LIFE BACK ON TRACK “Lada, I forbid you from speaking to your sister or her family! They have their life, we have ours. Did you call Natasha again? Complain about me? I warned you. Don’t blame me for what happens,” Bogdan snarled, gripping my shoulder painfully. As always, I silently retreated to the kitchen, bitter tears stinging my eyes. No, I had never burdened my sister with complaints about my life—our conversations were simply about our elderly parents and family matters. That infuriated Bogdan. He hated my sister Natasha; her family enjoyed peace and comfort, unlike us. When I married Bogdan, I was the happiest girl in the world. Swept up in his whirlwind of passion, I didn’t care that he was a head shorter or that his mother arrived at our wedding barely staying upright. I later learned she was a long-time alcoholic. Love blinded me to everything, but after a year, I started doubting my happiness. Bogdan drank heavily, stumbling home drunk, then came the string of affairs. My salary as a nurse wasn’t great, but Bogdan preferred spending his time with fellow drinkers, never caring to provide for me. Where once I had dreamed of children, now I contented myself with caring for our prize pedigree cat. I no longer wanted a child with an alcoholic. Still, I loved Bogdan. “You silly girl, Lada! There are so many men around you, and you obsess over that little man! What do you see in him? You’re always covered in bruises from his beatings. Think nobody notices your black eyes under makeup? Leave before he kills you,” my friend and coworker would warn me. Bogdan’s anger often became physical—one day he beat me so badly I couldn’t make my shift, locking me in the flat as he left. After that, I lived in fear of him, my heart racing whenever his key turned in the lock. It felt as though he was punishing me for not giving him a child, for being a “bad wife,” for everything. Why did I still love Bogdan? His mother, witch-like, used to admonish, “Lada, obey your husband, love him with all you have, forget your family and friends—they’ll bring you no good.” And so I withdrew from loved ones and submitted entirely to Bogdan. I lived for his tearful apologies, when he begged forgiveness at my feet, showered our bed with rose petals (stolen from a mate’s wife next door). These reconciliations felt magical, lifting me to the clouds—until the cycle of violence resumed. I might still be trapped if not for a twist of fate—a stranger appeared: “Leave Bogdan, I have his son. You’re barren; let me give my child happiness.” I screamed at her to leave, but Bogdan couldn’t deny her claim. When I demanded the truth, he was silent—and I understood everything. “Lada, you never seem happy. Is something wrong?” asked the head doctor at my hospital, Mr. Herman Lyon, previously aloof. “I’m fine,” I stammered. “It’s a blessing to have your life in order. Then the world is beautiful,” he replied, his simple words piercing my soul. I realised my life was chaos—and time, running out, wouldn’t pause for me to sort myself. Eventually, I left Bogdan and moved back in with my parents. Mum was shocked: “Lada, has your husband thrown you out?” “No, Mum. I’ll explain everything later.” Bogdan’s mother called to hurl insults and curses, but I felt free and new, thanks to Mr. Lyon. Bogdan raged, stalked, threatened—but he never guessed he’d lost all hold over me. “Bogdan, don’t waste your time—I’ve moved on. Your son needs you. I’ve turned a new page. Goodbye.” At last, I returned to Natasha and my family. I became myself again, not someone’s puppet. “You’ve changed, Lada—you’re glowing, so full of life, you look like a bride!” my friend exclaimed. Mr. Lyon proposed: “Lada, marry me! I promise you won’t regret it. But please, just call me by my name—save the formalities for work.” “Do you really love me, Herman?” I asked, stunned. “Oh, forgive me—women want to hear it. I suppose I do love you. But I believe in actions more than words,” he answered, kissing my hand. “I will, Herman. I’m sure I can learn to love you,” I beamed. Ten years flew by. Every day, Herman proved his love—no empty words, no lies, just caring and generosity. We never had children of our own, but it never bothered Herman. “We were meant to be just the two of us, and that’s enough,” he always reassured me. His daughter gave us a beloved granddaughter, Sasha, who became the joy of our lives. As for Bogdan, he eventually drank himself to death before he turned fifty. His mother still glares at me if we meet, but her malice no longer touches me. I only pity her. And with Herman, life truly is back on track. Life is beautiful…

Author Wanda MirandaReading 8 minViews 3

LIFE IN ORDER

Linda, I wont have you talking to your sister or her lot anymore! They’ve their own lives, and we’ve ours. Have you phoned Emily again? Complained about me, have you? I warned you. Dont blame me if something happens, Brian grabbed my shoulder, his grip biting.

