I called out the window, “Mum, why are you up so early? You’ll catch your death out there!” She just turned, waved her shovel in greeting, and called back, “I’m doing this for you lazy lot!” — But the next day, Mum was gone… I still can’t walk by our front garden without tears… Every time I see that path, my heart aches like someone’s grabbed it. I took that photo on January 2nd… I was just passing by, saw the footprints in the snow — and stopped. Snapped a picture, not even knowing why. And now it’s the only thing I have left of those days… We celebrated New Year’s as we always did, the whole family together. Mum was up early on the 31st, as usual. I woke to the smell of frying and her voice from the kitchen: “Come on, love, rise and shine! Give me a hand with the salads, or your dad will gobble all the ingredients before we’re done!” Down I came, still in my pyjamas, hair a mess. She was by the stove in her favourite apron — the one with peaches that I gave her when I was in school. Her cheeks were rosy from the oven. “Let me have a coffee first, Mum,” I whinged. “Coffee later! Chop the veg first — small, like I taught you! Not those rugby ball chunks from last time!” she laughed, tossing me a bowl of roasted veg. We chopped, and talked about everything under the sun. She reminisced about her own childhood New Years — no fancy salads, just a herring under a fur coat and a few precious tangerines Dad brought home from work. Then Dad arrived with a massive Christmas tree. “Here you go, girls — take a look at this beauty!” he boomed from the porch. “Blimey, Dad, did you clear out the entire forest?” I gasped. Mum just shrugged. “It’s lovely, but where’ll we put the thing? Last year’s was half this size.” But she still joined in decorating. My sister Lera and I strung up the lights, and Mum brought out the old ornaments — even the glass angel she quietly told me she’d bought for my first Christmas. “Remember this?” she asked. “Course I do, Mum,” I lied, just to see her face light up. My brother rolled in that evening — loud as ever, arms full of shopping bags, gifts, and bottles. “Got proper bubbly this year, Mum! None of that cheap stuff from last time.” She laughed and hugged him. “Just don’t get plastered, you lot!” At midnight, we all headed outside. Dad and my brother set off fireworks, Lera shrieked with excitement, and Mum stood next to me, her arm tight around my shoulder. “Look at it, love — isn’t it beautiful?” she whispered. “We’ve got a good life, haven’t we…” I hugged her back. “The very best, Mum.” We drank champagne from the bottle, laughed when a firework shot straight into the neighbour’s shed, and watched Mum, tipsy in her old snow boots, dance as Dad swept her off her feet. We laughed until we cried. New Year’s Day, we lounged all day. Mum made more food — dumplings, jellied beef. “Mum, you’ll feed us to bursting!” I moaned. “Oh hush, you’ll eat it all. New Year lasts a whole week!” she swatted me off. January 2nd, she was up early again. I heard the door bang, peeked out — she was outside with the shovel, clearing the snow. In her old puffer, headscarf tied up. She worked with care — a narrow, perfect path from the gate to the porch, piling snow neatly against the house. I called from the window, “Mum, what are you doing out there? It’s freezing!” She swung her shovel and hollered, “Otherwise you lot will be wading through drifts till spring! Put the kettle on, will you?” I smiled and headed for the kitchen. She came in half an hour later, cheeks bright red, eyes sparkling. “All sorted,” she said, settling in for coffee. “Looks good, don’t you think?” “Perfect, Mum. Thank you.” That was the last time her voice sounded so lively. On the morning of January 3rd she woke up and whispered, “Girls, my chest feels funny. Not bad, just uncomfortable.” I panicked. “Mum, let’s call an ambulance?” “Oh don’t be daft, love. I’m just tired, been rushing about too much. I’ll rest, it’ll pass.” She lay on the sofa, Lera and I sat with her. Dad rushed out for tablets. She tried to joke: “Don’t look at me like that, I’ll outlive all of you yet!” Then she went pale, clutched her chest. “Oh… I don’t feel right…not right at all…” We called the ambulance. I held her hand, whispered, “Hold on, Mum. They’ll help you, everything will be alright…” She met my eyes and murmured, “Love you all so much…don’t want to say goodbye.” The paramedics came fast but…there was nothing they could do. A massive heart attack. It all happened in minutes. I sat on the hallway floor, sobbing. I couldn’t believe it. Just yesterday she was dancing under the fireworks, laughing, now… Barely standing, I went to the garden. The snow had barely fallen. Her footprints were still there — small, neat, perfect. From gate to porch and back. Just as she always left them. I stared at them for ages. I asked God, “How can it be that someone walks this earth, leaves their footprints, and the next day they’re gone? Footprints remain, but the person doesn’t.” It felt like she went out on January 2nd for the last time — just to leave us a clear path. So we could walk it, even without her. I never brushed the tracks away. Told everyone not to — let them stay until the snow covers them forever. That was the last thing Mum did for us. Her quiet care for us showed, even when she was gone. A week later, a heavy snow buried them. I keep that photo with Mum’s last footprints. Every year, on January 3rd, I look at it, then at the empty path by the house. The pain is still sharp: somewhere under all that snow, she left her final footprints. The ones I keep following, still…

