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My Husband Invited His Ex-Wife and Children to Our Holiday Celebration—So I Packed My Bags and Left for My Best Friend’s House

Are you joking, Oliver? Please tell me its a bad joke or that I misheard you over the sound of the tap?

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Escaping the Chains of Emotion

Hey love, remember how in Year9 I first noticed that lad Tom was always stealing glances at me?

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Even the Good Ones Get Left Behind

A beautiful thirty-five-year-old woman with wistful eyes gazed back at Alice from the mirror.

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You Just Can’t Find Common Ground With Him “I’m not doing that! Don’t order me around! You’re nothing to me!” Daniel slammed the plate into the sink so hard that water sprayed across the kitchen counter. Anna stopped breathing for a moment. The fifteen-year-old glared at her with the kind of fury you’d think only someone who’d had their life ruined could muster. “I just asked you to help with the washing up,” Anna tried to keep her voice calm. “It’s a normal request.” “My mum never made me do dishes! I’m not a girl! Who are you anyway to start giving orders?” Daniel turned on his heel and stormed out. Seconds later, music blasted through his bedroom walls. Anna leaned against the fridge and closed her eyes. A year ago, everything seemed so different… Max walked into her life by chance. He was an engineer in the next department of a large London construction firm. They kept running into each other at meetings. First coffee over lunch breaks, then dinners after work, long phone conversations until midnight. “I’ve got a son,” Max confessed on their third date, fiddling with a napkin. “Daniel’s fifteen. His mum and I divorced two years ago, and he’s… he’s finding it hard.” “I understand,” Anna placed her hand over his. “Children always struggle when parents split. It’s normal.” “Are you really ready to take us both on?” Anna truly believed she was. She was thirty-two, with a failed first marriage but no children, and she longed for a real family. Max seemed just the man to build it with. Half a year later, he proposed—awkwardly but endearingly—hiding the ring in a box of her favourite Mark & Spencer pastries. Anna laughed and said yes without a moment’s hesitation. They held a small wedding: parents from both sides, a few close friends, a modest gastropub in Islington. Daniel stared at his phone the entire evening, never once glancing at the couple. “He’ll come round,” Max whispered, noticing Anna’s nerves. “Give him time.” Anna moved into Max’s spacious three-bed flat in Clapham the day after the wedding. It was a lovely place—bright, big kitchen, a balcony looking out over the communal gardens. But from the start Anna felt like a guest in someone else’s home… Daniel looked through her as if she were furniture—past her, beyond her, not bothering to notice. If Anna entered a room, he’d pointedly pull on his headphones. If she asked him anything, he’d grunt a monosyllable without meeting her eyes. For the first two weeks Anna put it down to adjustment. Of course, it’s hard for a teenage boy. Hard to accept that Dad has a new wife. It’ll settle down. It didn’t. “Daniel, please, don’t eat in your room. It’ll bring mice.” “Dad let me.” “Daniel, have you done your homework?” “None of your business.” “Daniel, tidy up after yourself, please.” “Do it yourself. You’ve got nothing better to do.” Anna tried to talk to Max. Treading carefully, trying not to sound like a wicked stepmother. “I think we need some basic house rules,” she said one night after Daniel had disappeared to his room. “No eating in bedrooms, clean up after yourself, homework before gaming…” “Anna, he’s struggling,” Max rubbed his temples. “The divorce, a new person in the house… Let’s not push him.” “I’m not pushing. I just want some order.” “He’s still a child.” “He’s fifteen, Max. He should know how to put his cup in the dishwasher by now.” But Max only sighed and switched on the football, making it clear the discussion was over. Things got worse day by day. When Anna asked Daniel to take the rubbish out, he looked at her with open contempt. “You’re not my mother. You’ll never be. You can’t boss me around.” “I’m not bossing. I’m asking for help. We all live here.” “This isn’t your house. It’s my dad’s. And mine.” Anna tried to talk to her husband again. He listened, nodded, promised to have a word. But nothing changed—or maybe those chats never even happened. Anna lost track. Daniel started coming home long after