Whenever this happened, Id drift in silence to the kitchen, tears welling up, bitter and hot. Really, Id never once complained to Emily, my own sister, about my home life. We simply kept in touch. Our elderly parents gave us endless things to talk about. This infuriated Brianhe couldnt stand Emily. Her home was peaceful, comfortable, and prosperous. You couldnt say the same about ours.

Back when I married Brian, you’d never have found a happier woman in all of England. Brian swept me up in a whirlwind of passion. His height didnt trouble me at all, even though he was nearly a head shorter. Nor did I think much of Brians mother, who staggered into the registry office on our wedding day, barely upright. Later, I found out shed been an alcoholic for years.

Enchanted by love, I saw only what I wanted. After a year of marriage, though, I began to doubt the happiness Id believed in. Brian drank heavily, stumbling home drunk as cider. Affairs soon followed. I worked as a nurse at the hospital; the pay was meagre. Brian preferred yammering the hours away in pubs.

He made no effort to support me. In the beginning, Id dreamt of children; now I was content to care for our pedigree tomcat. I no longer wished for children with a man who drank himself insensible. Yet, some part of me still loved Brian.

Linda, youre daft! my colleague Grace chided, Look at youloads of blokes would jump through hoops for you! Youre blinkered, clinging to your little goblin. Whats he got that keeps you here, covered in bruises? You think we dont notice you trowelling on makeup to hide those black eyes? Leave before he does you in, love!

Brians rages were sudden and violenta boiling, pointless fury. More than once, he lashed out so badly that I couldnt make my day shift. Once he locked me in the flat, taking the only key when he went out.

From then on, I feared him completely. My spirit would shrink and my heart thud madly the moment I heard his key scrape the lock. I thought perhaps he sought revengefor my failing to have his child, for being a poor wife, for any imagined slight. So I didnt resistnot when he raised a hand, not when he hurled insults, not even through the worst of his cruelties. Why did I still love him?

I heard her voice often, Brians mother, like some old witch:

Linda dear, do as your husband says, love him with all your heart. Forget your family, those sisters of yoursand those friends, theyll only lead you astray.

And so I forgot friendship, shunned family, yielded to Brians every whim. I was entirely, hopelessly in his grasp.

Yet, I tingled with a strange delight when Brian, in tears, would beg my pardon, falling to his knees, kissing my feet. The reconciliation always felt thick with sweetness, almost magic. Hed scatter our bed with petals from roses so wonderfully scented they seemed otherworldly. In those moments, I soared, floated to some bliss among the clouds, and found my own fragile paradise.

Of course, I knew where Brian got those rosesnicked from his mate Petes garden, while Petes wife doted over them. Pete handed flowers off for pennies to other sorry drunks, and their wives swooned over the stolen blooms, forgiving every failing.

No doubt Id have dragged myself slavishly through decades at Brians side, piecing together my own illusion of happiness, had not fate stepped in quite by chance.

Let Brian gohes fathered my son. Youre barren, a dud flower, declared a strange woman coldly, as if offering a trade: give up my husband for her childs sake.

I dont believe you! Be off, before I lose my patience! I retorted, voice trembling.

Brian protested as best he could, desperate to brush the accusation aside.

Swear to me that hes not your son! I demanded, knowing Brian would falter before denying his own flesh and blood.

Brians silence said everything. I understood.

Linda, I never see you cheerful. Trouble at home? The hospital director, Dr. Henry Lawrence, whod always seemed distant, suddenly took notice of me.

Alls fine, I stammered, flustered under his gaze.

Good, good. When everything is in order, life is beautiful, Henry said with a curious, mysterious smile.

Dr. Lawrence, people whispered, had once been married, with a daughter. They said his wife left him for someone new. Now, at forty-two, he lived alonean unremarkable man with thick glasses, a receding hairline, barely taller than my shoulder. But when he came near, some sweet, heady scent seemed to bloom around himlike aftershave spiked with enchantment.

