, things are good then? Tom mumbled.

Of course. And getting better. Emily turned toward Victor, walking away with renewed confidence, while she felt Toms searching gaze behind her.

She discovered that happiness is something you create yourself, and when you begin to value yourself, life transforms in unexpected and beautiful ways.

ARE YOU MY HAPPINESS? Honestly, I never planned on getting married. If it hadn’t been for my future husband’s persistent courtship, I’d still be living like a free spirit. Arthur was like a lovesick butterfly, fluttering around me, never letting me out of his sight, eager to please, treating me like I was made of glass… In short, I caved. We got married. Arthur instantly became a homebody—a familiar, warm soul. Life with him was easy, comfortable, like slipping into your favourite slippers. A year later, our son, Steven, was born. Arthur worked in another city, only coming home once a week, always bringing us delicious treats. One time when he was home, as usual, I got ready to wash his clothes and checked all the pockets, just in case. (Once I’d already washed his driving licence!) After that, I always double-checked before laundry. This time, a piece of paper fell out of his trousers—folded four times. I opened it. It was a long list of school supplies (it was August), with a child’s handwriting at the end: “Dad, please come home soon.” So, that’s how my husband spends his time away! A two-timer! I didn’t kick off a tantrum, didn’t pack my bag, grab Steven (not even three years old) by the hand, and head off to my mum’s house—indefinitely. Mum gave us a room: “Stay here until you sort things out.” I started thinking about revenge on my thankless husband. I remembered an old schoolmate, Rob. Now Rob, he was always chasing me—back in school, and even after. So I called him. “Hi, Rob! You married yet?” I asked playfully. “Nadine? Hey! What does it matter—married, divorced… Maybe we should meet up?” Rob perked up. And so began my impromptu fling. It lasted six months. Arthur paid child support, handing it over to my mum each month before leaving silently. I learned Arthur was living with Katie Evans—she had a daughter from her first marriage. Katie insisted her daughter call Arthur “Dad.” They all lived in Arthur’s flat. As soon as Katie heard I’d left, she and her daughter moved straight in from out of town. Katie worshipped Arthur—knitted him woolly socks and warm jumpers, cooked hearty meals… I only learned all this later. I’ll always bring up Katie Evans when my husband’s around. Back then, though, I thought our marriage was over, a complete disaster… …But, meeting over coffee to discuss divorce, Arthur and I were suddenly swamped with fond memories. Arthur confessed his undying love, repented, admitted he didn’t know how to get rid of clingy Katie. I couldn’t help but pity him. We reunited. And Arthur never found out about Rob. Katie and her daughter left town for good. …Seven happy years passed. Then Arthur was in a terrible car accident. Operations, rehab, walking with a stick—it took two years. The ordeal wore him down. Arthur began drinking heavily, losing all sense of himself, shutting out the world. It was agony, watching him destroy himself and wear us down. Pleas didn’t help. He refused all support. At work, I found a shoulder to cry on—Paul. He’d listen to me during smoke breaks, stroll after work, comfort and encourage. Paul was married; his wife was expecting their second child. To this day, I’m not sure how Paul and I ended up in bed together—madness! He was a head shorter than me, nothing like my type! Suddenly, Paul swept me off to galleries, concerts, ballets. When his wife had their daughter, the fun stopped. Paul quit our company and took another job. Maybe he thought: out of sight, out of mind? I didn’t hold it against him and let him go back to his family. For me, he was just a bandage for my soul. I never wanted to break up his marriage. Meanwhile, Arthur kept drinking. …Five years later, I bumped into Paul. He earnestly proposed to me. I had to laugh. My Arthur did manage to pull himself together—for a bit. He went to work in Prague. I played the devoted wife and caring mum, focused on family. Arthur came back after