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Unwanted Child – So, have you chosen a name for your little one? The elderly doctor, wearing a practiced professional smile, looked at his young patient. – We haven’t actually picked a name yet, – interrupted Natalia, seated on a chair by the bedside. – It’s an important decision; Dasha needs time to think carefully. – I don’t want to pick one. – The young mum spoke up unexpectedly. – In fact, I’m not taking her home. I’ll be signing her over. – What are you saying? – The woman leapt up, shooting her daughter a furious glance, then turned to the doctor. – She doesn’t know what she’s saying. We’re definitely bringing the little one home. – I’ll drop by later, have a rest for now. – The doctor had no desire to witness a family dispute. As soon as the man left the room, the woman rounded on the girl. – How dare you say something like that? What will people think of us? Moving to this town was enough of a scandal. That child must remain in our family. – And whose fault is that? – Dasha stared her stepmother down. – If you’d listened to me back then, none of this would have happened. I would’ve finished school and gone to uni. So if you want that baby, you have her. Dasha turned her back, making it clear the conversation was over. Natalia tried for another few minutes to get through to her, but a nurse soon popped in and asked her to leave. The patient needed rest. Now Dasha was alone in the ward. She sobbed quietly into her pillow, praying to every god she could think of just to make it all end. A timid knock made the girl dry her tears. She took a deep breath and said, “Come in.” She expected a nurse or perhaps even her father, but the woman who entered was a complete stranger. – Is there anything I can help you with? – Dasha struggled to maintain a mask of calm. – I overheard… quite by accident! The doctors were talking in the next room, – the woman hesitated, unable to voice her question outright. – Yes, I want to give the baby up. That’s what you wanted to know, isn’t it? – I saw your mum… – She’s not my mum! – Dasha snapped, losing her composure. – Just my stepmother with far too much to say. My real mum works abroad. – Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, – the woman faltered. – It’s just, I have three children and I spent my whole childhood in a children’s home. I feel so sorry for your little girl – she hasn’t done anything wrong! – They say babies that little get adopted quickly, – Dasha shrugged. – I can’t even bring myself to hold her, let alone anything else. If Nat had kept out of it, I wouldn’t even be here. – But you’re old enough to make your own decisions now, aren’t you? You’re over fifteen? – “Such shame!” – Dasha mimicked the stepmother. “How will we ever show our faces to the neighbours?” – I don’t understand… – Let me tell you, – Dasha gave a crooked smile, – maybe then you’ll stop judging me. **************************************************** Dasha’s last year at school was a disaster. Not only had her boyfriend Pasha been conscripted, their class had taken in a new boy – a flashy city lad, banished to their small town by his father as punishment for his behaviour with girls. He didn’t care about relationships, just racking up numbers. That was why he’d been sent away; his escapades were ruining his father’s reputation. Makar handed out expensive gifts, took girls clubbing and to fancy restaurants. One by one, her classmates fell for the act, each hoping to become the “prince’s” bride. Dasha was the only one who didn’t fall for his tricks – she was in love with Pasha and wanted no one else. Had the new boy finally got the message? It seemed so at first. How wrong she was. In late December, a friend held a birthday party. The whole class attended, including Makar, who paid the event special attention. But his intent wasn’t to celebrate the birthday girl. During the party, Dasha took a call out in the hallway. When she returned, Makar was sitting in her seat. She didn’t think much of it, until she