I couldnt resist his quiet charm. I tried to keep my distance, to leave quickly, before temptation took hold. His simple words haunted me: Its good when everything is in order. They cut through memy life was pure chaos, years slipping away too quickly for me to pause, to sort myself out.

In the end, I left Brian for my parents. My mother was stunned:

Linda, what on earth happened? Did Brian throw you out?

No, Mum. Ill explain later, I mumbled, full of shame, unable to admit the truth of married life.

Soon Brians mother rang, hurling curses and blame. But I straightened my back, sucked in the cool, fresh air. I felt new again. Thank you, Dr. Lawrence.

Brian raved, threatened, lurked wherever I went. He hadnt a clue Id slipped from his hold entirely.

Brian, stop wasting your time. Your son needs you more than I do. Ive turned the page. Farewell, I replied, steady as stone.

At last, I rejoined Emily and our parents. I became myself again, no longer a marionette on tangled strings.

Grace caught the change at once:

Linda, youre glowing! Youre like a different womanradiant, lighthearted, blooming. Honestly, like a bride!

Dr. Lawrence surprised me with a proposal:

Linda, marry me! I promise youll never regret it. But do me a favourcall me Henry, not Doctor at home.

Do you love me, Henry? I asked, surprised by how suddenly it all happened.

Oh, forgive me, forgot you need words to go with it. Yes, I suppose I love youthough I trust actions more, Henry said, with a gentle kiss on my hand.

I will, Henry. Im sure Ill grow to love you, I replied, joy welling up inside me.

Ten years swept past.

Henry proved his love through every day, never a grand gesture or empty promise like Brians. He was caring, attentive, generous in quiet, stalwart ways. We never had children togetherperhaps I really was a dud flower after all! Henry didnt mind, never reproached or hurt me, not with words nor with silence.

Linda, if its just the two of us, thats more than enough for me, hed reassure me, whenever the ache of lost dreams returned.

His daughter from before gave us a granddaughter, Alexandra, who became our darling, the child we cherished above all.

As for Brian, the drink finally carried him off not long after, not yet fifty. His mother sometimes scowls at me from across the market, her glare scorching. But the venom in her eyes falls short, dissolving in the air. I only feel a slight, passing pity.

As for usHenry and Ilife is truly in order. And life is beautiful.