half a year. We renovated the flat, bought gadgets, fixed up his car. Life should have been great. But no—instead, Arthur relapsed and drank even more. Hell started all over again. His mates carried him home—he couldn’t walk, only crawl. I’d rush around our neighbourhood looking for my out-of-it husband, dragging him home from park benches, empty-pocketed… Anything could happen. …Then, one spring afternoon, I was standing sadly at a bus stop. Birds chirping, the sun glowing—April in full bloom, but I didn’t care. Someone whispered softly in my ear: “Maybe I can help with your troubles?” I turned around. My, what a handsome, well-groomed man! And here I am, 45! Am I going to be ‘ripe fruit’ again? I blushed like a schoolgirl. Thankfully, my bus arrived—I jumped on quickly, away from temptation. The man waved me off. All day, I daydreamed about him at work. Sure, I played hard to get for a couple of weeks… But Igor (that was his name) was relentless, like a tank. He’d wait for me every morning at the bus stop. I didn’t dare be late—would peek ahead to see if my heartthrob was waiting. Igor would flash me a smile and send flying kisses. One morning, he brought a bunch of red tulips. “What am I supposed to do with flowers at work?” I snorted. “The girls’ll figure me out and I’ll be in trouble for nothing.” Igor grinned, handed the bouquet to a little old lady watching our drama. The lady absolutely beamed! “Thank you, love! Wishing you a passionate lover!” I blushed at her words—at least she didn’t wish me a younger one! Igor turned to me: “Nadine, let’s be ‘in trouble’ together! Trust me, you won’t regret it.” Honestly, his offer was tempting and very timely. Arthur and I were on different planets then—most days, he was a lifeless plank, lost to drink. Igor didn’t smoke or drink, used to be an athlete (he was 57), and a brilliant talker—divorced, with a magnetic charm. I plunged headlong into a whirlwind affair! It was a pool of wild passion. For three years, I was torn between home and Igor, utterly muddled inside. I couldn’t stop—even when I wanted to. As they say, “a girl drives away the lad, but he doesn’t go.” Igor had total control over my body and soul! When he stood near, I couldn’t breathe. Pure madness! But deep down, I knew this couldn’t end well—I didn’t love Igor. After every steamy encounter, I wanted nothing more than to snuggle up to my husband—drunk, reeking, yet familiar and dear! Your own crust is tastier than someone else’s cake, I thought. Passion comes from ‘suffering’—I was ready to be done with Igor and come home, instead of foolishly chasing pleasure. That was my logic. My body, though, kept falling headfirst. My son knew about Igor. Once he spotted us at a restaurant, out with his girlfriend. I had to introduce them. They shook hands, exchanged glances. At dinner, Steven watched me, waiting for answers. I joked it off—“just a colleague, talking about a new project.” “In a restaurant, Mum?” he smirked. Steven didn’t judge—he just begged me not to divorce Dad: “Maybe Dad will come round.” I felt like a lost sheep. My divorced friend kept urging me, “Drop those useless lovers and calm down.” I listened; she had plenty of practice (on her third husband). But in the end, I only stopped with Igor when he tried to raise a hand against me. That was the final straw. My friend used to say: “It’s all calm till you step off the shore…” The fog lifted—I’d been stuck in darkness three years! Freedom at last! Igor kept chasing me, pleading at every chance—even on his knees, in public… But I stood firm. My friend kissed me in congratulations and gave me a mug with “You’re Right!” on it. As for Arthur, he knew all about my affair—Igor had called and told him everything. Igor was convinced I’d leave my marriage. Arthur later told me: “When I heard your admirer’s serenades, I just wanted to die quietly. It was all my fault—I lost my wife to the bottle. Idiot. What could I possibly say?” …Ten years have passed since. Arthur and I have two granddaughters. One day, sitting together over lunch, sipping coffee, I gazed out the window. Arthur took my hand gently: “Nadine, don’t go looking elsewhere. I am your happiness! Do you believe it?” “Of course, I do, my one and only…”