midnight. No warning, no calls. Anna would lie awake, straining to hear each creak in the corridor. Max snored beside her, blissfully unbothered. “Can you just tell him to message when he’s out late?” Anna pleaded over breakfast. “Anything could happen.” “He’s old enough, Anna. You can’t control him.” “He’s fifteen!” “I was always out late at that age.” “Still, can’t you talk to him? Say we worry?” Max shrugged and left for work. Every attempt at boundaries became a row. Daniel would shout, slam doors, accuse Anna of breaking up their family. Every time, Max sided with his son. “He’s hurting after the divorce,” he repeated like a mantra. “You need to understand.” “And what about me?” Anna finally snapped. “I live in a home where I’m openly disrespected and my husband pretends everything’s fine!” “You’re exaggerating.” “Exaggerating?! Your son told me to my face that I’m nobody here. Word for word.” “He’s a teenager. They’re all like this.” Anna phoned her mum, who always had the right words. “Sweetheart,” her mother’s voice was worried, “you’re miserable. I hear it in every word.” “Mum, I don’t know what to do. Max won’t admit anything’s wrong.” “Because for him, nothing is. He’s content. The only one suffering is you.” Anna’s mother paused, her voice soft: “You deserve better, darling. Remember that.” Daniel, sensing total impunity, really let loose. Music blared into the early hours. Dirty plates appeared everywhere—on the coffee table, the bedroom windowsill, even in the bathroom. Socks lay strewn in the hallway, textbooks on the kitchen counter. Anna cleaned up, because she couldn’t stand mess. She cleaned and wept in frustration. At some point, Daniel stopped greeting her at all. Anna only existed for him as a target for sarcasm or rudeness. “You just don’t know how to connect with my child,” Max told her one day. “Maybe the problem’s you?” “Connect?” Anna gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve tried for half a year. He calls me ‘what’s-her-name’ in front of you.” “You’re being dramatic.” Her last attempt to break the ice took her all day. She found Daniel’s favourite meal online—honey-glazed chicken with village-style potatoes. She bought the finest ingredients. Spent four hours in the kitchen. “Daniel! Tea’s ready!” she called, laying the table. He came out, looked at the plate, and grimaced. “I’m not eating that.” “Why not?” “Because you made it.” He turned on his heel and left. A minute later, the front door slammed—off to his friends’. Max came home, saw the untouched dinner, the upset wife. “What happened?” Anna explained. Max sighed. “Don’t take it personally, Anna. He doesn’t mean it.” “Doesn’t mean it?! He humiliates me! Deliberately! Every day!” “You’re overreacting.” A week later, Daniel brought five mates home after school. Anna found the kitchen strewn with leftovers and dirty plates. “Out—all of you! It’s nearly eleven!” Anna barked, standing in the living room where the lads sprawled. Daniel didn’t even turn his head. “It’s my house. I’ll do what I like.” “It’s our house. There are rules here.” “What rules?” one of Daniel’s friends sniggered. “Dan, who’s she?” “No one. Forget her.” Anna retreated to the bedroom and rang Max. He arrived an hour later, just as the boys were leaving. He surveyed the chaos, then his exhausted wife. “Anna, don’t make a scene. The boys just popped round for a bit.” “A bit?!” “You’re overreacting. And honestly,” Max frowned, “it feels like you’re trying to turn me against my son.” Anna looked at her husband and barely recognised him. “We need to talk, Max. Seriously. About us. About our future.” Her husband tensed but sat opposite. “I can’t do this anymore,” Anna said, choosing her words with painful care. “I’ve endured half a year of disrespect. Daniel is rude, and you—well, you don’t care about how I feel at all.” “Anna, I—” “Let me finish. I tried. I honestly tried to be part of this family. But it’s not a family. It’s you, your son, and me—the outsider no one wants, except for cooking and cleaning.” “You’re being unfair.” “Unfair? When was the last time your son said one kind word to me? When was the last time you stood up for me?” Max was silent. “I love you,” he whispered at last, “but Daniel is my son. He’ll always come first.” “Before me?” “Before any relationship.” Anna nodded. Hollow. Cold inside. “Thank you for your honesty.” The final straw came two days later. Anna found her favourite blouse—a birthday present from her mum—shredded to rags on her pillow. No doubt who’d done it. “Daniel!” Anna stormed out, holding the scraps in her hand. “What is this?!” The teenager shrugged, eyes glued