Masha did not wish to return home. That morning, her father had casually mentioned bringing another “bride” to meet her. Once again, she would have to force a polite smile and play the obedient girl, all so this stranger might stay in their home. But Masha was weary of this endless charade.
After her parents’ divorce, their flat in Manchester had become a revolving door. Her father brought one “mother” after another, and sometimes Masha regretted choosing to live with him. Her own mother had been as distant as an English winter—work always came first. Masha had been raised by her grandmothers while her mother scolded her for the smallest misstep. Love? Care? Those were things she could only dream of.
Her mother had supported the family, earning well—but at what cost? Masha often thought she would have preferred a simple mum to a money-making machine. When the marriage crumbled, her parents had parted as if relieved of a great weight. Each had started anew—yet Masha had been left behind, unwanted.
She had tried desperately to get her mother’s attention—skipping school, back-talking teachers—anything to be noticed. But all she received in return were shouts and humiliation. After one particularly bad row, when her mother was called to the headmaster’s office, she had thrashed Masha and thrown her out. The girl packed her rucksack and left for her father’s. Her mother hadn’t even tried to stop her—if anything, she’d sighed in relief.
With her father, Simon, life had been easier. Masha felt his warmth, his genuine love. She settled down, began to do well in school, stopped rebelling. Her grandmothers helped around the house while her father worked long hours to provide. In their flat on the outskirts of Manchester, a fragile peace had settled—the comfort Masha had longed for.
But everything changed when Simon decided he wanted a new wife. Since then, the house had been overrun with strangers. Masha met them with cold rudeness, driving them away on purpose. She didn’t want “mothers” who saw her as a burden. But this time, her father was firm: “Masha, enough with the tantrums! I am doing this for you—I want us to be a proper family!”
Stepping inside the flat, Masha heard a familiar voice. Her heart leapt. She kicked off her trainers and peeked into the sitting room. There, at the table, sat her favourite teacher, Miss Eleanor. Masha adored her—kind, fair, always ready to listen. But why was she here?
It turned out Miss Eleanor had come to discuss Masha’s marks. The girl was stunned. For a moment, she even wondered—could *she* be the “bride”? Masha froze, afraid to scare the hope away. But the conversation ended, and Miss Eleanor left, leaving Masha in disarray.
Before she could recover, the doorbell rang. On the step stood a stranger—young, with bold makeup and a self-assured smile. Masha felt something inside her snap. She had *hoped* Miss Eleanor had come for more than just grades! In despair, she bolted to her room, slammed the door, and sobbed.
She stayed there until late evening when her grandmother arrived. The girl poured out her fears and pain. “I don’t want any stepmothers! Why can’t Dad see how awful this is?” she wept. Her grandmother listened, then held her tight. She understood the hurt in Masha’s heart—a child’s soul frayed by loneliness and betrayal.
Grandmother spoke to Simon. They agreed—no more “brides” would be brought home until Masha was ready. And in the girl’s mind, a plan began to form. She was determined to bring her father and Miss Eleanor together. If dreams *could* come true, why not help this one along? Masha swore she would do whatever it took to make her favourite teacher part of their family.
Deep down, she believed—her wish *would* come true. After all, even the darkest days had room for light, didn’t they?