05

The Syndrome of a Life Forever on Hold… Confessions of a 60-Year-Old English Woman Helen: This year, I turned 60, and none of my family even phoned to wish me a happy birthday. I have a daughter and a son, a grandson and granddaughter, and even an ex-husband still around. My daughter is 40, my son is 35. Both live in London, both graduated from prestigious London universities. Both are clever and successful. My daughter is married to a high-ranking civil servant; my son’s wife is the daughter of a major London businessman. Both have prosperous careers, several properties each, and their own businesses alongside their government roles—everything is stable. My ex-husband left when our son graduated university, saying he was tired of the pace of life. He’d always had a quiet job, spent weekends with friends or on the sofa, and went away for a whole month’s holiday every year to relatives down south. I never took holidays—I juggled three jobs at once: factory engineer, cleaner in the management offices, and on weekends packing shelves at the local supermarket from 8am to 8pm, plus cleaning storerooms and other workspaces. Every penny I earned went to our children—London is expensive, and studying at prestigious universities meant good clothes, decent food, and entertainment. I got used to wearing old clothes, repairing shoes, and patching things up. Always tidy and clean—that was enough for me. My one escape was my dreams, where sometimes I saw myself young and happy, laughing. My husband, once he left, immediately bought a flashy new car. Clearly, he’d managed to save up. The reality of our marriage was odd—I paid for everything except the rent; he paid that, and that was his whole contribution. I educated the children… The flat we lived in was inherited from my nana—a solid, comfortable two-bedroom with high ceilings, converted to three rooms. There was a storeroom (8.5 square metres with a window) which I renovated so it could fit a bed, desk, wardrobe, and shelves. My daughter had this space. My son and I shared a room—I’d only come home to sleep. My husband had the lounge. When my daughter left for London, I moved into her old storeroom, my son stayed in the other room. Our marriage ended without drama—no arguments, no property battles, no blame. He wanted to live, not just exist, and I was so worn out I was actually relieved. No more need to cook full dinners, wash his clothes and sheets, iron and put away; I could actually rest. By then, I had loads of health problems—back, joints, diabetes, thyroid, nervous exhaustion. I finally took a real holiday from work and focused on getting treatment, keeping up my other jobs to pay for it. I hired a brilliant tradesman who, with his mate, did a wonderful bathroom renovation in two weeks—that was my personal happiness, just for me. All these years, I’d sent money instead of gifts to my grown children for birthdays, Christmas, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day. Later, for my grandchildren too. So I couldn’t stop working; there was never money left for myself. I was rarely congratulated on holidays, and hardly ever received gifts. The biggest hurt was that neither my son nor my daughter invited me to their weddings. My daughter told me honestly: “Mum, you wouldn’t fit in with the crowd, there’ll be people from the Cabinet Office there.” I only found out about my son’s wedding from my daughter after it was already over. Well, at least they didn’t ask for money for the weddings… Neither child ever visits, though I always invite them. My daughter says there’s nothing for her in our ‘backwater’ (a million-person city in the Midlands). My son always says, “Mum, I’m too busy!” There are seven flights a day to London! It’s just two hours… What would I call that period of my life? Probably ‘a life of suppressed emotions’. I lived like Scarlett O’Hara—”I’ll think about it tomorrow.” I swallowed back tears and pain, stifling everything from bewilderment to despair. I was a robot set to work. Then London investors bought our factory, began reorganising, laid off all us older staff, and I lost both jobs. But it meant I could retire early, and my pension is just £850 a month… Try living on that. Luckily, a cleaning post came up in our five-storey block—so I started cleaning the stairwells: another £850. Kept up weekend packing work at the supermarket—good pay, £120 a shift, though it’s hard being on my feet all day. Began fixing up the kitchen little by little, did it myself—neighbour fitted new cupboards affordably and well. Once again, started saving. Wanted to update the bedrooms, freshen the furniture. But never did I actually make plans for myself! What do I spend on myself? Food, the simplest kind—I’ve never eaten much. And medicine, which costs a lot now. Rent just keeps going up. My ex-husband says, “Sell the flat, it’s a good area, you’ll get a decent price. Buy yourself a studio.” But I can’t. It’s my nana’s place. I have no memory of my parents—my grandmother raised me—and the flat holds my whole life’s story. My ex and I stayed on good terms. Sometimes we chat like old friends; he’s doing well, never discusses his personal life. Once a month, he brings heavy groceries—potatoes, veg, rice, bottled water. Won’t take money for it. Says not to use delivery—”you’ll just get rubbish, rotten stuff”. I agree. Something inside me feels frozen—a hard lump. I just keep going. Work a lot. I have no dreams, want nothing for myself. I only see my daughter and grandkids through her Instagram. My son’s life flashes by on his wife’s Instagram. I’m glad they’re well, healthy, enjoying holidays and fancy dinners. Maybe I didn’t give enough love, and now there’s no love for me. My daughter sometimes asks how I am—I always say I’m fine, never complain. My son sends occasional WhatsApp voice notes: “Hi Mum, hope you’re alright.” Once, my son said he didn’t want to hear about family problems—negativity gets him down. So I stopped sharing anything, always just say, “Yes, son, I’m fine.” I want to hug my grandchildren, but I suspect they don’t know they have a living grandmother—a pensioner-cleaner. Maybe in the family story I’m long gone… I cannot recall the last time I bought myself anything, apart from the occasional underwear or socks—the cheapest. Haven’t been to a beauty salon, manicure, or pedicure… Once a month a haircut at the local barbers. Colour my hair myself. At least I wear the same dress size at sixty as I did at twenty—16/18, no need to update the wardrobe. More than anything, I fear one day I won’t be able to get out of bed—my back hurts all the time. I’m terrified of being left helpless. Maybe I shouldn’t have lived this way, forever working, never resting, never allowing small joys, always waiting for ‘later’. But where is ‘later’? It’s gone… My soul feels empty… my heart, completely indifferent… and all around me, nothing but emptiness. I don’t blame anyone. Nor can I blame myself. I’ve always worked, and still work. I’m building up a safety cushion—just in case I can’t work. It won’t be much, but it’s something… Though, honestly, if I become bedridden, I wouldn’t want to live—don’t want anyone to have trouble because of me. And you know what’s saddest? No one has ever given me flowers—not once in my life. Never. Wouldn’t it be ironic if someone finally brought fresh flowers for my grave… That would be a real joke.