suddenly felt very unwell… She woke in the morning, barely able to open her eyes. Beside her lay Makar, grinning. – See, all that effort for nothing, – he said casually. – Consider this my compensation. I’m honestly surprised. Your Pashka’s a real loser. Getting home was a struggle. Dasha could hardly walk in a straight line; passersby stared at her with disgust. She rang the doorbell instead of fishing for her keys; she knew her stepmother would be home. – Where on earth have you been? – Natalia snapped. – You didn’t come home, wouldn’t answer your phone, and just look at the state of you! If your father spotted you now… – Call a doctor and the police, – Dasha interrupted. – I want to make a formal complaint. He should be put behind bars. Natalia stiffened. Putting two and two together, she reached her own conclusion. – Who? – Makar, who else? – Dasha could barely speak. – No one else would dare. Call them, or I will. – Wait. – Natalia paced. She always looked for an angle. – They’ll get him off. We’ll do things my way. I’ll contact his dad and ask for a settlement. – Are you insane? – Dasha could hardly believe it. – A settlement? I’m going to the police now! – No, you’re not! – her stepmother grabbed Dasha’s arm, dragging her into the bedroom. She was too weak to resist. – You’ll be the one blamed; townsfolk will point and whisper. Leave it to me. Dasha had lost her phone somewhere along the way, or maybe left it at her friend’s. She was effectively trapped. Natalia locked her in, and her head spun worse than ever; she collapsed onto the bed… A couple of days later, Dasha got sent to her grandmother, who lived a hundred kilometres away. She didn’t want to worry the old lady, so she pretended everything was fine. A month later, she got the awful news. That night had left her pregnant. Natalia was thrilled. This baby would secure them an easy life! Granddad would pay, as he always had, covering for his son’s mistakes. Just keep it quiet until the fifth month. Dasha’s wants weren’t considered. The moment she suggested ending the pregnancy, Natalia flew into a rage and began watching her like a hawk. Granddad wasn’t thrilled, but handed over a hefty sum and promised regular payments. ***************************************************** – Do you understand now? I’ve suffered so much because of this baby. Pasha dumped me; he didn’t believe a word I said. Friends turned their backs, we had to move, and I didn’t even finish school! – I’m sorry for judging you before I knew the whole story, – the woman admitted, ashamed. – But the baby isn’t to blame. – Dasha, we need to have a serious word! – Natalia swept into the room, dragging her husband. – I’ll have to ask visitors to leave. This is a family matter! The woman gave a sympathetic look and left, closing the door firmly behind her. – I won’t let you ruin my perfect plan. Leave the baby here and you’re not coming home again. Where will you go then? Your dear granny’s dead, her flat went to your uncle. You’ll be out on the street. – No, she’s coming home with me. – An elegant woman entered the room. Dasha’s eyes lit up with joy. – Mum! You came! – Of course I did, I couldn’t leave you in trouble, – Albina hugged her tight. – If you’d told me, I would’ve brought you home long ago. I only thought it would be easier here for you to finish school. – I thought you didn’t want me, – Dasha sobbed. Despite everything, she was still just a child. – Someone kept telling me you wanted nothing to do with me. My presents were returned unopened, I could never get through to you. I thought I’d upset you. But never mind, – her mother said briskly, wiping away tears. – We’ll go home, and you’ll forget all about this… ****************************************************** Dasha left. Natalia took the baby, hoping for an easy ride. But when the powerful grandfather found out, he came and took the little girl for himself, making Makar finally own up to paternity. As for Dasha, she’s happy at last. She’s with the one person who’ll always help and never betray her…