to his phone. “No idea.” “That’s my property!” “So?” “Max!” Anna called her husband. “Come home. Now.” Max turned up, saw the blouse, his son, his wife. “Dan, did you do this?” “No.” “See?” Max spread his hands. “He says it wasn’t him.” “Then who? The cat? We haven’t got one!” “Maybe you ripped it by accident…” “Max!” Anna stared at her husband. Pointless. He wouldn’t change. He’d never take her side. There was only one person that mattered to him—his son. She was just a convenient extra in someone else’s house. “Daniel misses his mother,” Max said for the hundredth time. “You have to understand.” “I do,” Anna said quietly. “I understand everything.” That night she took out her suitcase. “What are you doing?” Max froze in the bedroom doorway. “Packing. I’m leaving.” “Anna, wait! Let’s talk!” “We’ve been talking for half a year. Nothing’s changed.” She folded dresses into her bag. “I have a right to happiness too, Max.” “I’ll change! I’ll speak to Daniel!” “Too late.” She looked at her husband—a good man, maybe, but never truly a husband. Just a father. The kind of father who ruins his child with blind devotion. “I’ll file for divorce next week,” Anna said, zipping the suitcase. “Anna!” “Goodbye, Max.” She walked out and didn’t look back. In the hall, Daniel’s face flashed by—something like confusion, maybe fear, crossed his features for the first time. Anna didn’t care anymore. The rented flat was small but cosy—a one-bed in a quiet suburb, with windows overlooking a peaceful street. Anna unpacked, made herself a cup of tea, and sat in the window. For the first time in six months, she felt calm. The divorce came through two months later. Max rang a few times, asking for another chance. Anna was polite but firm: no. She didn’t break. Didn’t become bitter or vindictive. She just realised happiness doesn’t mean endless sacrifice or patience. Happiness is being respected and valued. And one day, she’d find it. Just not with this man.

You cant tell me what to do! Youre not my mum! Ben banged his plate into the sink so hard that water

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The Long-Awaited Granddaughter Natalie Michaels couldn’t stop ringing her son, who had set off on yet another long journey. Still no answer. “Oh, what a mess you’ve made, son!” she sighed anxiously, dialing the familiar number once more. But no matter how much she called, she knew he’d stay out of reach until the ship docked at the nearest port—which might not be for quite some time. And to think, now of all times! Natalie had been unable to sleep for two nights running—oh, the trouble her son had caused! * * * The story, truthfully, had begun years earlier, back when Michael hadn’t even considered a career at sea. He was already a grown man, but nothing ever seemed to work out with women—he was so impossibly picky in Natalie’s eyes! One after another, relationships with perfectly lovely, respectable girls collapsed, and Natalie’s heart ached to see it all fall apart. “You’re impossible to please!” she would lecture her son. “Always finding fault! What woman could ever meet all your standards?” “I don’t understand your complaints, Mum. You want a daughter-in-law, but don’t care what kind of person she turns out to be?” “Of course I care! I just want someone who truly loves you, who’s decent and kind!” Michael always fell silent, and somehow that silence infuriated Natalie. How dare her own son—her boy, who had once sobbed on her lap—not only grow up but act as though he understood life better than she? Which one of them was the grown-up after all? “What was wrong with Sophie, then?” she’d snap. “I’ve already told you.” “Well, suit yourself…” Sophie wasn’t the best example, but Natalie was in no mood to lose any argument about her son. “If you say she was dishonest with you—but I still don’t understand…” “Mum! I really don’t think we need to discuss this. Sophie simply wasn’t the person I wanted to spend my life with.” “And Kate?” “Not Kate either,” Michael calmly replied. “Or Jenny? She was such a sweet girl, so homey and thoughtful. Always offered to help out—surely a sign she’d make a good wife?” “Yes, you’re right, Mum. She was very sweet. But it turned out she never really loved me.” “And you didn’t love her?” “I suppose not.” “What about Darina, then?” “Mum!” “Well, what ‘Mum’? No one’s ever good enough for you! You’re acting like a proper womaniser, instead of settling down, starting a family, having children!” “Let’s stop this useless conversation!” Michael would finally explode, storming out. “He’s just like his father, with all that stubbornness and fussing,” Natalie would