Good afternoon. Im your husbands mistress. I paused, setting aside the mock-up of the magazine I was

JUST IN CASE Vera glanced at her tearful colleague, turned indifferently back to her computer, and began typing rapidly. “You’re heartless, Vera,” came the voice of Olga, their manager. “Me? What makes you say that?” “Well, just because your personal life is all sunshine and rainbows doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone else. You see the poor girl’s beside herself—you could at least show a bit of sympathy, offer some advice, maybe share your experience. Things are going so well for you, after all.” “Me? Share my experience? With her? I doubt our dear Nadia would appreciate that. I did try, you know—about five years ago, when she started showing up to work with black eyes ‘to help her see the road in the morning,’ as she claimed. You weren’t here yet back then. And no, it wasn’t her boyfriend beating her up—she just had a knack for ‘falling over’ at just the right angle. Funny thing, once he rode off into the sunset, the bruises vanished, and he was the third guy to do so. That’s when I decided to try supporting her, to offer a bit of wisdom, as it were. And guess what? I was the villain in the story. Later, my other colleagues clued me in—supporting Nadia is a lost cause. She always ‘knows best’ and hates anyone who meddles in her happiness. She used to run to fortune-tellers, casting love spells; now she’s moved with the times and goes to therapists to ‘work through her trauma.’ She doesn’t realize she’s living the same story over and over—only the names change. So please forgive me, but I won’t be weeping or passing out tissues.” “Still, Vera,” Olga said, “that’s not right.” At lunch, as everyone sat around the same table, all anyone could talk about was Nadia’s ex—the rogue, the cheater. Vera quietly ate her lunch, poured herself a coffee, and retreated to a corner, scrolling through her socials to clear her mind. “Vera,” cheerful, plump Tanya sidled up, her usually bubbly face looking glum today, “don’t you feel even a little bit sorry for Nadia?” “Tanya, what do you want from me?” “Oh, leave her be,” said passing Irina, “Vera’s got her dear Vasily, lives like a queen—she wouldn’t know what it’s like to be left alone with a child, to have no help from anywhere, to fight tooth and nail just to get child support from some deadbeat dad.” “Well, she shouldn’t have had a kid with God-knows-who at her age, pardon me girls,” chimed in Tatiana Ivanovna, the eldest at the office, known as Granny Tanya. “Vera’s right, Nadia’s cried over that guy for ages, he made her life hell even when she was pregnant.” The women all circled the ceaselessly sobbing Nadia, offering every kind of advice under the sun. So, our strong, independent Nadia decided to turn things around. She summoned her mother from the village to help with her son—and her ‘thankless’ ex. Nadia began to heal: she grew bangs, microbladed her eyebrows, glued on lashes, nearly got a nose ring but was talked out of it by the whole department. And suddenly, she was back. “It’s alright, Nadia,” her colleagues cheered, “he’ll regret it, he’ll cry soon enough!” “He won’t cry at all,” Vera muttered, hardly above a whisper, but the tipsy girls heard her. “What do you mean, he won’t cry?” “He just won’t. And he won’t have any regrets. As for Nadia, she’ll find another just like him before long.” “That’s easy for you to say, your Vasily is probably nothing like that…” “Nothing like that. Vasily is the best man in the world—doesn’t cheat, drink, or raise a hand, adores me to bits.” “Yeah, right. All men are dogs.” “Careful, Vera, or we’ll steal him.” “No chance, he wouldn’t go anywhere.” “I wouldn’t be so sure.” “You should be.” Wine-fueled, the girls soon argued as fiercely as wildcats. “Let’s go round to yours and see if Vasily can resist all this beauty! Bet you wouldn’t dare invite us—you’re scared one of us will steal your precious.” “Alright, let’s go.” “Alright, girls, let’s go to Vera’s and see if we can win Vasily over! Granny Tanya, you coming?” “No, I’ve got Mikhail waiting