We’re Moving Into Your Flat — Polly’s flat is great, right in the city centre. Freshly renovated — just move in and enjoy! — It’s perfect… for a single girl, — Rusty smiled patronisingly at Anna as though she were a clueless child. — But we’re planning two, maybe even three kids. Straight away, one after another. The city centre’s noisy, there’s no fresh air, nowhere to park. Plus, it’s only got two bedrooms. You lot have three here, plus it’s quiet, with a nursery just outside. — Oh, it really is a lovely area, — agreed Serge, still unsure where his future brother-in-law was going with all this. — That’s why we settled here. — Exactly! — Rusty snapped his fingers. — I keep telling Polly: why struggle with less space when there’s a ready-made solution? There’s too much room for the three of you and your daughter. What do you need all that space for? You don’t even use your spare room — it’s just storage. For us, it would be perfect. Anna was wrestling an unwieldy vacuum cleaner into the tiny hall cupboard. The hoover protested, snagging its hose on coat hangers and absolutely refusing to fit in its allotted space. — Serge, give us a hand! — she called out towards the living room. — Either the cupboard’s shrunk, or I’ve forgotten how to put things away. Serge poked his head out of the bathroom — he’d just finished fixing the tap. Calm, always a bit slow, Serge was Anna’s complete opposite. — Don’t worry, Ann, I’ve got this. Pass it here. He smoothly shifted the heavy thing and tucked it out of sight into the corner of the cupboard. Anna exhaled and leaned against the doorframe. — Tell me again, why do we never seem to have enough space? This flat’s big, three bedrooms and all, but the minute we start cleaning it’s as if our whole life’s overflowing into the street. — That’s because you’re a chronic hoarder, — Serge chuckled. — Why do we have three dinner sets? We only use one, twice a year. — Let them be, they’re memories. It was Gran’s flat, after all. After the wedding, Serge’s parents split the inheritance fairly: their son got this spacious three-bedroom flat in a quiet area — Gran’s flat — and his sister Polly got the two-bedder right in the city centre, in the “golden square”. It worked out roughly the same value. For five years, everyone got along famously, no hard feelings on either side. Anna naively thought it would always stay that way, but… *** They finished tidying, sorted the mess, sat down for a breather. No sooner had they turned on the telly when the doorbell rang. Serge went to open it. — Sis and her fiancé are here, — he called to his wife after peering through the peephole. Polly flitted in first, followed heavily by Rusty. Anna had only met him a couple of times before — Polly found him at the gym about six months back. Anna didn’t like Rusty from the start — too pompous, a bit condescending. He always looked down his nose at both Serge and her. — Heya! — Polly kissed her brother and hugged Anna. — We were just passing, thought we’d pop in. We’ve got news! — Well, do come in, if you’re just passing. News is always good, — Serge gestured towards the kitchen. — Tea? — Just water, thanks, — Rusty traipsed after the host. — We need a proper chat, Serge. Actually, we weren’t just “passing”. It’s about something important. No need to fuss or make tea. Just come sit. Anna suddenly felt anxious — she didn’t like Rusty’s tone one bit. What’s all this about? — Go on, spit it out, — Serge shrugged. Polly pretended not to be in the room at all — engrossed in her phone, leaving Rusty to speak for them. Rusty cleared his throat. — Here’s the thing. Polly and I have set a date. Wedding in three months. Naturally, I have serious plans for us. A family, a long, happy life together. We were talking about our living situation and… We’re moving in here, and you two can swap into Polly’s flat! Anna was gobsmacked. She looked at her husband, then at Polly — but Polly kept on scrolling, as if none of this had anything to do with her. — Rusty, I don’t get it, — Serge frowned. — What are you getting at? — I’m not getting at anything, I’m offering a constructive solution. Let’s swap! We move in here; you lot take Polly’s flat. Pol’s completely on board, we both reckon it’s the fair thing. Anna was gobsmacked all over again. — Fair? — she repeated. — Rusty, are you serious? You waltz into our home and suggest we move out because you’ve decided it’s time for children? — No need to be so dramatic, Anna, — Rusty grimaced. — I’m being realistic. You’ve one child and, as far as I know, no plans for more. So why stretch out in all this extra space? Not practical. Whereas we… we’ve got big plans. — Big plans, have you! — Anna leapt up. — Serge, you hearing this rubbish? Serge raised a hand, signalling for Anna to hold her tongue. — Rusty, maybe you’ve forgotten, but my parents gave me this flat. Just like Polly’s got hers. We spent five years making this place a home, picked out every skirting board ourselves. Our daughter’s growing up here. She’s got her own room, routines, friends in the building. And you think we should up sticks and move to the city centre just because it suits you better? — Come on, mate, — Rusty leaned back insolently. — We’re family. Polly’s your flesh and blood. Doesn’t your sister’s future matter to you? Besides, I’m offering you equal value. You’d get a place in a prime location. Actually, you’re winning out pricewise. I did the maths. — Funny, that, — Serge snorted. — You’re not even married to my sister yet and you’re already eyeing up my flat! Finally, Polly looked up from her