Author Wanda MirandaReading 7 minViews 3

I called out the window, Mum, what are you doing up so early? You’ll freeze! She turned and waved her spade in greeting. Just making life easier for you lazy lot! she chuckled. The very next day, Mum was gone.

Even now, I cant walk past our garden gate without my heart aching. Every time I see that little path she made, it feels as though someone is gripping my heart tightly. It was me who took that photo on the second of January. I was just walking by, noticed the footprints in the snow, and stopped. I snapped a picture, not knowing why. Now its all I have left from those days.

Wed spent New Years Eve just as we always did, all together as a family. Mum was up early on the thirty-first. I awoke to the smell of sizzling sausages and her voice drifting in from the kitchen.

Come on, love! You need to help me with the salads! Otherwise, your fatherll eat all the bits before we finish!

I wandered in, still in my pyjamas, hair everywhere. There she was, at the cooker, wearing that old apron with the peachesthe one I gave her back at school. She smiled, cheeks flushed from the oven. Mum, just let me have my tea first, I grumbled.

Tea later! Chop up the veg first, nice and smallnone of those boulder-sized bits like last time! she laughed, tossing me a bowl.

We chatted about anything and everything as we chopped away. She told us stories about her childhood New Yearsno fancy salads, just a herring pie and some clementines that her dad brought home from work.

Later, Dad arrived, dragging in a tree so enormous it nearly scraped the ceiling. Alright, ladies, your Christmas beauty has arrived! he called with pride.

Blimey, Dad, did you chop down half the forest? I teased.

Mum came to have a look too, shaking her head but smiling, Shes a stunner, but goodness knows where shell go. We could barely fit last years one in.

Still, she fetched the decorations. My sister, Daisy, and I strung up garlands, while Mum unwrapped the old glass baubles. I remember her picking out a tiny glass angel and saying softly, I bought this one for your very first Christmas, remember?

Of course I do, Mum, I replied, even though I didnt. She shone with happiness at my words.

My brother turned up later, as loud and boisterous as ever, his arms full of shopping bags, gifts, and a bottle of sparkling wine. Look, Mum! Proper stuff this year, not like last year’s sour disappointment.

Just dont get everyone tipsy, Mum laughed and gave him a squeeze.

At midnight, we all gathered in the garden. Dad and my brother set off fireworks, Daisy shrieked with joy, and Mum stood beside me, arms wrapped tight around my shoulders.

Look at that, darling, she whispered. Arent we lucky?

Were the luckiest, Mum, I told her, hugging back.

We passed the bottle round, giggling so much when a firework zipped off toward the neighbours shed. Mum, a little merry, danced in her slippers singing Rockin Around the Christmas Tree. Dad swept her up, and we all laughed until there were tears.

On New Years Day, we none of us moved much. Mum was back in the kitchen, this time with a batch of homemade pies and some brawn for Dad.

Oh, Mum, havent we eaten enough? I moaned.

Dont fuss, youll finish it eventually. The New Years not just one day, you know! she shooed me away.

By the second of January, she was up before dawn yet again. I heard the back door close and peeped out. There was Mum in her faithful old coat and a scarf tied over her ears, carefully clearing a path from the gate to the steps, spade moving neatly through the snow. Neat and straight, just as she liked itpiling the snow away from the house, just so.