for me at home… You go ahead,” grinned Tatiana Ivanovna. Off they trooped to Vera’s, laughter filling the kitchen as they bustled about. “Let’s whip up something quickly for Vasily. He’s out now, right?” “He’s picky with food and won’t eat much—but yes, you’re right, he’ll be home soon.” The bravado faded, everyone remembered their chores and left, except Nadia, Olga, and Tanya, who stayed for tea and girl chat, feeling awkward while waiting for the mysterious Vasily. At last, someone arrived. “Vasily, my darling boy!” crooned Vera as she went to the hall. The women fell silent, shuffling awkwardly, when in strode a tall, handsome young man. Ah, so that’s it—they all realized at once. Vera’s man was much, much younger. “Ladies, meet my son, Denis. How’s Vasily, Den?” “He’s fine, Mum—just needs some rest after the op. He’ll be running around tomorrow. Don’t let him lick his…” The women blushed. “We… we’ll be off then?” “Wait, you haven’t met Vasily yet—shh, he’s just had surgery. Denis and Lena took him while I was at work… for his, um, snip, since he kept spraying the curtains. Come on in.” Here he is—my Vasily, fast asleep. The ladies nearly burst out laughing—it was a cat. “Vera—it’s a cat!” “Of course it’s a cat—what did you think?” “But… your husband?” “Oh, I’ve not got one. You all leapt to conclusions when I once said I had a wonderful man in my life called Vasily—you made up the rest all by yourselves. I got married young, first love, all that—dropped out of college, had Denis. Three rough years, and we split. Parents helped out as much as they could. Married again closer to thirty—a nice, stable man, made big plans. Wanted an heir, a princess… as for Denis, oh, send him off to military school or dump him on my mum. Sent that husband back to his mother soon enough. She blamed me for being a fool, said, ‘No one wants someone else’s child’—pretty rich coming from a woman whose husband wasn’t Denis’ father, either. Back to just Denis and me. Third time, I knew the odds were against me. ‘Third time lucky,’ as they say. But early on, this one blackened my eye—all in the name of passionate love, apparently. Luckily, Denis took up martial arts at six and I often sparred with him; I learned a few things. Gave that Othello a taste of his own medicine, and that was that. Denis got married, I got bored—so I got myself Vasily the cat. It’s great: I have company for the cinema, for holidays, and no one owes anyone anything, no one nags or demands. Sometimes I cook a nice dinner and invite Denis—he leaves happy, and there’s no drama. Denis used to ask why we didn’t live together. I told him: we’re adults, with our own lives and habits. If we’d been together since youth, like my brother or my parents—maybe. They’ve fused into one after thirty years. I didn’t, so why should I force myself, just to say ‘I’m married’? No, thanks. Vasily and I do just fine. Right, darling, open your eyes—like I warned you, keep on yowling and spraying, and you’ll lose more than dignity.” The girls left deep in thought, especially Nadia. But Nadia couldn’t do it Vera’s way. Within a month, she was gushing about her new beau, accepting bouquets at work. Vera and Granny Tanya quietly smiled. “How’s Mikhail? How’s his leg?” “All healed, Vera, thank goodness—a splinter, most likely, but he’s back to normal. My grandkids said we should show him at dog shows, but why torture him? We’re happy as we are… Looks like things have worked out with Nadia, too.” “Yes, Tatiana Ivanovna—some get a pet, some get a husband…” “Well, everyone to their own.” “Maybe she’ll have better luck this time?” “Let’s hope so.” “What’s all the whispering?” “About you, Nadia—we’re hoping for the best.” “Girls, I know how it looks, but I just can’t be alone, honestly.” “That’s your business—stop making excuses. Everyone has their own life…” “Vera,” Nadia called, catching up to her at the parking lot, “if I need tips on looking after cats, will you help? Which is better, a tom or a queen?” “Go on, they’re waiting for you… We’ll see about that if the time comes…” Vera laughed. “I just want to know—just in case.”