think in irritation. Time passed, girls came and went, but Natalie still clung to the cherished hope that she’d one day see her son happily married and sit her first grandchild on her knee. Then Michael changed tack altogether—he bumped into an old mate, who invited him to work at sea. Michael accepted at once, though Natalie had tried hard to talk him out of it. “Come on, Mum! It’s a brilliant opportunity! Do you know how much they pay these days? We’d never have to worry again!” “I don’t care about the money if you’re always somewhere far away and I never see you! I wish you’d start a family instead!” “You have to earn money for a family, especially when the children come. Once that happens, I’ll put my days at sea behind me. I may as well take the work now, while I’m still young enough, then build the rest later!” Michael really did earn well. After his first trip, he refurbished the whole flat. After the second, he set up a bank account for Natalie and handed her the card. “So you’ll want for nothing, Mum!” “I’m not wanting for anything—except a grandchild! I’m getting old!” “Nonsense! You’ve years off the pension yet!” Michael laughed. Natalie hardly touched the money. She earned her own small wage at the local pharmacy, and it was enough for her modest needs. “Let it sit on the card—Michael never checks it, anyway. When he finally does, he’ll be surprised to see how thrifty his mother is!” she thought. And that’s how they lived. Back from journeys, Michael seemed to cram in as much life as possible—catching up with mates, going out late, and seeing girls Natalie never got to meet. She eventually challenged him about not introducing any new girlfriends. Michael’s reply was short and rather cutting: “It’s better this way, Mum! Then you won’t get attached and worry when I don’t marry them. I’m not planning to settle down with any of them, anyway.” Natalie felt wounded, especially since Michael called her “too trusting.” He’d said it outright: “You think too well of people, Mum! You really are too trusting. In truth, you hardly knew any of my girlfriends. They just tried to seem nice around you, but they weren’t what they seemed.” That unpleasant rebuke never left Natalie’s mind—it stung that her son had pointed out a flaw in her character and painted it in such a negative light. Trusting meant naïve. He’d called his own mother foolish! But then she saw him one evening with a young woman, and Natalie’s longing to set her son’s life straight flared anew. She shamelessly approached—Michael, a grown man, actually blushed! But a mother is a mother, and introductions were made. Natalie liked Melanie the moment they met. She was tall, slim, curly-haired, with a pleasant face and nice manners. Seeing such a pretty girl next to her son, Natalie instantly forgot all past grievances. “Maybe he really was just unlucky all this time! Maybe it’s best he let those others go, so he could meet such a beauty!” she thought. Her son’s romance with Melanie lasted his whole leave. On her insistence, Melanie came over several times. Natalie was delighted—the girl was clever, entertaining, charming. But when Michael prepared for his next voyage, Melanie disappeared. “We’re not seeing each other anymore, Mum. And you shouldn’t try to get in touch,” her son informed her and left. Natalie racked her brain for what might have happened, but there was no way to find out. * * * A year rolled by. Michael visited home between trips, but stonewalled any questions about Melanie. “Well, what was wrong with this one, then? What on earth could be the issue with her?” Natalie eventually snapped. “Mum, it doesn’t concern you. If I broke up with her, I had my reasons. Please stop interfering in my life!” Natalie almost cried. “But I only worry for you, Michael!” “Please don’t!” he barked. “And I told you, don’t talk to Melanie! And stop nagging me!” Michael went back to sea, and Natalie, heart aching, returned to her routine. Then one day, at work in the pharmacy, Natalie was surprised when a woman came in for baby food—it was Melanie! She looked shy, eyes downcast as she adjusted a little girl’s hat in the pushchair. “Melanie! I’m so glad to see you! Michael never explained anything. He just left, told me not to ask about you!” Natalie blurted out. “Is that so?” Melanie answered quietly. “Well, so be it.” Natalie felt anxious. “Tell me, love—what happened between you? I know my son; he can be difficult. Did he hurt you?” “It doesn’t matter… I bear him no grudge. But we have to go, we still need to get to the shops.” “Come and visit me, please! Or stop by here when I’m on shift. We could have a proper