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“It Doesn’t Look Right That Your Children Will Have Homes While My Son Won’t – Let’s Get Him a Flat With a Mortgage!” Recently, my husband Anthony pointed out that my children have their own homes, yet his son does not—and now he insists we must figure out how to get his son a flat as well. I should explain that my children are both mine and Anthony’s, while Anthony’s son is from his first marriage. Why should it fall to me to worry about providing his son with a place to live? Sure, I knew Anthony was divorced with a child before we met, and that’s partly why I didn’t rush to marry him. We lived together for three years before tying the knot. I took my time observing his feelings for his ex-wife and son. A year into marriage, I had a son of my own, then, after another two years, a second. I’m completely happy with Anthony as both husband and father—he devotes time to me and the kids and has a good job. Of course, we have the occasional row, but that’s normal in any family. We’d been living in the flat I inherited from my dad. My mum divorced him when I was in nursery, and later remarried, but she had no other children. Anthony and his first wife had always rented, trying for years to save for a mortgage, but never managed it. After his divorce, his ex moved back in with her parents, and Anthony found a place to rent for himself. When we married, he moved into my flat. We never quibbled about ownership—we just lived together, renovated, bought new furniture. But then, about eighteen months ago, both my grandmothers passed away in succession (my mum’s and my dad’s mums). Each flat was willed to me. With our children still young, I decided to let those flats. One rental goes to top up my mum’s pension, the other supplements my salary—after all, extra cash is always handy. Anthony never meddled in my property affairs, as they were never his concern. I’d made it clear from the start that, when our sons were older, each would receive a flat from me. He agreed and that was that—the matter seemed settled. Then suddenly, Anthony said, “My son will finish sixth form shortly. He’s nearly grown up and needs to think about his future now! Your children have flats—but my son doesn’t! Let’s buy my son a flat with a mortgage!” I was stunned and full of questions. First off, I asked why our mutual children suddenly became just “my” children. But Anthony asked me not to split hairs. “But my son will never inherit anything. I just want him to have a place of his own!” “That’s very thoughtful,” I replied. “But your son has both a father and a mother—surely it’s up to both of you to see to that. Why isn’t his mum involved?” Anthony told me his ex doesn’t earn much, so her parents always help out. He can’t cover a mortgage on his own—but if I get involved, everything will work out. Apparently, I was just expected to agree to Anthony getting a mortgage to buy his son a flat—in his son’s name—while we would both be responsible for paying it off. “We both earn good salaries and have the rental income—we’ll manage just fine!” Anthony insisted. But this would require scrimping and saving substantially. Anthony still pays child support, and when his son goes to university, he’ll help out again, as his son’s mum can’t afford to. It turned out that, for the sake of Anthony’s son, my kids and I would have to forego holidays and weekends at the seaside, and pinch every penny—all so Anthony can appear to be the perfect dad! I could understand if Anthony had provided the flats for our children and now wanted to do the same for his eldest. But those properties come from me—Anthony had nothing to do with them. Why should I pay a mortgage for his son? I told Anthony right away, if he’s worried about his son’s housing, his ex-wife should get a mortgage—with the repayments coming out of his maintenance payments. I made it clear I wouldn’t be involved. Now, Anthony is furious with me and hasn’t spoken to me for a week. It’s a shame he can’t see my point of view.

It doesnt look right that your children will have their own homes and my son wont. Lets sort a mortgage for him!

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“Slice the Salad Finer, Dear” — How a Christmas Accident Helped a Daughter-in-Law and Mother-in-Law Finally Heal Old Wounds, Share Secrets, and Discover That Family Peace Is the Greatest Gift of the New Year

Chop the salad finer, said Margaret and immediately caught herself. Oh, sorry, love. There I go again

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Our Relatives Came to Visit with Gifts, Then Promptly Demanded We Put Them Out on the Table

Our relatives drifted into our flat on a peculiar Sunday, their arms a jumble of boxes and baskets, as

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Recently, I Met a Woman Strolling Down the Street with Her 18-Month-Old Daughter, Lost in Her Own World — How Family Troubles Changed Her Marriage and Left Her Longing for Support

Not long ago, I bumped into a woman who was strolling down the street with her one-and-a-half-year-old