06

Raw Wounds… In This English Family, Everyone Lived for Themselves Dad Alex had more than just a wife—he often had a favourite woman on the side, rarely sticking to the same one. Mum Jenny, suspecting her husband’s affairs, was hardly a paragon of virtue herself and enjoyed spending time away from home with a married colleague. Their two sons were left to their own devices, largely neglected and left to wander aimlessly. Mum insisted the school was fully responsible for her boys. The family only gathered around the kitchen table on Sundays, eating quickly and in silence before going their separate ways. And so, this family existed in their own spoiled, sinful, yet strangely sweet world—until one day, the irreparable happened. When the younger son, Dennis, was twelve, Dad Alex took him along to the garage for the first time to help out. While Dennis examined the tools, Alex went to chat with his car-loving mates nearby. Suddenly, black smoke and flames erupted from the garage. No one knew what had happened at first (it was later discovered Dennis had accidentally dropped a lit blowtorch onto a can of petrol). People froze in shock. The fire raged. Alex, drenched in water, dashed inside. Seconds later, he emerged from the blazing doorway carrying his unconscious son. Dennis was severely burnt—all but his face, which he’d shielded with his hands. All his clothes were gone. Someone had already called the fire brigade and ambulance. Dennis was rushed to hospital, still alive. He was immediately taken into surgery. After hours of agonising waiting, a doctor approached Alex and Jenny: “We’re doing everything humanly possible. Right now, your son’s in a coma. His chances of survival are one in a million. Medicine can do no more. Still, if Dennis has a fierce will to live, a miracle might happen. Be strong.” Alex and Jenny sped to the local church as a torrential rain began. Desperate, soaked to the bone, they entered the church for the first time in their lives. It was quiet, almost empty. Spotting the vicar, they nervously approached. “Vicar, our son is dying! What can we do?” Jenny sobbed. “My children, I’m Father Richard. Isn’t it often: in times of trouble, we turn to God? Are your souls weighed down with sin?” Father Richard asked without delay. “I don’t think so. We haven’t killed anyone,” Alex replied, but dropped his gaze under the priest’s penetrating look. “Yet you’ve killed your love for each other. It lies dead between you. It should be impossible to slip even a thread between a loving husband and wife, but for you two, an entire log could fit and not touch either of you. Ah, people… Pray, my children, to St Nicholas the Wonderworker for your son’s health! Pray with all your hearts. But remember, everything is in God’s hands. Don’t grumble against Him, for sometimes God uses trials to awaken the lost. Otherwise, you’ll ruin your souls and never even notice. Only love can save.” Soaked by rain and tears, Alex and Jenny stood in front of Father Richard like two ugly ducklings, absorbing a bitter truth about themselves. He pointed to the icon of St Nicholas. Alex and Jenny fell to their knees and prayed, weeping and making solemn promises. All extramarital affairs were ended that day, forgotten and erased for good. Their lives, thread by thread, were picked apart and pieced back together… Next morning, the doctor called to say Dennis had come out of his coma. Alex and Jenny were there at his bedside. Dennis opened his eyes and tried to smile, but pain marred his young face. “Mum, Dad… please don’t divorce,” he whispered. “Darling, what makes you think that? We’re together,” Jenny protested gently, stroking his hot, limp hand. Dennis flinched, and she quickly withdrew. “I saw it, Mum. And when I have children, they’ll be named after you,” Dennis went on. Alex and Jenny exchanged worried glances, thinking the boy was delirious. “What children? You can barely move—you’re so weak! Let’s just focus on getting you well.” But from that day on, Dennis started to recover. Every resource was poured into his treatment. Alex and Jenny even sold their holiday cottage. The garage and car, lost in the fire, could have been sold too, but nothing mattered as long as Dennis survived. Grandparents supported them however they could. The family drew together in the face of tragedy. Even the longest day must come to an end. A year later, Dennis was in a rehabilitation centre, able to walk and care for himself. There, Dennis befriended a girl his age, Martha, also scarred by fire—though in her case, her face was burned. After several operations, Martha was painfully shy and never looked in a mirror. Dennis felt a deep connection and warmth towards her. She radiated wisdom and vulnerability, drawing him in and sparking a protective instinct. The two spent all their free time together, sharing the pain, courage, pills, and hospital routine that had become their world. They had endless things to discuss and were never short of words. Time passed… Dennis and Martha had a modest wedding. They welcomed beautiful children: first a daughter, Charlotte, then three years later, a son, Eugene. At last, when peace returned, Alex and Jenny decided to separate. The trauma of Dennis’s ordeal had exhausted their marriage beyond repair. Both craved release and calm. Jenny moved to her sister’s place in the suburbs. Before leaving, she visited the church for Father Richard’s blessing. In recent years, Jenny often returned to thank the vicar for saving her son; he always corrected her: “Thank God, Jenny!” Father Richard disapproved of her departure: “If you truly must, go. Solitude can sometimes be good for the soul. But come back—husband and wife are one. Don’t forget!” Alex stayed alone in their empty flat. Both sons, now settled with their own families, lived separately. The ex-couple visited their grandchildren at different times, carefully avoiding each other. And so, in the end, everyone managed to find a kind of peace…