Unwanted Child What would you like to name your little girl? The elderly doctor asked with a kindly professional

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Another Woman’s Son: The Day a Stranger Claimed My Husband Fathered Her Child, and How I Fought for the Boy’s Future

“Your husband is the father of my child.” With those words, a strange woman confronted Emily

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The Unwanted Child “How would you like to name your baby girl?” The elderly doctor smiled with professional courtesy at his young patient. “We haven’t decided on a name yet,” interjected Natalie, sitting on the chair beside the bed. “It’s a big decision—Dasha needs time to think.” “I don’t want to name her at all,” the young mother suddenly replied. “I’m not going to keep her. I’m going to sign her away.” “How can you even say that?” the older woman jumped up, shooting a furious glare at the girl before turning to the doctor. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Of course we’ll take the baby home.” “I’ll come back later—you should rest.” The doctor was clearly uninterested in witnessing the family drama. As the door closed behind him, Dasha’s mother unleashed a torrent of rebukes. “How dare you say such a thing? What will everyone think of us? We’ve already had to move to this city just to keep things quiet—this baby belongs in our family.” “And whose fault is that?” Dasha looked her stepmother square in the eye. “If you’d listened to me back then, none of this would have happened. I’d have finished school and moved on. If you want this baby so much, you take her.” She turned to face the wall, ending the conversation. Natalie tried a few more minutes to change her mind, but a nurse poked her head in and told her to leave; the patient needed rest. Dasha was left alone, muffling her sobs in the pillow, wishing it would all be over. A timid knock at the door made her wipe her tears. She took a deep breath and said, “Come in.” She expected a nurse, or maybe her father, but the woman who entered was a complete stranger. “Can I help you?” Dasha struggled to maintain her mask of calm. “I overheard… completely by accident! The doctors were chatting just outside my room.” The woman hesitated, clearly reluctant to ask her question. “Yes, I want to give up my baby. That’s what you want to know?” “I saw how your mother—” “She’s not my mother,” Dasha cut in sharply. “Just a stepmother, and a self-important one at that. My real mum works abroad.” “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” the woman faltered. “It’s just… I have three kids myself and I can’t understand your reasons. I grew up in care and I’m so scared for your little girl… she hasn’t done anything wrong.” “Little ones like her get adopted quickly, or so I’ve heard,” Dasha shrugged. “I can’t make myself even hold her, let alone more. If Natalie hadn’t interfered, I wouldn’t be here.” “But you’re old enough to make your own decisions now, over fifteen, right?” “It’s such a disgrace!” Dasha mimicked her stepmother’s voice. “How will we ever show our faces in town?” “I don’t understand…” “I’ll tell you,” Dasha smirked. “Maybe then you’ll stop judging me.” ******************************************************** Dasha’s final year of school was an utter disaster. Not only had her beloved Pasha been called up for service, but a new boy arrived in their class—a posh Londoner, banished to their small town by his influential father as punishment for too many ‘adventures’. He pestered all the girls, not after a relationship but a ticked box for his list. That’s why his father had sent him away in the first place—he was damaging the family’s reputation. Makar showered them with expensive gifts, took them to clubs and fancy restaurants. One by one, the girls gave in, each thinking she’d become the ‘prince’s fiancée.’ Dasha held her ground. She was in love—no one but Pasha existed for her. Soon enough, it seemed Makar realised she was off-limits and moved on. Or so she thought. She was wrong. At a friend’s birthday party in December, the entire class gathered, Makar among them. But he wasn’t there to wish the birthday girl. In the thick of the party, Dasha took a call in the hallway. When she returned, Makar was sitting at her place. She thought nothing of it—until she began to feel ill… In the morning, Dasha barely managed to open her eyes. Next to her lay Makar, grinning smugly. “Well, you finally gave in,” he said, as if nothing had happened. “Think of it as compensation. I always knew your precious Pasha was a fool.” Getting home was a struggle for Dasha. Her whole world was spinning. Passersby shot her looks of disdain. She rang the bell—her stepmother would be home. “Where have you been?” Natalie snapped. “You didn’t come home, ignored your phone, and just look at the state you’re in! If your father saw you like this—” “Call a doctor, and the police,” Dasha interrupted. “I want to file a report. Let them arrest him.” Natalie stiffened. Putting two and two together, she came to her own conclusion. “Who?” “Makar, obviously—I couldn’t imagine anyone else being so brazen. Call them, or I will.” “Wait.” Natalie calculated rapidly; she always looked for personal advantage. “He’ll just wriggle out of it. We’ll do something else—I’ll contact his father. He can pay us off.” “Are you mad?” Dasha was aghast. “I want justice, not hush money! I’ll go to the police myself.” “You’re going nowhere!” Natalie grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room. Dasha was too weak to resist. “You’ll be blamed, the whole village will gossip. I’ll sort everything.” Dasha had lost her phone somewhere, or maybe left it at her friend’s. The door was locked. Her head reeled—all she wanted was to lie down… A few days later, Dasha went to her grandmother’s, a hundred kilometres away. The old woman knew nothing—Dasha just pretended everything was normal. A month later, Dasha’s whole world collapsed—she was pregnant from that night. Natalie was overjoyed. This baby would mean financial security! Granddad would pay up handsomely to make the problem go away. Just say nothing until after five months… No one ever asked Dasha what she wanted. When she suggested having the baby adopted, Natalie exploded in a furious tantrum and refused to let her out of her sight. Granddad was not happy, but produced the cash, and promised more. ********************************************** “So now you see,” Dasha finished. “I’ve been through hell because of this baby. Pasha dumped me—he didn’t believe a word. Friends abandoned me. I had to move, didn’t even finish school!” “I’m sorry—I was judging you without knowing the facts,” murmured the woman. “But the little girl still isn’t to blame.” “Dasha, we need to talk!” Natalie appeared, dragging her husband along. “If you don’t mind, this is a family matter.” The stranger gave Dasha a sympathetic look and left, closing the door tightly. “I won’t let you spoil my plans. If you leave the baby here, don’t bother coming back home. Where will you go? Your precious gran is gone, her flat’s your uncle’s now. Will you beg on the streets?” “No, she’ll come with me.” An elegantly dressed woman swept into the room. Dasha’s eyes lit up with hope. “Mum! You came!” “Of course I did. I couldn’t leave you alone,” said Albina, wrapping her daughter in a hug. “If you’d told me everything earlier, I’d have taken you home ages ago. I wanted you to finish school here, thought it’d be easier.” “I thought you didn’t want me,” Dasha sobbed, suddenly a child again. “Someone told me you didn’t want to see me. Presents came back unopened, you never answered… I thought you couldn’t forgive me. But never mind,” Albina said cheerfully, wiping Dasha’s tears. “We’ll go home together and start fresh…” ********************************************************************* Dasha left. Natalie, hoping for a comfortable life, took the baby. But when the influential grandfather found out, he came and claimed his granddaughter. Makar, reluctantly, had to acknowledge the child. Dasha, though, is happy at last—living with the one person she can truly trust to always be there for her.