JUST IN CASE Sarah glanced at her sobbing colleague, turned back to her computer with barely a shrug

Granddaughter. From the Moment She Was Born, Little Olivia Was Unwanted by Her Mother, Dumped at Her Granny’s Country Cottage by a Taxi, and Raised with Tenderness She Never Knew Before—Now an Aspiring Medical Student, Olivia Must Defend Her Inheritance and the Loving Home Her Grandmother Built, as Her Estranged Father Returns with His New Family, Determined to Leave Her With Nothing but Memories

Granddaughter. From the very beginning, little Emily was an inconvenience to her mother, Rachel.

Leonard Refused to Believe Little Iris Was His Daughter—Her Mother Vera Was Always at Work, with Gossip Whispering About Backroom Affairs—So He Resented the Child, Leaving Only Grandpa Matthew to Love and Care for His Granddaughter, Ultimately Leaving His Countryside Cottage to Iris in His Will Only Grandpa Matthew Loved Little Iris As a child, Iris was often ill—delicate, small, unlike anyone in Leonard’s or Vera’s families. “She’s a runt, nothing like us,” Leonard grumbled, fueling his doubts and growing coldness, which soon crept into Vera too. Iris’s only champion was Grandpa Matthew, whose cottage stood on the edge of the village by the woods. A retired forest ranger, he was seen as eccentric, even clairvoyant, and villagers visited for his healing herbs and brews. Widowed long ago, he found solace in the woods and in Iris, who spent more time with him than at home, learning about the land and dreaming of healing people. Her mother dismissed her ambitions, but Grandpa always promised to help, even if it meant selling his cow. He Left His Cottage and a Blessing Vera rarely visited her father—until her son, Andrew, lost badly at cards in town and thugs demanded money. She came begging, but Grandpa Matthew, unmoved, refused: “I won’t pay Andrew’s debts. My priority is Iris’s education.” Furious, Vera stormed out, disowning both her father and her daughter. When Iris got into nursing school, only Grandpa helped her, the rest turning a blind eye. Shortly before her graduation, Grandpa fell ill and, sensing his end, told Iris he was leaving her the house—and a wish for a happy destiny. “Don’t forget this house. Its spirit will protect you. Don’t be afraid to stay, for here, your fate will find you,” he prophesied. Matthew’s Prediction Came True After Matthew’s passing in autumn, Iris worked as a nurse in the district hospital, returning to the cottage on weekends, keeping the hearth burning as he’d asked. One snowy evening, a blizzard stranded a stranger outside—Stan. Iris offered him a shovel and, eventually, hot tea inside until the storm passed. Amused by her independence, Stan offered to see her safely to town—and soon, their paths crossed again. They never had a wedding—just genuine love. Stan tried to persuade her at first but honored her wishes. Their bond ran deep, and when their son was born, the staff marveled how such a tiny woman gave birth to such a strapping lad. Asked what they would name him, Iris always said: “He’ll be Matthew, after a truly wonderful man.”

Leonard always stubbornly refused to believe that Emily was his daughter. Vera, his wife, worked at the