04

Let Me Remind You “Miss Mary, I can’t get this swirl right,” sighed a downcast second-grader, Tommy, poking at a stubborn, wayward green leaf he’d painted on his picture of a flower. “Not so hard on the brush, sweetheart—gently now, as if you’re touching a feather to your palm—there we are! That’s not just a swirl, that’s a masterpiece!” the elderly teacher beamed. “Tell me, who are you painting this beauty for?” “For my mum!” Tommy’s face lit up with pride after her praise. “It’s her birthday today, and this is my present!” “Well, your mum is a lucky lady, Tom. Don’t close your sketchbook just yet—let the paint dry a bit so it doesn’t smudge. When you get home, you can carefully tear the page out. I’m sure she’ll love her birthday surprise.” Miss Mary watched the boy’s head bent over his painting, then smiled thoughtfully and returned to her desk. A gift for Mum! It had been a while since she’d seen one so lovely—Tom definitely had a knack for art. She made a mental note to call his mum about enrolling him in Saturday art classes—talent like his mustn’t go to waste. And she’d ask her old pupil precisely what she thought of the gift—Miss Mary herself couldn’t take her eyes off Tommy’s vibrant flowers, half-expecting their painted leaves to rustle with life. Takes after his mum, that boy—definitely after her! When Lottie was his age, she could draw just as wonderfully… ***** That evening, the teacher answered her phone. “Hello, Miss Mary, this is Lottie, Tommy’s mum,” came a brisk young woman’s voice through the receiver. “I’m calling to let you know Tommy won’t be at school tomorrow,” “Hello, Lottie! Has something happened?” Miss Mary asked gently. “Yes—my little scamp has ruined my birthday!” spluttered the voice at the other end. “And now he’s in bed with a fever—the ambulance’s just been!” “With a fever? But he left school quite healthy—he was even bringing you your present…” “Present? If you mean those inkblots—” “Inkblots? What do you mean, Lottie? He painted you the loveliest flowers! I was planning to ring you about art school…” “I’ve no idea what flowers you saw, but what I got was a muddy little bundle I certainly wasn’t expecting!” “A bundle? Lottie, what—?” Miss Mary faltered as she listened to the confused, agitated account unfolding on the phone, her frown deepening. “Tell you what, Lottie—would it be all right if I popped round now? I don’t live far, and I won’t stay long…” With her former pupil’s agreement, Miss Mary slipped her old album of faded class photos and cherished drawings into her bag and hurried to the door. The kitchen she entered was a jumble. Lottie bustled about, tidying away the birthday cake and dirty tea cups, explaining—how Tommy arrived late, dripping muddy water over his bag and trousers, how he pulled a soaking wet puppy from under his coat—a filthy pup he’d climbed into a rubbish tip to rescue after some local boys had tossed it in. The ruined books, the water-stained sketchbook—utter chaos. Then the fever had come on fast. The guests had left early. The doctor had scolded her for not watching her child more closely… “So once he’d fallen asleep, I took the mutt straight back to the dump. And the album’s still drying on the radiator—there’s nothing left of those flowers; not even a splash!” she snapped. Lottie couldn’t see how with every word, every cranky sentence, Miss Mary’s expression grew darker. But when she mentioned what had happened to the puppy, her old teacher looked positively thunderous. Stroking the spoiled sketchbook, Miss Mary spoke quietly—about those green swirls and miraculous flowers, about a young boy’s care, his courage too big for his years. How his heart simply couldn’t let that suffering animal go—despite the risk—which the boys who’d chucked it into the pit clearly hadn’t understood. She led Lottie to the window. “There—the dump, just across the park,” she pointed. “Not just the puppy, your Tommy could’ve drowned saving it. Do you think he was thinking of that then? Or maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about the colours on that page—trying desperately not to spoil the present for his mum?” And do you remember, Lottie—how in the nineties you sobbed on the bench outside school, clutching an alley kitten you’d rescued from the local boys? How the whole class stroked it, and your mum came to fetch you, and you wept when your parents nearly tossed the ‘flea ball’ out, until, thank goodness, they relented? Let ME remind you! Of your beloved Tigger, who you would never part with. Of your floppy-eared mutt, Patches, who walked you to sixth form and home. Of the rook with the broken wing, whom you volunteered to care for… Miss Mary drew a faded photograph from her album—a little girl in a school pinafore, beaming as she hugged a fluffy kitten, her friends gathered round. With quiet deliberation, Miss Mary laid the picture on the table. “I’ll remind you of the kindness that blossomed in your heart, that nothing and no one could ever dull…” Then followed a crumpled childhood drawing: a small girl clutching a scruffy kitten in one hand and her mum’s hand in the other. “If it were up to me,” Miss Mary’s voice firmed, “I’d shower Tommy and that puppy with kisses right now. And those colourful inkblots? I’d frame them. Because there’s no greater gift for a mother than raising a child who grows into a good person.” Lottie didn’t notice how, with every word, her fingers trembled on the spoiled album. How she now glanced anxiously toward her son’s bedroom… “Miss Mary—please, would you sit with Tommy, just for a few minutes? I’ll be right back. Please…” Throwing on her coat and dashing out the door, Lottie didn’t stop until she’d reached the distant dump. Mud squelched into her shoes as she searched beneath grubby boxes and rubbish, calling for the little lost puppy. Time and again, she glanced over her shoulder at the lighted window—would Tommy ever forgive her? ***** “Tommy, who’s that rooting around in the flowers you’re painting? Is that your friend Spot?” “That’s him, Miss Mary! Looks like him, doesn’t it?” “It does indeed! Look at that white star on his paw—how well I remember scrubbing those muddy paws with your mum!” laughed the teacher. “I wash his paws every day now!” Tommy declared with pride. “Mum says if you make a friend, you care for them. She even bought us a special tub for cleaning up!” “Your mum’s a good woman,” Miss Mary smiled. “Are you drawing her another gift?” “Yup, and I’m going to put it in a frame! She keeps the framed inkblot one in her office and always smiles at it. But, Miss Mary, is it possible to smile at inkblots?” “Well, perhaps—if they’re made with a pure heart. Tell me, how’s art school going, my boy?” “Great, really great! Soon I’ll be able to paint a portrait of Mum herself! She’ll love it! For now, though…” Tommy pulled a folded page from his bag. “This one’s from my mum—she paints now, too.” Miss Mary unfolded the paper, resting her hand gently on Tommy’s little shoulder. There on white paper, painted in sprays of vibrant colour, was a smiling Tommy with his hand on the head of a black, adoring mongrel. Beside them stood a petite blonde girl in old-fashioned school uniform, hugging a kitten—and behind the teacher’s desk, bedecked with books, Miss Mary herself, her gaze warm and wise, smiling over her happy little class. And in every detail and brushstroke, Miss Mary could feel an endless mother’s pride. She dabbed her eyes and brightened: in the top corner of the picture, twined with painted flowers and delicate green swirls, a single word gleamed—“Remember.”