Have you decided what to call your little girl? The elderly doctor, sporting that professional smile

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Husband Runs Off to Italy with Another Woman: What Maria Built Alone for Their Two Children Will Leave You Speechless.

Her husband has fled to London with another woman. What Emma manages to build on her own for her two

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Julia Steps Off the Bus with Heavy Bags and Heads to Her Family Home—“I’m Home!” She Calls, Opening the Door. “Julia, Darling!” Everyone Rushes to Greet Her—“We Knew You’d Be Here!” That Evening, Gathering at the Big Family Table, There’s a Knock at the Door. “Probably the Neighbours, Coming to Wish Us Well,” Her Mum Shrugs and Opens the Door, Returning Not Alone but with Unexpected Guests. Julia Looks at the New Arrivals and Can’t Believe Her Eyes

Tuesday, 24th December I stepped off the bus, arms aching from the weight of two shopping bags.

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Who Slept in My Bed and Creased the Sheets… A Story My Husband’s Mistress Was Barely Older Than Our Daughter – Chubby Cheeks, Innocent Eyes, a Nose Piercing (He Forbade Our Daughter When She Wanted One). It Was Impossible to Be Angry at Her – I Looked at Her Bare Blue Legs and Cropped Jacket and Wanted to Say, “If You Plan to Have Kids With That Idiot, Buy a Winter Coat and Put Tights On Under Your Jeans.” Of Course, I Said Nothing. I Handed Her the Keys, Grabbed My Bags, and Headed to the Bus Stop. “Excuse Me, Mrs. Johnson, What’s That Thing Under the Kitchen Counter?” She Called After Me. “Is It For Storing Dishes?” Unable to Hold Back, I Shot Over My Shoulder: “I Usually Hide My Husband’s Mistresses’ Bodies There, But You Can Use It For Plates.” Without Waiting for Her Reaction or Looking at Her Shocked Face, I Walked Down the Stairs, Pleased With Myself. Well, That’s It – Twenty Years of Marriage Down the Drain. It Was our Daughter Who First Discovered Her Dad’s Mistress. She Skipped School, Came Home Expecting Nobody, and Found the Young Nymph Drinking Cocoa From Her Favorite Mug – Wearing Nothing But a Few Shreds, With Dad Splashing in the Shower. Smart Girl as She Is, She Immediately Called Me: “Mum, I Think Dad Has a Mistress and She’s Wearing My Slippers and Drinking From My Mug!” Just Like a Fairy Tale, I Thought – My Daughter Was Upset, But More Because Someone Touched Her Things Than Because of Her Dad’s Betrayal. Who Slept in My Bed and Creased the Sheets… Unlike My Daughter, I Didn’t Take It So Badly. Sure, My Ego Was Bruised – The Girl Was Young and Gorgeous, While I Was Carrying Extra Weight and Cellulite and All The Signs of a Forty-Something. Still, I Felt Relief – No More Night Calls, Weird Work Schedules, Coffee Shop Receipts Where My Husband Never Took Me… He’d Never Been Caught Red-Handed, Always Covering His Tracks And Making Me Feel Like The Guilty One For Suspecting Him. “It Was the First Time,” He Lied. “Like a Comet Fell Out of Nowhere.” That ‘Comet’ Was a Hotel Worker Where He Stayed on Business – She Was Just Twenty, and Apart From a Pretty Face, She Wasn’t Much Else. Not Even Brains – As She Chased Him all the Way to London, Renting a Grubby Room on Savings. So They Met at Our Flat – Easy for Showers and Laundry. No Wonder I Kept Finding the Washing Machine on the ‘Quick Wash’ Setting Instead of ‘Mixed Fabrics’! The Apartment Belonged to My Husband, Inherited From