I called out, Mum! Why so early? You’ll catch your death out there! She turned, grinned, and waved her spade. If I dont, you lot will be wading through drifts till spring! Put the kettle on!

I smiled and went to make the tea. She came in half an hour later, cheeks red from the cold, eyes sparkling.

There, all sorted, she said, sitting down at the table for her tea. Looks good, doesnt it?

It does, Mum. Thank you.

That was the last time I heard her voice so full of life.

On the morning of the third, she woke up quietly. Girls, my chest feels funny. Not too bad. Just not right.

I was worried. Mum, should we call for the doctor?

Oh, dont be silly, love. Just overdone it a bit. Ill have a rest and be fine.

She lay down on the sofa, Daisy and I sitting nearby. Dad raced off to the chemist to fetch some tablets. Mum still tried to make light. Dont look at me like thatIll outlive you all!

Then, suddenly, she went pale and clutched at her chest. Oh I dont feel well. Not well at all

We called for an ambulance. I held her hand and whispered, Hold on, Mum, helps coming

She looked at me with tears in her eyes and barely whispered, Love, I love you all so much I wish I didnt have to say goodbye.

The paramedics were quick, but it was no use. A massive heart attack, they said. It all happened so fast.

I sat on the hallway floor and howled. It didnt seem real. Only yesterday she was dancing beneath the fireworks, laughing and hugging us all, and now

Barely able to stand, I walked outside. The snow had all but stopped. There were her footprintstiny, careful, straightjust as she always made them, from the gate to the doorstep and back.

I stood there a long time, staring. I found myself asking, How is it possible that just yesterday, a person could walk here, and today nothing? The footprints remain, but shes gone.

It felt, in some strange way, as though that was her final walkher last act was to leave us a clear path through the snow, so we could walk on after her.

I wouldnt let anyone sweep the path away. I asked that we leave it be, until the snow covered it for good.

That was Mums last gift to us. Even when she was gone, her love was still visible in the simplest acts.

A week later, there was a heavy snowfall. I keep that photo of her last footprints tucked away. Every third of January, I look at itand then I look at the empty path outside the old house, and the ache returns. Under all that snow, I know she left her final marks.

And though shes gone, I still follow softly in her tracks.

Theres a lesson therelove is never lost. The footprints of those we cherish remain, guiding us gently onward, even long after theyve gone.