05

Another Whole Year Together… Lately, Archibald Evans hadn’t left the house alone. Not since he once went to the local surgery, forgot his own name and address, wandered the neighbourhood until he recognised the old watch factory where he’d worked nearly fifty years. He stood staring at the building, knowing he knew it, but unable to remember why or who he was—until someone clapped him on the shoulder. “Evans! Uncle Archie, what are you doing here, mate? Missed us? Just the other day we were talking about the best mentor we ever had. Archie, don’t you remember me? It’s me, Charlie Akers—you made me who I am!” Suddenly, everything clicked back into place for Archie, and he remembered. Charlie hugged him, glad to see his old mentor. “Didn’t recognise me? I shaved my moustache, don’t look the same, do I? Are you coming in, Archie? The lads would love to see you.” “Maybe another time, Charlie, I’m feeling a bit worn out,” Archie admitted. “I’ve got the car out front, let me run you home—I remember your address,” Charlie insisted. From then on, his wife, Natalie Evans, never let Archie out alone, even though his memory soon returned. They only went out together: to the park, the surgery, the shop. But then Archie fell ill—fever, a terrible cough. Natalie, though not feeling well herself, ran out for medicine and groceries. She didn’t buy much, but felt oddly weak, struggling to carry her bag home. Stopping to catch her breath, she set the heavy bag down in the fresh snow, then slowly sank to the ground herself. Her last thought: “Why did I buy so much at once? I must be losing my marbles!” Thankfully, neighbours spotted her, rushed out and called an ambulance. Natalie was taken to hospital with the groceries and medicine left behind. Back at her flat, the neighbours knocked, worried Archie was home, ill and alone. “He’s probably sleeping. Natalie said he hasn’t been well lately,” said Nina Moore, “Well, I’ll come back later…” Archie heard the doorbell, but his fever made him woozy. He tried to get up but nearly fainted. His cough calmed and he drifted into a strange, dreamlike sleep—where was Natalie? Why was she gone so long? He lay half-asleep for ages, then suddenly heard soft footsteps. Natalie walked in and Archie felt relief—she was home. “Archie, take my hand, hold on to me, get up, get up,” her chilly hand helping him up. “Now, open the door, hurry,” Natalie whispered. “Why?” Archie asked, but he opened it—letting in neighbour Nina and Charlie from work. “Archie, why didn’t you answer? We’ve been knocking and calling!” “Natalie—where is Natalie? She was just here!” Archie asked with pale lips, trying to understand where his wife had vanished. “She’s in hospital, in intensive care,” Nina replied, surprised. “I think he’s delirious,” Charlie guessed, catching him as Archie nearly fainted. They called an ambulance—Archie’s fever had made him collapse. Two weeks later, Natalie came home. Charlie drove her and he, with Nina, had helped Archie recover. The main thing: they were together again. When Archie and Natalie finally had the flat to themselves, they nearly cried with relief. “Thank goodness for good people, Archie. Nina’s wonderful—remember how her kids came by after school, we fed them, helped with homework, and she’d collect them after work.” “Yeah, not everyone stays kind, but she did—that means a lot,” Archie agreed. “And Charlie, he was just a lad then, I helped him get started. Most young folks forget oldies, but he didn’t abandon us.” “New Year’s is in a few days, Archie—it’s such a blessing we’re together again,” Natalie murmured, snuggling close. “But tell me, love—how did you come to me from the hospital and make me open the door to my rescuers? I nearly died here without you,” Archie finally dared to ask. He worried Natalie would think he was losing his mind, but she just looked at him in wonder. “So, it really happened? They said I had a clinical death—and I felt like I visited you in a dream. I remember seeing myself in the hospital, then leaving and coming to you…” “Amazing, the things that happen to us in old age—and I love you as much as ever, maybe more,” Archie said, taking her hands as they sat in silence, simply looking at each other, afraid anything would separate them again. On New Year’s Eve, Charlie dropped by with a pie baked by his wife, then Nina joined for tea and pie, filling the home with warmth. Archie and Natalie welcomed the New Year together. “If we spend this New Year’s together, this year’s ours. We’ll have more time yet,” Natalie smiled. They both laughed at the happy thought. Another whole year of life together—that’s a lot; that’s true happiness.