Life, Like the Moon: Sometimes Full, Sometimes Waning I believed our marriage was as eternal and unbreakable as the universe—how wrong I was… I met my future husband, David, at medical school; we married in our fifth year. My mother-in-law’s wedding gifts were a trip to the Lake District and keys to a new flat. Life seemed perfect. We moved into a three-bedroom flat, with his parents helping us at every turn. Each year, thanks to their generosity, we holidayed all over Europe. We were young and blissful, with our whole future ahead—David became a virologist, I a GP, and our sons, Daniel and Victor, completed our happiness. But looking back, I realise my life then was a river in full flow—I lived in luxury for a decade. And then, it all collapsed overnight. …The doorbell rang. I opened it to a pretty but troubled-looking young woman. ‘Are you Sophia? I’m here to see you—may I come in?’ she asked, hesitantly. She was slightly pregnant. ‘My name’s Tanya. I’m ashamed to say this, but I love your husband. David loves me, too. We’re having a baby,’ she blurted. She handed me a small velvet box. Inside was a gold ring. ‘Is this some kind of bribe? David isn’t for sale!’ I snapped, returning the ring. Tanya began to cry, pleading for understanding, but I felt only sorrow for myself. This woman had stolen my happiness. I pushed the ‘compensation’ back to her, ushered her out, and from that moment, my life began to unravel… My mother-in-law called: David was leaving. She packed his things, gently telling me, ‘We’ll always be family, no matter what. David and his new girl, well—let them get on with it.’ Within months, David had a new family, including Tanya’s daughter from her first marriage. He never visited our sons, sent only minimal support via his mother; it was the ‘90s. I ended up hospitalised with a breakdown. The boys stayed with their grandmother, spoilt and cared for. When I tried to bring them home after my recovery, they refused—her cooking and lenience were too tempting. What could I say? ‘Let them stay with us,’ my mother-in-law coaxed. ‘You’ll need to downsize the flat, anyway.’ So, I was left alone, soon forced to trade our spacious home for a tiny, shabby bedsit—a far cry from before. I saw my sons only on holidays. ‘Let’s not upset the boys’ contentment,’ my mother-in-law would say. They drifted from me; the connection broke. I longed to disappear into my cold, lonely corner. My gran used to say, ‘Life is like the moon: sometimes full, sometimes waning.’ It couldn’t go on like that. Even my first-class medical degree felt meaningless. …Work sent me to a conference in France, where I had a whirlwind romance with a Serbian doctor, Ivan. For ten days, I came back to life. There were other brief liaisons after, but nothing lasting. Once, my mother-in-law remarked, ‘Sophia, you’re glowing! You look like spring itself!’ Yet I remained alone. When my best friend emigrated to Greece, she introduced me to her ex. ‘Sophia, you take Alexander! He’s all yours now!’ she joked. So, I picked up the pieces of a man left behind. Alexander became my husband, but he had a major flaw: he was a hopeless alcoholic. I couldn’t leave him, no matter the heartbreak, and spent seven years fighting for him—rehab, doctors, tears. At last, he sobered up and now works as a driver at the local mortuary—sobering work, but he comes home quiet and, more importantly, sober. My friend from Greece can scarcely believe it: ‘Alexander isn’t drinking? I don’t believe it!’ I just laugh: ‘No refunds or exchanges!’ My sons are in their thirties now, both bachelors after witnessing so much marital upheaval as boys. I doubt I’ll have grandchildren. As for my ex-husband, David—his second wife, Tanya, drank herself into oblivion, and their daughter is now a single mum. David remarried again, this time to his nurse. Just before the wedding, he even asked our sons, ‘Would your mum want to start over with me?’ I answered sharply, ‘When pigs fly! In other words—never!’

LIFE, LIKE THE MOON: SOMETIMES FULL, SOMETIMES A SLIVER I used to believe our marriage was as unshakeable

A New Year’s Eve to Remember: How a Red Dress, an Empty Fridge, and One Grumpy Neighbour Made It the Most Magical Night of All

On the eve of New Years, Mum and I wandered into Hamleys, our cheeks tingling from the cold.