His Father Before Our Wedding, and With Divorce Imminent, My Daughter and I Had to Move Out to My Nan’s Flat on the City’s Edge. My Daughter Complained – How Would She Get to School? “Why Not Stay With Us?” He Suggested – Earning Himself Another Round of Insults. At Least Our Daughter Could Tell Him What She Really Thought Now. The Early Days Were Tough – New Bus Routes, New Shops, Over an Hour to Work and School. But We Settled In – I Changed Jobs, My Daughter Started College, Closer Than School. No Time to Be Sad – Life’s Practicalities and Exams Kept Us Busy, and Once Things Settled, There Was No Room Left for Regret. That Girl, His Mistress, Rang Me Occasionally – Asked What Setting to Bake Pies, Where to Put Dishwasher Tablets. Once She Even Stopped By, Bringing Forgotten Photos Needed For Prom. My Ex Couldn’t (Or Wouldn’t) Come, I Was Ill, and My Daughter Refused Point Blank to Return to the Old Flat – Bad for Her Mental Health. “Nice Place You’ve Got,” She Said Nervously, Looking at Faded Wallpaper and Dated Lamps. I Just Smiled – Yes, Nice Enough, What Can I Say? It Was Modern and Comfortable Over There – I’d Worked Twenty Years for It. Let Them Enjoy It. But That Visit Came Back to Bite Me – One Evening, About a Year Later, The Door Lock Clicked. “For You?” I Asked My Daughter. She Just Stared. On the Threshold Stood That Girl – Red-Eyed, Mascara Trails Down Her Cheeks, Sporting a Gym Bag. “What’s Happened With Steve?” I Asked. “Something Has! I Caught Him With the Secretary! Thought I’d Surprise Him Since He Was Working Late, and…” She Broke Down, Sobbed Like a Child, Face Buried in Palms. “What Do You Want From Me?” I Asked, Eyeing the Bulging Gym Bag. “Can I Stay Here Tonight? I’ve Got No Money. I’ll Take the Train to Mum’s Tomorrow.” “How Will You Get There With No Money?” “I Thought You’d Lend Me Some…” I Didn’t Know Whether to Laugh or Cry. My Daughter Decided For Me: “Get Out!” She Snapped, Adding a Few Choice Words She’d Never Used Before. I Gave Her a Disapproving Look. “Come In, Love,” I Said. “It’s Night – I’m Not Putting You Out On The Street.” Things Got Worse. My Daughter Was So Furious She Announced: It’s Either Me Or Her. I Shrugged – Your Choice, You’re an Adult. Go to Your Dad If You Want. “As If! I’ll Go Stay With Natalie!” I Ordered Her a Taxi For the Night; Then Spent The Evening Comforting The Hapless Mistress With Tea and Calming Drops. Money? I Lent Her, What Else Could I Do – But Not To Stay With Me. Even Drove Her To The Station. She Kept Thanking Me, Apologizing, Swearing She’d Start Over – Get an Education, Avoid Married Men. “Mum Always Said I Was Hopeless. Turns Out She Was Right.” Putting Her on the Train and Waving Goodbye Was A Step Too Far. My Daughter and I Made Up Quickly, Though She Still Couldn’t Understand How I Let That Homewrecker Stay In Our House. I Hugged Her Hairy Head, Smiled and Said: “You’ll Understand When You’re Older.” My Ex-Husband Called a Week Later. He’d Seen the Light, Dumped the Mistress, Ready for a Happy Reunion. “Run Out of Clean Shirts?” I Asked. “Well, Yes,” He Sighed. “She Never Learned To Do Laundry – I’ve Worn Grubby Ones for a Year Now.” Of Course, I Didn’t Take Him Back. Didn’t Gloat, Didn’t Suffer. But I Had To Admit – Something Had Lifted From Me After That Night; My Heart Felt Lighter, I Smiled More. Got a Dog, Walked It in the Evenings. Met a Nice Neighbor – So What If He’s Ten Years Older, I’m No Spring Chicken. And Life Moved On.