06

The Truth That Gripped My Heart While hanging freshly washed laundry on the garden line, Tanya heard quiet sobs and peeked over the fence. There, sitting by her fence, was little Sophie–her eight-year-old neighbour. Though already in her second year of school, the petite, fragile girl looked more like a six-year-old. “Sophie, are they picking on you again? Come with me,” Tanya moved aside the loose plank, always ready for her, knowing Sophie often ran for comfort. “Mum kicked me out—said, ‘Get lost,’ then shoved me outside. She and Uncle Colin are having fun in there,” explained Sophie between teary sniffs. “Alright, let’s go inside. Lizzie and Mike are having lunch, I’ll get you some too.” Tanya had rescued Sophie from her mother’s harsh hands many times. Living just over the fence was a blessing; she’d take Sophie in, never letting her return home until Anna, her mother, calmed down. Sophie longed for the warmth she saw next door, where Lizzie and Mike were cherished by Auntie Tanya and her husband—never scolded, never afraid. Their house was always calm, their parents’ love obvious. Sophie’s envy stung her inside, a heavy ache in her chest–she cherished every minute in the gentle home. In her own house, everything was forbidden to Sophie. Her mother made her fetch water, muck out the shed, weed the gardens, mop the floors. Anna raised her daughter alone, and hadn’t loved her from the start. Sophie’s grandmother was alive then, but ill. She loved her granddaughter and took care of her, since Anna showed little interest. Life was tolerable while Grandma was alive, but after she died when Sophie was six, things grew bleak. Anna became bitter, furious at being without a husband (unlike other women), always searching for company. As a cleaner at the bus depot, she was surrounded by men. When newcomer Colin arrived, Anna was quick to invite him home. Colin was divorced, with a son for whom he paid support. Anna had him move in almost immediately, thrilled to have a man in the house. Colin knew he’d found a comfortable home–Anna fussed over him, loved him. The small daughter didn’t bother him at all: “Let her run underfoot, she’ll be of use when she grows.” Anna’s attentions were all for Colin; her daughter got only work and scolding, sometimes blows. “If you don’t listen, I’ll send you to foster care,” Anna threatened. Sophie struggled with the chores and would sit under the neighbours’ currant bush, quietly crying. Tanya always took her inside the moment she saw her. Sophie grew up withdrawn, battered by her home life. Friends and neighbours criticised Anna’s treatment of Sophie; in their village, everyone knew everyone else. Tanya never kept silent, but Anna spread gossip in response. “Don’t believe that nosy Tanya–she wants my Colin for herself. That’s why she makes up stories about how we treat my daughter!” Anna and Colin often celebrated with drink; during those raucous nights Sophie escaped and slept at Tanya’s house, who understood her suffering and always protected her. Time passed. Sophie did well at school, growing up. She finished her GCSEs with top marks, hoping to apply for nurse training in the city. Her mother was stern: “You’re old enough to work. You’re not staying here sponging off me.” Sophie fled, crying, since she wasn’t allowed to cry at home. Once composed, she went to Tanya, venting her hopes and worries. Tanya’s children were already studying in the city. This time, Tanya had had enough–she confronted Anna herself. “You’re not a mother, Anna, you’re a monster. Other parents do everything for their children, but you’re destroying yours. She’s your child, Anna! She’s nearly aced her GCSEs. Later, you’ll come crawling to her.” “Who are you to butt in? Mind your own!” Anna retorted, furious. “Wake up, Anna! Colin sent his son off to study, but you’re cruel to your own. Are you even human?” Anna raged, but then exhausted, collapsed on the sofa. “Maybe I’m strict. Maybe I hurt Sophie. But it’s for her own good—so she won’t end up like me, won’t come home pregnant. Let her try for college, then. Fine.” Sophie aced her nurse entrance with ease, overjoyed despite her modest clothes—she stood out in her class, but didn’t mind; there were other country girls, too. She visited home rarely, not wanting to see her mother or stepfather. During holidays, her first stop was always Tanya’s. Tanya and her husband welcomed her at the table, eager to hear her news. Meanwhile Anna’s troubles spiralled—Colin had left her for a younger woman. Anna was anxious, bitter; Sophie returned for the holidays. Anna snapped, “What are you doing here, just loafing around? You should get a job!” Colin came home, gathered his things. “Where do you think you’re going?” Anna yelled. “Rita’s expecting my child. I won’t abandon my kid like you. That’s your daughter, but you treat her like she’s not yours. My child will grow up knowing love from both parents. Your Sophie’s never known a mother’s embrace. Mine will.” With that, he left. Anna was stunned, unable to scream or cry—Colin’s words were a devastating truth that silenced her completely, squeezing her empty inside. Sophie had overheard it all. She refused to comfort her mother, remembering every time she’d been hit and thrown out for disturbing Colin’s rest. He’d never defended her—just watched smugly. By her final year, Sophie was working at the hospital, self-sufficient. She stopped visiting home; Anna drank and had little money, sinking lower and lower. From a battered child, Sophie blossomed into a beautiful, caring young woman, respected by staff and patients alike. Some even praised Anna’s “good raising”—Sophie smiled silently, knowing all credit belonged to Tanya. Anna began bringing home drinking companions; Sophie, rarely visiting, was appalled at her mother’s state. Anna no longer worked, having been dismissed long ago. Sophie had no words to convince, no strength to argue. Hoping for some change, she only wished to evict the rowdy friends, renovate the house, and start anew with her mother—but Anna had chosen her path. On graduation, Sophie returned home. Anna glared at her. “What are you here for? Are you staying long? The fridge is off and there’s no food. Give me money, my head hurts.” A lump formed in Sophie’s throat, but she didn’t cry. Calmly, she replied, “I’m not staying, don’t worry… I finished college with distinction, moving to the city for work at a regional hospital. I won’t visit often, but I’ll send a little money. Goodbye, Mum.” It’s unlikely Anna understood a word–her only concern was for drink, demanding money from her daughter. “Give me money! Don’t you care about your mother? What kind of daughter are you…” Sophie set some cash on the table and gently closed the door behind her, pausing in vain hope that her mum would rush out and embrace her. But there was just silence. She went next door. Tanya was delighted, invited her to the table. “Come on, Sophie, we’re just having lunch,” her husband already seated. “Oh, I nearly forgot—this is for you. A present for graduating with honours–and some money to help you get started.” Sophie thanked her, but broke down in tears. “Auntie Tanya, why? Why does Mum treat me like a stranger?” “Don’t cry, darling,” Tanya hugged her warmly, “Don’t cry. Anna’s just that way. Maybe you were born at the wrong time. But you’re clever, beautiful, and you’ll be happy and loved one day.” Sophie moved to the city, worked as a surgical nurse. She met her soulmate, a young surgeon named Oliver; soon they were married. At her wedding, Tanya sat beside Sophie instead of her mother, overjoyed for her. Anna bragged to drinking friends about the money Sophie sent–“I raised such a daughter, and now she’s grateful, sends me money. Only thing is, she never invited me to her wedding, never visits, and I’ve never met my son-in-law, or my grandchildren.” Some time later, Tanya discovered Anna at home, lying dead on the floor. No one knew how long she’d lain there; neighbours had noticed the silence. Sophie and her husband arranged Anna’s funeral, sold the house soon after, and continued to visit Tanya and her husband when they could.