phone. — Oh, come on, — she whined. — Rusty just wants the best for us. We’ll be really cramped in my place if we have kids. And your hallway is big enough for five-a-side! Mum always said family comes first. Remember, Serge? — Mum said family should help, not chuck each other out of their homes! — Anna snapped. — Do you even realise what your Rusty’s suggesting? — What’s so bad about it? — Polly batted her eyelashes. — He’s being reasonable. We need it more. You’re not even using your extra room. — It’s not spare! — Anna nearly shouted. — That’s my study! I work in there, have you forgotten? — ‘Work’… — Rusty rolled his eyes. — You post pictures on the internet? Polly says that’s just a hobby. You could perch at the kitchen table with your laptop, it’s not like you’re Lady Muck. Serge stood slowly. — Right, — he said in a low voice. — That’s enough. Time for you both to leave. — Serge, come off it, — Rusty didn’t budge. — We came here to have a sensible, family discussion. — Sensible? — Serge stepped up to the table. — You come here demanding my flat, insulting my wife, deciding where my daughter should live? Do you have any shame at all? — Shame? Serge! — Anna stood at her husband’s side. — It’s sheer greed. The bloke doesn’t even have a ring on your sister’s finger and he’s already divvying up her assets. Polly, do you even realise who you’ve brought into the family? He’ll chuck you out of your own place first chance he gets! — Don’t speak about him like that! — Polly shot up, too. — Rusty cares about me! About ‘us’! And you lot… just greedy, clinging onto your precious rooms. And you call yourselves family! — I’ll tell you who’s greedy — your future husband, — Serge pointed sternly towards the door. — Once and for all: get out. And forget about any flat swap. If I hear about it again, we’re done. No contact, ever. Rusty rose, straightening his shirt collar. Not a flicker of embarrassment — only annoyance. — Suit yourself, Serge. I thought we could be reasonable. But if you want to be stubborn… Polly, come on! Once the door slammed behind them, Anna collapsed onto the sofa. She was shaking. — Did you see that? Did you hear that? — she stared at Serge, wide-eyed. — The nerve! Who even is that guy? Serge was silent, standing at the window, watching Rusty open his car like he owned the place, barking something at Polly. — You know what’s worst? — Serge said at last. — Polly actually thinks he’s right. She’s always been… a bit away with the fairies, but this? — He’s brainwashed her! — Anna burst out. — Serge, ring your mum. Your parents need to hear what their future son-in-law’s really like. — Wait, — Serge pulled out his phone. — I’ll call my sister first. One-to-one. Without the peacock. He dialled. The call rang for ages before Polly, crying, picked up. — Hello, — came the muffled voice. — Polly, listen to me, — Serge’s tone was hard. — Are you with him, in the car? — What does it matter? — If he’s there, put me on speaker. He can hear this too. — I’m not. — Polly sniffled. — He dropped me outside and sped off. Said he needed to clear his head, because my family are all selfish. Serge, why are you all like this? He just wanted everything to be perfect… — Polly, wake up! — Serge almost shouted. — Perfect? He came here to wrangle my flat out of us! Did he even discuss this ‘swap’ with you beforehand? Silence. — No, — Polly whispered at last. — He said he had a surprise for everyone. A way to make things better for all of us. — Some surprise. He decides what’s best for you and me — never even asked. Polly, do you even realise who you’re marrying? He’s a gold digger. Today it’s our flat, tomorrow your car’s too small, and next he’ll be hinting your parents need to give up their cottage so he can get some ‘fresh air’. — Don’t say that… — Polly’s voice shook. — He loves me. — If he did, he wouldn’t be kicking off scandal for no reason. He’s just played us off against each other! Anna’s still in shock. Don’t you see? He wanted to turn us against each other. — I’ll talk to him, — Polly said uncertainly. — Do. And think hard before you head down the aisle. Serge hit disconnect, tossing his phone onto the sofa. — What did she say? — Anna whispered. — Said she didn’t know — Rusty had planned his ‘surprise’. Anna gave a bitter laugh. — Picture it: struts in thinking he owns the place, shifting people like chess pieces. Flats here, people there. Ugh. Makes my skin crawl. — Never mind, — Serge put his arm around his wife’s shoulder. — We’re not giving up our home. End of. But I feel sorry for my sister. She’s going to regret him. *** Serge and Anna’s worst fears didn’t come true — the wedding never happened. Rusty dumped Polly that very night. Polly, in tears, turned up at her brother’s later and told them what had happened. Rusty had returned immediately and started packing. Polly panicked, asking what was going on. Rusty declared he wasn’t about to become related to such selfish people. — Said he doesn’t need relatives like ‘that’, — Polly sobbed. — Said he can’t count on you. Said you wouldn’t even babysit for us when we need a weekend off. And you wouldn’t give us any money, even if we asked. — Oh, Polly, don’t let it get to you! — Anna protested. — You’re better off without him! You can’t count on someone like that. He’ll never care about anyone but himself. Forget him! Polly was upset for a couple of months, but she got over it. She realised the truth in time — and how had she not seen her fiancé’s rotten side before? If she’d married him, she’d have been miserable forever. She’d dodged a bullet — truly.