Who slept on my bed and crumpled the sheets A Reminiscence. My husbands mistress was only a little older

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Another Woman’s Son: The Day a Stranger Told Me, “Your Husband Is the Father of My Child”—and How an Unexpected Court Battle Changed Our Family Forever

A Strangers Boy Your husband is the father of my child. With these surreal words, an unfamiliar woman

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“So, is he going to live with us now?” he asked his wife, casting a glance at their son…

So, will he be living with us now? he asked his wife, glancing at their son… Margaret Taylor got

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The Waiter Rushed Over to Take Away the Kitten, but a Six-Foot-Tall Gentleman Scooped Up the Crying Fluffy Baby and Placed Him on the Next Chair: “A Plate for My Feline Friend! And Your Finest Meat!” “Let’s wear something bold—almost like the young nymphs—and head to a swanky restaurant. Time to show ourselves off and size up the men…” So declared one of the three friends—a headteacher of a prestigious, exclusive private school, always armed with the cleverest words her profession demanded. These “nymphs” were all thirty-five—the perfect age, in their view, for short skirts and blouses that revealed rather than concealed. Deep necklines, flawless makeup, every piece of battle armor in place. The restaurant matched their expectations: posh, elite, and outrageously expensive, but well within their means. With a reserved table, they settled in, basking in admiring looks from men—and resentful glances from their companions. Of course, conversation turned to the main topic: men. Dreams, desires, and requirements. Each dreamed of her ideal—tall, fit, charming, and decidedly wealthy. The kind who’d carry you, indulge whims, spare you dull chores and chatter. And if noble-born, even better. “Just not like… those.” The friends glanced at a trio of cheerful, slightly pudgy men with thinning hair, surrounded by pints, chips, mountains of steak, and enthusiastic talk of football and fishing. Their laughter was loud, genuine, and utterly unrefined. “Dreadful.” “How gauche.” “Ugh.” The verdict was unanimous: uncouth, rough, clearly lacking sophistication and utterly unfit for such dazzling ladies. But then, something happened that changed the night’s tone in an instant. He arrived—stepping out of the latest model red Ferrari. “Lord Charles Saxon Coburg!” the waiter announced with grandeur. The friends perked up like pointer dogs catching a scent. Tall, athletic, with distinguished silver hair and a suit worth more than most homes. Diamond cufflinks and a blindingly white shirt completed the look. “Ahh…” “Oh wow…” “Mmm…” Necks craned, eyes grew bolder. “This is a real man,” one whispered, “A lord, a stunner, and a millionaire,” said the second. “I’ve always dreamed of the Bahamas—since childhood, actually.” The third stayed silent, but her gaze spoke volumes. Within ten minutes, the ladies were invited to the Lord’s table. They strode over grandly, casting condescending glances at other guests—especially at the football-and-steak trio. The Lord was charming, a master conversationalist, spinning tales of lineage, stately homes, and priceless art. Tension simmered between the friends—each knew only one would be invited to continue the night. Dinner was an icebreaker: lobsters, platters of seafood, and rare vintage wine. The ladies gazed dreamily at the Lord, imagining a future far beyond the dining room. Rosy-cheeked and glowing, they were at their best. The Lord shone too—cracking high-society jokes and sharing stories of the elite. At this point, it hardly mattered where he’d invite them next. Outside, the restaurant had a small garden. The irresistible aroma wafted out, and soon a tiny, skinny grey kitten tiptoed in—hungry, hopeful, and sitting right at the Lord’s feet. But the Lord’s face twisted in disgust. He callously pushed the kitten away with his shoe. The little one skidded several feet, bumping into the table leg beside the football pals. Silence blanketed the restaurant. “I despise filthy, mongrel creatures,” the Lord declared loudly. “At my estate, we have purebred hounds and the finest horses.” The waiter rushed to appease him: “We’ll sort it out right away, our apologies…” He headed for the football table but one of the men—a giant, nearly two meters tall, red-faced and fists clenched—was already up. His friends tried to restrain him. He silently lifted the kitten onto a chair. “A plate for my furry friend!” he thundered. “Your very best meat. Now.” The waiter paled and sprinted to the kitchen as applause rippled through the room. One of the “nymphs” stood and joined the titan, declaring: “Move over, and get a lady a whisky.” The Lord was speechless. Moments later, the other two friends joined them, bestowing the Lord with icy glares. Not all left together that night. In one group: a man, a woman, and a grey kitten. Time passed. Today the first friend is married to the giant—now the owner of a major investment firm. Her two friends wed his mates, both renowned solicitors. The three weddings were held the same day. Their lives are different now—nappies, cooking, housework. All have daughters born close together. But to enjoy the old favourite restaurant, they send their husbands off to football or fishing, call for a babysitter, and meet again—to talk about womanly matters, and men. As for Lord Charles Saxon Coburg—he was arrested a year later, exposed in a high-profile trial as a romance scammer who duped countless women. Real men, thankfully, are a different breed. I’m speaking of those three—chubby, balding, unpolished, and lacking airs, but truly noble-hearted. That’s just how it is. There’s no other way.

The waiter hurried over and offered to take the kitten away. But a man, close to six and a half feet

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I Don’t Want Your Son Living With Us After the Wedding: A Story of Choosing Family Over Marriage Plans

I dont want your son living with us after the wedding. Aunt Claire, could you please help me with my