08

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.

06

Like a Bird Drawn to the Call – “Girls, you only get married once in your life. You should stay with the one you love till your last breath, rather than drifting endlessly, searching for your ‘other half’—or you’ll end up like a nibbled apple core. Married men are strictly off-limits. Don’t even think about getting involved; telling yourself ‘just a quick fling’ will only send you both spiraling into disaster while happiness slips past… My parents have been together fifty years, the perfect example. I promised myself I’d find my soul mate and cherish him with all my heart—wise words from my grandmother that I believed completely. My friends always laughed: ‘Don’t be silly, Ksyusha. Wait till you fall for a married man—let’s see how easily you let him go…’ But I never told my friends that before marriage, my mother had my older sister by someone unknown—a scandal that haunted us for years. Five years later, I was born in wedlock; Dad fell madly in love with Mum, and they stuck together through it all. We had to move away, and from then on I swore: no affairs, no children out of wedlock. But fate had its own plans… My sister Sonia and I never saw eye to eye. She always felt our parents favored me; she’s never stopped being jealous. It was always a silent contest for parental love—a bit ridiculous. I met Yegor at a club—he was a cadet, I was a nurse. We hit it off instantly, married within a month, and I was completely smitten. After Yegor’s training, we moved far from home, and soon enough the arguments began. I had no one to turn to—Mum was in another country. Our daughter Tanya was born in the ‘90s, with all the upheaval of the times. Yegor left the army, began drinking heavily. I tried to console him, saying it would all pass, but he slipped further away—disappearing for days, once even a month, before returning and tossing a briefcase stuffed with cash on the table. I stashed it away, untouched—something felt wrong. When he finally came back, exhausted and demanding my gold jewellery to pay off some ‘serious’ people, I was terrified. I handed him the case and told him it was enough; Tanya and I would cope. In the end, he made love to me with the wild desperation of someone already leaving. The next morning, he was gone again—for years. At the hospital where I worked, a married doctor, Dmitri, began courting me. I resisted, still married although my husband was a ghost. Then Yegor returned, asking for a divorce—he’d fathered another son and wanted to be a proper dad. I agreed without emotion; ‘You can’t gather spilt water,’ as the saying goes. He didn’t even care to see Tanya. That was the last time they met. Stranded in loneliness, I let myself be swept up by Dmitri, even though he was married. Our affair lasted three years. He proposed, but I refused to build our happiness on someone else’s heartbreak. Finally, I transferred jobs to end our romance for good. Then came Vasily, a patient at my new hospital—a single dad bringing up his son after his wife left him for another man. The jokes and banter turned into love. His son Denis was seven, my Tanya eight; our families blended under a lucky star. There were stresses and struggles, but Vasya and I always stood together with no secrets. Thirty years on, I treasure him more than anything. Just the other day, Yegor called my mum, saying, ‘I’ve never met a woman like Ksyusha…’”

03

📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic

Happy Women Always Look Fabulous: Lily’s Journey from Heartbreak to a Glamorous Reunion and New Love After Divorce