And Then She Realised Her Mother-in-Law Wasn’t Nearly as Awful as She’d Always Thought The morning of December 30th was no different from any of the past twelve years Nadya and Dima had spent together. Everything happened as usual: he left early in the morning to go hunting and wouldn’t be back until midday on New Year’s Eve, their son was with Grandma, and once again Nadya found herself alone at home. Over the years, she’d grown accustomed to this routine. Dima was an avid fisherman and hunter, spending every weekend and holiday deep in the woods, whatever the weather, while she waited back at home. But today, for some reason, she felt uncharacteristically sad and lonely. Normally, she’d dedicate these days to housework and cooking—it was always easy to find things to do. New Year’s was tomorrow, and as usual, they’d be spending it at her mother-in-law’s, just like every year for the past twelve years. Nothing new, nothing different. But today, she didn’t feel like doing anything, and it seemed that everything was falling out of her hands. So when her best friend called, it was a welcome distraction. Her oldest schoolmate, Irka, was always cheerful, recently divorced, and often hosted get-togethers at her place. This time was no different. “Home alone again?” her friend stated rather than asked. “Dima off in his forests again? Come over later—a great bunch is coming. Why mope at home?” Nadya didn’t promise anything and honestly didn’t plan to go, but by the evening, the loneliness became overwhelming. She started recalling the past years and felt especially hurt today that her husband wasn’t around. Through all those years, her life had amounted to home, work, and her son. That was it. They never went anywhere. Dima found visiting others boring—fishing and hunting were the only things on his mind, and Nadya didn’t want to go alone. As a result, they never took a holiday, spending every vacation in her mum’s village. She was grateful that her husband got along with her mother, but she still wanted to see the sea and the world beyond her everyday routine. That evening, she thought, “Why not join my friends tonight? At least I won’t be alone.” She went to Irka’s, enjoyed herself surrounded by old school friends, and had a wonderful evening. Most importantly, Grisha was there—her first school love. Somehow, almost without realising it, the two of them spent the night together. Nadya didn’t know how it happened—it wasn’t as though she’d drunk much, but an avalanche of memories overwhelmed her and swept her away. The next morning, she felt ashamed and awkward, eager to forget the whole awkward incident, and literally ran away from Grisha’s flat. At home, she was met with a surprise—the first thing she saw was Dima’s coat: he had returned early. Her legs went weak with fear. If her husband discovered she hadn’t come home that night, she could already picture the inevitable row and how he’d leave her—she knew he wouldn’t forgive her, and honestly, she couldn’t blame him. She scolded herself for her recklessness, for nearly destroying her own family—she did love her husband, after all. But then the phone rang, bringing her back to reality. It was her mother-in-law. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you two, but Dima rang last night and couldn’t reach you. I told him you were at Auntie Kate’s—she was unwell and you were helping her. So don’t let me down now…” Help from her mother-in-law was the last thing Nadya ever expected. Their relationship had always been strange—no arguments exactly, but Zinaida Petrovna had never been fond of her daughter-in-law. She’d opposed their wedding from the start, thinking they’d rushed into things, and even after the wedding, she’d made Nadya’s life difficult. For the first few years, they’d all lived together, and after they finally got their own place, their contact had dropped to the bare minimum—they kept a polite neutrality, meeting mostly at family gatherings. But now Nadya felt grateful, no matter what the future held—as long as her husband never found out the truth. That evening, they went to her mother-in-law’s together, and while in the kitchen alone, Nadya tried to bring up what had happened—to confess and thank her. But her mother-in-law waved it away. “Don’t worry about it. Do you really think I’m immune to this stuff? I know what it’s like, being married to a man who sees nothing beyond his hobbies. I’m no saint myself. My Petru—” she nodded towards her husband—“has spent his whole life out in the woods too. Of course it hurts. Just don’t make it a habit, you know what I mean?” Nadya understood. And she also realised her mother-in-law wasn’t nearly as horrible as she’d always thought—she really did understand after all. So the story ended well, and Nadya decided then and there: never again would she spend the night out without her husband’s knowledge. Taken from the web

THE FOOL Everyone thought Anna was a simpleton. She’d been married to her husband for fifteen years. They had two children: Alice, fourteen, and Sam, seven. Her husband barely bothered to hide his affairs—he cheated on her first on the second day of their marriage, with a waitress, and there was no counting how many followed. Her friends tried to open her eyes, but Anna simply smiled and stayed silent. Anna worked as an accountant at a toy factory. The salary, according to her, was tiny, but the workload was never-ending—even working weekends. During financial reporting season, she might not come home at all. Her husband, meanwhile, earned very well. Still, Anna was a hopeless homemaker. No matter how much money she had for groceries, the fridge was always empty, and the best she ever managed for dinner was borscht or pasta and meatballs. That was life. Everyone around them gossiped, especially when they saw her husband Val with a new flame. He would often come home, as they said, “dry as a bone.” “That Anna’s such a fool, why does she put up with such a cheat?” On the day Sam turned ten, her husband came home and announced he wanted a divorce. He’d fallen in love, he said, and family life no longer suited him. “Don’t take it personally, Anna, but I’m filing for divorce. You’re cold as a fish. At least if you were a good housewife, but you’re not even that.” “Alright, I agree to the divorce,” Anna replied. Val nearly fell off his chair; he’d been expecting a scandal, hysterics, tears—anything but calm acceptance. “Fine, then you pack your things and I’ll stay out of your way. Leave your keys under the mat; I’ll be back tomorrow.” Anna looked at him with a silent, strangely knowing smile. This was all odd, Val thought, but brushed it off—he was imagining his new, happy life, free of children and a tiresome wife. The next day, he returned home with his new flame, checked under the mat for the key—nothing. That annoyed him a little. “No matter, I’ll just change the locks. Easy,” he shrugged to himself and tried his old key. Didn’t fit. He knocked on the door. A burly man in slippers and a dressing gown answered. “What do you want, mate?” “This is my flat, actually,” Val said, not very confidently. “I’d argue with that. Got any documents to prove it?” No, of course he didn’t. He started fumbling for his passport, remembering the address should be inside. The man glanced at it, frowned, then handed it back. “When was the last time you looked at this?” Val nervously flipped the page; there were two stamps—a registration and a deregistration, the latter dated two years ago. How could this have happened? He didn’t push his luck with the bouncer at the door. He tried ringing Anna, but her number was disconnected. He waited for her at the toy factory gates—only to find out Anna hadn’t worked there for a year. His daughter was studying abroad. He thought at least Sam would be at the local school, but the school told him Sam had been transferred—last year. Sorry, confidential. Devastated by all that had happened, Val slumped onto a bench and buried his head in his hands. How had simple, quiet Anna pulled this off? And how had she managed to sell the flat? “No matter, I’ll sort this out at the divorce hearing,” he muttered, grimly. On the day of the hearing, he arrived furious, ready to expose Anna as a fraud and reclaim all that was his—only to learn the hard truth. Two years ago, he’d signed a general power of attorney for Anna, during an affair with stunning Eliza. He’d brushed off the details when Anna, needing paperwork for their daughter’s studies, had suggested it. Advised by his solicitor, he’d unwittingly handed over everything he owned. When Eliza heard he no longer had a flat, she disappeared fast. “Well, at least I’ll get her with child support,” Val consoled himself. But instead of a summons for spousal maintenance, he received a court order regarding a paternity dispute. Anna revealed both children were not Val’s—she’d seen him cheat on their wedding day and embarked on revenge of her own. First, she cheated back, then she hid every penny he gave her for the house, feeding the children at her mum’s and saving up. Anna’s mother had tried to stop her: “Revenge will destroy you, ruin the children,” but Anna would not be swayed. She even did DNA tests, though she already knew who the children’s real father was. Val took the loss of his flat better than the news that the kids weren’t even his. Beware the women you wrong—for a wronged woman’s wrath knows no bounds.