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Oh, Girl, Don’t Waste Your Greetings on Him – He Won’t Marry You When Vera lost her mother just after turning sixteen, her father had vanished years ago chasing city work and never returned, no word or money. The whole village turned out for her mother’s funeral, each offering help as they could. Her godmother, Aunt Maria, checked in often, showing Vera the ropes of daily life. After finishing school, they found Vera work at the post office in the neighboring village. Vera was sturdy, healthy—a true country girl, rosy-cheeked, round-faced, with a bold potato nose but brilliant grey eyes, and a thick blond braid down her back. Hands-down the most handsome fellow in the village was Nicholas. Back from two years in the army, he was swarmed by girls—village and city vacationers alike. He could’ve starred in Hollywood films, not just driven a truck in the countryside, and he certainly wasn’t planning to settle down anytime soon. One day Aunt Maria asked Nicholas to help Vera fix her weaving fence, which was falling over—life was hard for single women in the village. Vera could manage the garden but couldn’t tackle the house alone. Nicholas agreed without fuss, arriving to inspect and quickly issuing orders: “fetch this, bring that.” Vera did as he asked, cheeks growing redder, braid swinging. When he tired, she fed him rich borscht and strong tea, silently watching him bite into dark bread with white, healthy teeth. Nicholas worked on the fence for three days, and on the fourth, he came for a visit. Vera gave him dinner, and as talk spun on, he ended up staying the night. Soon he became a regular, always leaving before sunrise to dodge prying eyes—but in a village, nothing stays secret for long. “Oh, girl, don’t waste your greetings on him—he won’t marry you. If he does, you’ll suffer. When the city beauties return in summer, what’ll you do? Eat your heart out with jealousy. You need a different kind of man,” Aunt Maria warned. But who ever listened to old wisdom when young and in love? Vera soon realized she was expecting. She thought she was ill at first—then the truth hit hard: she was having Nicholas’s child. Despair tempted her to get rid of it; she felt too young. Yet she remembered her mother’s strength and decided she could do it, even alone. At least she wouldn’t be totally by herself. Her own father hadn’t been much help either—always drinking. People would gossip, but they’d eventually move on. Spring came, Vera shed her winter coat, and the whole village noticed her swelling belly. Nicholas came by to check what she planned to do. “What else? I’ll have the baby. Don’t worry, I’ll raise him myself. Go on living your life,” she said, tending the fire, her cheeks and eyes aglow with its light. Nicholas admired her but left—she’d made her decision. He was like water off a duck’s back. Summer drew in, city girls arrived, and Nicholas’s attention strayed elsewhere. Vera carried on quietly, minding her garden, Aunt Maria helping when she could—being pregnant made everything harder. They predicted a strong baby. “Whoever God gives me,” Vera joked. One morning in September, fierce pain woke her. She rushed to Aunt Maria, who instantly understood—labour had begun. They scrambled to get Nicholas, who’d been drinking the night before. Realizing the hospital was ten miles away, Nicholas insisted on driving her immediately, even if it meant taking the truck over pothole-ridden roads. Aunt Maria rode in the back. Vera wriggled in pain beside Nicholas, who gripped the steering wheel, face drawn with worry. They made it in time. Nicholas and Aunt Maria left her at the hospital, scolded along the way for leaving a young woman alone and with child. By the next morning, Vera held a healthy baby boy. Unsure how to handle him, she followed every instruction, heart trembling with happiness and fear. “Will someone pick you up before discharge?” the stern doctor asked. “Unlikely,” she shrugged. The nurse bundled up her son in a hospital blanket for the journey home, scolding her for the bare means she had. Fedor, the hospital driver, took them as far as he could—floods had made the last two miles impossible by car. Vera climbed out, cradling her son, trudging through ankle-deep mud, losing a shoe along the way, until she reached the village in near-darkness. Inside, she found a cot, a pram, new baby clothes—all ready. At the table, Nicholas slept, his head in his arms. Seeing Vera—disheveled, muddy, holding their baby—he rushed to help, took the child, washed her feet, and set out food. When the baby cried, Vera fed him unashamedly as Nicholas asked, “What did you name him?” “Sergio. Do you mind?” she replied. Nicholas’s heart ached at her sorrow and love. “Good name. Tomorrow we’ll register the boy and get married.” “That’s not necessary…” Vera started. “My son needs a father. I’ve had my fun—done playing the bachelor. I can’t say what sort of husband I’ll be, but I won’t abandon my son.” Vera nodded quietly. Two years later, they welcomed a daughter, Nadia, named after Vera’s mother. It doesn’t matter what mistakes you make at the start of life—what counts is that you can always set things right… That’s how life goes. Share your thoughts in the comments and give us a like!

Oh, lass, youre wasting your kind words. He wont marry you. Claire was only sixteen when she lost her mother.

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“No Seat for Elena at the Family Table: After Twelve Years of Marriage and Being Treated Like a Servant, I Left My Husband’s Banquet, Caught a London Taxi, and Discovered My True Worth in a New City, a New Career, and a Love Where I’ll Never Be Second Best Again”

George, where should I sit? I asked quietly, hesitating. He finally glanced my way, and the annoyance

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Last Year, My Mum Asked Us to Pay for Vegetables from Her Garden—Even Though We Paid for the Greenhouse, Water, and Upgrades, and Never Wanted to Dig the Soil Ourselves

Last year, my mum did something I never expectedshe decided she would sell us vegetables from her own garden.

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Changed His Mind About Marriage Archie Spent Late Nights in His Lab Pouring Liquids from Flask to Flask and Dreaming of Presenting His Unique Discovery, Ignoring the Glances of Young Cleaner Sophie—But After a Homemade Sausage Supper, He Finds Himself Uncomfortably Meeting Her Family in a Dilapidated English Village, Facing Her Disapproving Mother, a Handsome Stepfather, and an Unruly Domestic Drama That Makes Archie Question If Love—and Marriage—Are Truly Worth the Trouble

Changed My Mind About Marriage February 16th I’ve been working late at the university lab again

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I Got Married at 50 Thinking I’d Finally Found Happiness, But I Had No Idea What Surprises Were in Store for Me… A British Woman’s Unexpected Journey Through Late-Life Marriage, Family Drama, and Lessons in Love

Married at fiftyI thought I’d finally found happiness, but I never imagined what was in store for

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“Forty Years Under One Roof, and Now At 63 You Want to Start Over? Maria Faces a New Chapter as Her Husband Leaves for Another Woman—But is Life Alone in Her City Flat Really So Bad?”

Forty years under the same roof, and now at sixty-three youve decided to change your life? Margaret sat