— After I’m Gone, You’ll Have to Move Out—The Flat Will Go to My Son… — I’m sorry, Gail, but after I’m gone, you’ll have to vacate this flat, — said her husband Tony. — I’m leaving it to my son. I’ve already made the necessary arrangements. I hope you’re not upset with me about this? You’ve got your own children—they’ll look after you. Life had never been kind to Gail. Raised in an orphanage, she never knew her parents. She married young for love but found little happiness. Thirty-five years ago, she was left a widow with two small children when her husband, Nick, tragically died. Gail spent five years alone, working hard to give her son and daughter a good life, until Tony came into her world. At least she had her own roof—Nick’s flat had come to her as an inheritance. Gail’s new love, Tony, was thirteen years her senior, owned his spacious three-bedroom flat, and earned well. They quickly decided to move in together, and Tony got on splendidly with the children of the woman he loved. Gail’s eldest, Vicky, was wary of her stepdad at first, but Tony soon won her trust. Gail’s son, Ben, all but instantly called Tony “Dad.” Tony raised them as his own—never stingy with money, time, or affection—and Vicky and Ben were forever grateful for a joyful childhood. *** Both Vicky and Ben had long moved out. Vicky married early and left the nest, while Ben, who dreamed of a career in the Army, hadn’t lived at home in years. Ten years ago, Gail asked her children over to discuss an important matter. “I want to sell our two-bed flat,” she told them over tea. “We need major renovations here: furniture’s outdated, pipes need changing. No one lives in that old place anyway—it’s just sitting empty. If you’re both happy, I say we sell it and split the money.” Vicky shrugged. “That’s fine with me—I don’t need the flat, but to be honest, Mum, I could use the cash. You know how expensive it is treating my son, and we’re still hoping to help him fully recover.” Vicky’s eldest had a birth defect affecting his legs, so money was tight—constant rehab, trips to London, and private treatment sucked up every penny. Ben nodded in agreement. “Me neither, Mum. Give my share to Vicky for little Greg’s treatment. I’ve got my flat and still working on the mortgage. My nephew’s health matters more.” So the flat was sold. Gail gave half the proceeds to Vicky, and with what was left, she completely renovated Tony’s place—new wiring, new pipes, all new furniture and appliances, paid for out of her own pocket. Never could she have imagined her generosity would turn out to be for nothing, or that after thirty years together, Tony would betray her so cruelly. Tony’s health took a turn for the worse four years ago. He complained constantly of knee pain—some days, he couldn’t get out of bed unaided. Gail pleaded: “Tony, stop acting like a child and go to the doctor. Get some proper treatment—I’ll go with you if you want!” Tony grumbled in reply, “Doctors will just prescribe a load of expensive rubbish that won’t work. My knees have ached since I was young… Just worse now I’m nearly seventy.” Vicky had always called Tony “Dad” like Ben did, so she was determined to help. Together, the women made Tony go to the GP, and after a thorough check, the doctor was blunt: “It’s serious. You need urgent treatment. And you really must lose some weight before it gets worse.” Gail took this to heart—she overhauled Tony’s diet, swapped sweets for dried fruit, and cooked only healthy, low-calorie meals. Tony wasn’t having it. “I’m not living like a rabbit! I’ll drop dead starving before my knees ever get better!” But Gail stood firm, and eventually Tony agreed to treatment and dieting. Medicines barely helped, pain came and went, and soon Tony could barely move about the flat. Gail led him everywhere by the hand, and heart and blood pressure troubles soon arrived. He seemed to visibly age before their eyes, and Vicky and Ben took to spending as much time with him as possible. *** For several years, Tony battled on, but the ups and downs wore him out. Gail never once thought of leaving him, always nursing him over each crisis. Six months ago, Tony had a bad turn and ended up in hospital. Gail rarely left his bedside. One evening, as she was packing food for a visit, the doorbell rang. At the door stood a young man unfamiliar to her, yet oddly familiar at the same time. “Evening. Is Tony Evans in?” “I’m afraid he’s not home. Sorry, but who are you?” “I’m Serge. Tony Evans is my dad.” Gail was stunned—the resemblance to her husband as a young man was uncanny! She invited Serge in, feeling awkward and unprepared for the sudden revelation. Over tea, she learned her husband had never mentioned Serge, or that he’d been married before. When they finally visited Tony together, even her husband needed a moment to recognise his son. Later, Tony told Gail how he’d left Serge’s mum after catching her with a cousin, and how he’d been barred from Serge’s life—until, nearly thirty years on, Serge had tracked him down. “Serge is my son, my blood,” Gail said gently. “You can’t blame the child for the way his mother acted—give him a chance to know you.” Tony took her advice and began seeing Serge regularly, who soon met both Ben and Vicky—who welcomed their stepbrother warmly. Gail was happy for Tony, but unnoticed, their bank account was running low. Gail, still working as a remote accountant, checked her phone out of habit one day and was shocked to see a £1,500 withdrawal. She hurried to Tony. “Where’s our bank card? Someone’s emptied our account—was it you?” “Oh, don’t worry,” Tony replied calmly. “I gave Serge the card. He needed the money, so I helped him out.” “Why didn’t you tell me? Why give him so much, without even asking?!” “It’s none of your business,” Tony snapped. “He’s my son, he needed help. What’s your problem?” Rows followed, but Gail called the bank and cancelled the card. That night, Serge arrived, indignant: “The card’s blocked, Dad! We agreed I could use it.” Gail laid down the law: “That money’s mine—I paid for it every month. From now on, you get nothing without asking me.” After that, Serge stopped visiting, and Tony rarely spoke to Gail, giving her the silent treatment until, finally, she decided to spend some time away at her daughter’s house, “Let Tony think things over—a bit of space will do us good.” She returned home that night to find Tony in a cheerful mood, but then he looked at her seriously: “I hope you won’t be cross, but I went to the solicitor today—the flat’s now Serge’s.” “Really?” said Gail, quietly. “For what, exactly?” “He’s my son—my only flesh and blood. You’d better start sorting out where you’ll go next: your daughter’s or your son’s place?” A heaviness settled over Gail. Legally, perhaps, she had no rights to the flat, but it hurt. Every bit of furniture, every curtain, every pound she’d spent making that place a home—none of it mattered now. “Well, thank you, Tony,” she said softly. “Maybe you’re right. I need to look after myself now. Call your son—he can move in and look after you from now on.” “What’s going on, Gail? Where are you going? Explain yourself!” “There’s nothing to explain, Tony. I’m leaving you. I’ll call the children and make plans for my future.” Gail moved in with Ben, who had plenty of room. Vicky would have taken her too, but Gail didn’t want to impose. Tony tried to contest the divorce, but in the end, Gail was free—though she was left, in Tony and Serge’s eyes, as a gold-digger after someone else’s home.