We’re Moving Into Your Flat — Olivia’s got a gorgeous flat in the city centre. Just had a makeover, it’s a dream place! — Perfect for a single girl, — Rustam smiled patronisingly at Anna, as if she were a child. — But we want a big family — two, no, even three kids. One after another, if possible. It’s noisy in the centre, there’s no fresh air, no parking. And the worst part — only two rooms. But here — three! Quiet neighbourhood, plus a nursery right in the courtyard. — It is a wonderful area, — agreed Sergei, still not quite grasping where his future brother-in-law was going with all this. — That’s why we settled here. — Exactly! — Rustam snapped his fingers. — I keep telling Olivia: why cramp ourselves when there’s a perfect solution right in front of us? The two of you and your daughter have too much space here. What do you need all these rooms for? You barely use one of them — it’s a glorified storage cupboard! For us, though — it’s ideal. Anna tried to wedge the vacuum cleaner into the impossibly narrow hallway cupboard. The vacuum battled back, snagging its hose on hangers and steadfastly refusing to fit in its designated home. — Sergei, help me out, will you! — she called toward the next room. — Either the cupboard’s shrunk or I’ve forgotten how to pack things away. Sergei poked his head out from the bathroom — he’d just finished fixing the tap. Calm, a bit slow-moving, he was everything his sprightly wife wasn’t. — Give it here, Anna. We’ll sort it out. He deftly grabbed the heavy machine and slotted it effortlessly into a corner. Anna gave a sigh of relief and leaned against the doorframe. — Tell me, why do we always run out of space? Three rooms, feels like a mansion, but every time we tidy up, it looks like we should just haul everything outside. — It’s your hoarding tendencies, love, — Sergei grinned. — Why do we need three dinner sets? We only use one and a half per year. — Leave them. They’re keepsakes. It’s grandmother’s flat, after all. After the wedding, Sergei’s parents split the inheritance fairly: He got this spacious three-bed in a quiet spot — granny’s old place; his sister Olivia the chic two-bed smack in the “golden square” of the city centre. Moneywise, it balanced out. Five years, everyone got on; nobody was jealous. Anna had naively thought it would always be this way, but… *** Spring-cleaning finished, chaos conquered, they slumped on the sofa. The TV went on. The doorbell rang almost instantly. Sergei went to answer. — It’s my sister and her boyfriend, — he called over his shoulder. Olivia flitted cheerfully through the door; behind her, lumbered Rustam. Anna had only met him twice: Olivia had picked him up at the gym six months ago. Rustam had never impressed — pompous and faintly disdainful. He always looked down his nose at both Anna and Sergei. — Hiya! — Olivia pecked her brother’s cheek and hugged Anna. — We were just passing and thought we’d pop in! And, big news! — Well, don’t just hover in the hall. News is always good, — Sergei gestured kitchen-ward. — Tea? — A glass of water, if that’s okay, — Rustam plodded in. — We’ve got something important to discuss, Sergei. They hadn’t just been ‘passing’. There was an agenda. Skip the tea — let’s get to business. Anna’s stomach knotted at Rustam’s tone. What is he up to? — Go on then, — Sergei said, shrugging. Olivia busied herself with her phone, left the talking to her fiancé. Rustam cleared his throat. — Here’s the thing. Olivia and I are engaged. Wedding’s in three months. It’s serious. Family and all that. We’ve taken a hard look at our living situation… We’ll move in here, and you can move into Olivia’s flat! Anna was gobsmacked. She stared at her husband, then at her sister-in-law, who kept scrolling as if the conversation had nothing to do with her. — Rustam, I’m not sure I follow, — Sergei frowned. — What exactly are you suggesting? — I’m not suggesting, I’m offering a practical, constructive solution. Let’s swap! We move here; you move into Olivia’s flat. Olivia’s on board with this — we both think it’s only fair. Anna was gobsmacked all over again. — Fair? — she repeated. — Rustam, are you serious? You waltz into our home and suggest we move out, just because you want to have kids? — No need to overreact, Anna, — Rustam grimaced. — I’m being realistic. You have one child, and as far as I know, you’re not planning on any more. So why cling to all this extra space? It’s wasteful. And we — we have plans. — Plans! Did you hear that? — Anna leaped up from her seat. — Sergei, he expects us to just uproot our life because it suits him! Sergei held up his hand for quiet. — Rustam, maybe you’ve forgotten that this flat was a gift from my parents, just as Olivia’s was for her. We spent five years doing it up, every skirting board picked by us. Our daughter’s growing up here — her room, all her friends. And you want us to just pack everything up and move to the centre because it’s more convenient for you? — Come on, mate, — Rustam slouched back in his chair. — We’re family. Olivia’s your blood sister. Aren’t you even a tiny bit concerned about your sister’s future? I’m offering an equal swap — you’d have a flat in a prime location, probably more valuable, actually. — This is a laugh, — Sergei snorted. — You’re not even married to my sister yet and you’re already