The Recipe for Happiness… The Whole Block Watched as the New Tenants Moved Into the Flat on the Second Floor—The Family of a Factory Foreman at the Town’s Only Major Employer in a Quiet Little English Village “Why on earth would they choose to live in an old Victorian terrace?” pensioner Mrs. Nina Andrews wondered aloud to her friends. “With his pull at the factory, they could’ve easily snagged a shiny new-build!” Her daughter, glamorous thirty-year-old Annie with her signature bold makeup, protested, “Don’t be so quick to judge, Mum. These Victorian houses have high ceilings, spacious rooms, a grand hallway—and that balcony might as well be another room! And they got a phone line straight away! There are only three phones in our whole building of nine flats…” “All you want is to gossip on the phone,” her mother scolded. “Leave the new people be—they’ve got better things to do than chat with you!” “They’re not so out of reach—they’re young, their daughter Natasha is only nine! Practically my age, well, a few years older maybe,” Annie replied, casting an indignant look at her mum. The neighbours turned out to be friendly enough—Lydia worked in the local school library and Ivan had already notched up a decade at the factory. Annie wasted no time in getting to know them, regularly popping over to use their phone, unlike some neighbours who wouldn’t even open their door for her half-hour chats with girlfriends. But soon, Ivan grew weary of Annie monopolising their phone line. “I can’t get any calls in from work, and Natasha gets distracted from her homework by the noise,” Lydia admitted. One evening, Annie arrived with a chocolate bar as a sweet gesture, only to be told by Lydia, “Best not—Natasha’s allergic, chocolate is completely off-limits in our house.” Annie, red-faced, took her chocolate home. Determined, Annie returned soon after, notebook in hand, asking Lydia for her secret recipe for those delicious sweet cheese buns she baked each morning. “But why not ask your own mum? Our parents always know best!” Lydia replied, too rushed to help. Annie left, disappointed once more. Finally, Annie turned to the old, well-thumbed recipe notebook buried in her mum’s kitchen cupboard—and there, in spidery cursive scripts, she discovered the exact recipe she’d been searching for. Before long, their own flat was filled with the tantalising warmth of freshly baked buns. With each batch, Annie grew more content in the kitchen—her boyfriend Slava soon followed the scent, and laughter and joy returned to their home. And when Annie found herself awaiting the arrival of a baby, she realised she finally held the true recipe for happiness: a warm home, a loving husband, and the sweet aroma of home-baked treats enjoyed together.