Im sorry, Helen, but after Im gone, youll have to move out. Im leaving the flat to my son said Anthony

God’s Gift… A Gloomy Morning Brings the First Spring Storm and New Hope for Sasha and Vicky, as After Years of Heartache They Open Their Hearts to Adoption; Together They Brave Difficult Choices, Embrace a Little Girl with Special Needs, and Discover Joy, Healing, and Unexpected Blessings in Their New Family in England

A Blessing from Above… The morning is overcast; heavy grey clouds trail low across the sky, and

I Never Loved My Husband – Until Life Taught Me What Love Really Means: An English Woman’s Journey from a Marriage of Convenience to a Lifetime of Unexpected Devotion

But I never loved my husband. How long were you together? How long Well, lets see, we married in seventy-one.

Leonard Refused to Believe Little Irene Was His Daughter—Her Mother, Vera, Worked in a Local Shop Where Rumors Swirled of Secret Affairs in the Storeroom, Fanning Her Husband’s Doubts and Coldness. Only Her Grandfather Mathew Truly Loved Irene and Eventually Left Her His House and Blessing for a Happy Life From Frail Childhood to Grandad’s Favourite: How Irene Found Love, Inheritance, and Her Destiny Despite Her Parents’ Rejection—A Tale of Rumour, Family Bonds, and a House Where Happiness Waited by the Woods

Richard stubbornly refused to believe that Alice was his daughter. His wife, Dorothy, worked at the local grocers.