after my flat! Olivia finally looked up from her phone. — Oh honestly, — she whined. — Rustam’s only thinking of what’s best. We really will be cramped in my place with kids around. And you’ve got that huge corridor — big enough for a football pitch. Mum always said, ‘Family comes first’. Did you forget? — Mum said ‘help each other’, Olivia, not that one should chuck the other out of their home! — Anna snapped. — Do you even hear yourself? — He’s got a point, — Olivia batted her lashes. — We’d make better use. — It’s not spare! — Anna nearly yelled. — That’s my office! I work in there, remember? — Work, — Rustam snorted. — Uploading pictures to the internet? Olivia told me, that’s just a hobby. Just use the kitchen table. Not like you’re some CEO. Sergei stood up, slow and steady. — That’s enough, — he said quietly. — Please see yourselves out. Both of you. — Sergei, calm down, mate! — Rustam didn’t budge. — We’re just trying to talk things through, like a family. — Family? — Sergei stepped forward. — You stroll in here asking for my flat, insult my wife, and presume where my daughter should grow up? Do you even hear yourself? — Oh please, Sergei! — Anna moved to stand by her husband. — He’s not thinking about anyone but himself. Barely put a ring on Olivia’s finger and already carving up the inheritance! Olivia, do you realise the sort of bloke you’ve brought home? He’ll be the first to kick you out of your own flat! — Don’t talk about him like that! — Olivia barked back. — Rustam cares about our future! And you two… you’re just obsessed with your precious flat. So selfish. Some family! — The only selfish one here is your fiancé, — Sergei jabbed a finger at the door. — Let me spell it out: out. And forget the whole swap idea — ever bring it up again, and we won’t be talking at all. Rustam stood up, straightened his collar. Annoyed, not embarrassed. — Big mistake, Sergei. I thought we could do this sensibly. Clearly you’re not open to reason… Olivia, let’s go. When the door slammed, Anna flopped onto the sofa, shaking. — Did you see that? Did you? The nerve! Who does he think he is? Sergei said nothing. He stood at the window, watching as Rustam strode to his car, barking irritably at Olivia. — The worst bit? — he said eventually. — Olivia honestly thinks he’s right. She’s always been a little… naive. But this? — He’s got her totally brainwashed! — Anna shot up. — We need to ring your mum. Your parents need to know what their future son-in-law’s up to. — Wait, — Sergei pulled out his phone. — I’ll ring Olivia. Just her, no peacocks hovering behind. He called, rang for ages, then Olivia answered — crying. — Hello, — she sniffed. — Olivia, listen carefully, — Sergei’s voice was cold. — Are you in the car with him now? — What does it matter? — If he’s with you, put me on speaker. I want him to hear too. — He’s not. He dropped me off at the flat and drove off. Apparently my family are “selfish to the core”. Sergei, why can’t you just help us? He only wants what’s best… — Olivia, wake up! — Sergei nearly shouted into the phone. — He tried to blackmail us out of our home! Did you even realise this is your inheritance, your home? And he’s already making plans for it. Did he even mention this swap before today? Silence. — No, — she whispered. — He just said he had a surprise for everyone, a brilliant solution. — Some surprise. Decided your future for you—without even asking. Olivia, do you know what you’re getting yourself into? He’s a total freeloader. Today it’s your flat; tomorrow it’s your car’s too small, and by next week, he’ll want your parents’ holiday cottage signed over, because “he needs fresh air”. — Don’t say that… — Olivia’s voice shook. — He loves me. — Love? He just tried to turn us all against each other! Anna’s still in shock. He played us off; that’s what he did. — I’ll talk to him, — Olivia said uncertainly. — You do that. And think seriously before you walk down the aisle. Sergei hung up and tossed his phone onto the sofa. — What did she say? — Anna whispered. — She didn’t know. It was all Rustam’s “surprise”. Anna gave a bitter laugh. — Typical. Comes strutting in, shuffling people around like chess pieces. Flats here, people there. Ugh, makes my skin crawl. — Don’t worry, — Sergei assured her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. — We’re not giving up this flat. Not a chance. But I feel bad for my sister. She’s heading for a train wreck. *** The worst didn’t happen. The wedding never came to be. Rustam left Olivia that very evening. Tear-stained, she showed up at Sergei’s in the night to explain. He’d come over, packed up, and announced he wasn’t marrying into a family of “misers”. — He said, “those kind of family aren’t worth having,” — Olivia sobbed. — Said we’d never help with the children or watch them on weekends so they could get a break. And we wouldn’t give them money if they asked. — Oh Olivia, don’t waste a tear, — Anna protested. — You don’t need a man like that! He’d never put you first. Family means nothing to him unless he gets something out of it. Good riddance! Olivia moped for a few months, then seemed to move on. Hindsight kicked in later. How had she not spotted her fiancé’s true colours sooner? If she’d married him, she’d have been miserable for life. Clearly, fate was looking out for her.

“It Doesn’t Look Good That Your Children Will Have Homes While My Son Won’t—Let’s Buy Him a Flat With a Mortgage!” Recently, my husband Anthony pointed out that my children have homes, but his son doesn’t—so we need to figure out how to get his son a flat, too. For context: my children are our children together, while Anthony’s son is from his first marriage. Why should it be my responsibility to worry about getting a home for his son? Of course, I’ve always known Anthony was previously married and had a child, which is partly why I wasn’t in any rush to marry him. We lived together for three years before tying the knot. I watched carefully how he felt about his ex-wife and his child. A year after marrying, we had our own son. Two years later, our second son. I’m happy with Anthony as a husband and as a father—he’s devoted time to me and our children and is a good earner. Naturally, we have the odd spat, but what family doesn’t? We lived in the flat I inherited from my father after my mother divorced him when I was little. Mum remarried but had no more children. Anthony and his ex-wife always rented, saving for a mortgage that never materialised. After their divorce, Anthony continued renting on his own, while his ex-wife moved back with her parents. When we married, Anthony moved in with me. We never focused on whose name was on the flat—we just did home improvements and shared everything. But about a year and a half ago, both my grandmothers passed away and left me their flats as well. While my boys are still young, I decided to rent those flats out. Later, each son will get a flat. Rental from one goes to help mum’s pension, the other supplements my salary. Anthony never interfered with my flats—they’re nothing to do with him. From the start, I told him clearly: one day, each of our sons gets a flat. He agreed, and that was that. Suddenly, Anthony comes out with: “My son finishes secondary school soon. He needs to start thinking about his future!” At first I didn’t know where he was going with this, but I listened. “Your kids have homes! My son doesn’t! Let’s buy my boy a flat with a mortgage!” Anthony blurted out. I was stunned! So many questions. Firstly—since when are our children only mine? Anthony asked me not to nitpick his words. “But my son will never inherit anything. I want him to have his own home!” “It’s great you care! But he has two parents—shouldn’t both be responsible for that? Why isn’t your ex-wife handling this?” Anthony tried explaining—his ex earns little and relies on her parents, and he simply can’t afford a mortgage alone. But if I help, we can manage it. He wants us to agree to a mortgage for his son, with the flat in his son’s name, and us footing the bill. “We both have good salaries, plus rental income—it’ll work!” Anthony insisted. We could just about manage, but we’d have to tighten our belts—a lot. Anthony pays child support, and when his son goes to university, he’ll help even more, since his ex can’t support him. So because of his son, our family will miss out: no nice holidays, no trips to the seaside—we’ll be scrimping on everything. All so Anthony looks like a great dad? I could understand if Anthony was the one who had provided flats for our kids and now wanted to do the same for his eldest. But that’s not the case—I provided those homes. Anthony has nothing to do with them. Why should I pay for his son’s mortgage? I told Anthony straight—if he’s so worried, let his ex take out the mortgage, and she can pay it with child support. “But I won’t be getting involved!” I said. Now Anthony’s furious with me and hasn’t spoken to me in a week. It’s such a shame he can’t see my point.