chat!” Melanie did come again, buying more baby food. Gradually, Natalie got her to open up: Melanie was pregnant when Michael left. When she told him, he’d been cold. He didn’t want the baby, said he had no time and wasn’t looking for anything lasting. Then he vanished. “Off to sea, probably,” Melanie shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We’re not here to impose on anyone! We’re fine on our own.” Natalie nearly knelt beside the pushchair, gazing at the baby. “Does that mean—she’s my granddaughter?” “So it seems,” Melanie answered quietly. “Her name is Annie.” “Annie…” *** Natalie couldn’t find peace. She managed to learn that Melanie was struggling—she was from out of town, renting a flat, but raising a child without stable work was hard. Melanie was thinking about going back to her parents. The mere thought that her granddaughter could move away, out of reach, made Natalie’s heart ache. “Come live with me, Melanie. Bring Annie! She’s my granddaughter! I’ll help, you’ll find steady work, and Michael sends more money than I could ever spend. Annie will have everything!” “What will Michael say?” “Who cares? He got you into this! He left you both, never told me anything. The least I can do is try to make things right! And when he gets home, I’ll have words with him—I promise!” So, that’s how they began living together. Natalie spoiled her granddaughter and spent as much time with her as possible, cutting down her hours at work. Melanie found a job, leaving Annie with Natalie, and would return late, exhausted. “Been on my feet all day. So many difficult customers!” “Never mind! Go get some rest—I’ll bathe Annie and put her to bed.” Michael’s next leave was approaching. Natalie kept imagining their confrontation, how she’d meet her son with Annie and force him to apologise to Melanie. But Melanie grew increasingly nervous. “Michael will come home and throw us both out! I wish I’d never moved in—I need to start looking for a new place.” “Nonsense! He’s not throwing anyone out! I’ll have plenty to say when he’s back! I’ll take care of it!” Melanie protested that she was better off relying on herself, not on Natalie’s kindness. She feared Michael would accuse her of only wanting money. But Natalie refused to listen, insisting they stay. “I’ve got an idea,” she said one night. “Let’s get this flat put in Annie’s name! That way, no one can question anything. Michael might never marry, but our Annie should have a home. Michael’s name isn’t even on her birth certificate,” she added, glancing at Melanie, who hung her head. “Sorry,” Melanie whispered. “I thought—” “I understand. But if the worst happens, we’ll have a hard time proving she’s his, so tomorrow we’ll get the paperwork started.” “No, Natalie, please! My parents have a flat too…” “Don’t talk me out of it! I’ve made up my mind!” But the solicitor explained the paperwork would have to wait until Michael officially gave up his share of the flat. Natalie was frustrated, but with Michael’s return only days away, she was hopeful. Melanie became even more elusive—often gone, staying late at work. “Where are you disappearing to?” Natalie asked one evening. Melanie hesitated. “Work… My boss says I can’t get my pay advance until a special job is done.” “Why do you need an advance? Is money tight?” Melanie changed clothes in silence. Natalie trailed after her and spotted a packed bag hidden by the bed. “Where are you planning to go? Have you decided to move after all?” “Natalie, I have to leave! Once Michael comes back…” “I won’t let you go! And stop working yourself to exhaustion—I told you where my bank card is, and the code, too! You can use it to get what you need—you don’t have to work all hours. At this rate, Annie will forget what her own mother looks like! If you want Michael to accept you, you’d better learn to run a household.” Melanie said nothing. Michael was due in two days. * * * Early on the morning of Michael’s return, Natalie checked on Melanie and Annie. Melanie was gone, Annie asleep. “Where on earth is she? She’s never left so early for work…” Natalie carried on with her preparations, imagining how Michael would be confronted with Annie, how he’d be made to apologise to Melanie upon her return. At last, the doorbell rang. Michael came in, pausing in surprise to see his mum holding a small child. “Hi, Mum. Whose child is that? What’ve I missed?” “That’s something you ought to know very well!” “I don’t understand—tell me, what’s happened?” “What’s happened? I found my granddaughter, Annie! That’s what’s happened!” Natalie replied firmly. “Excuse me? Do I have siblings I never knew about?” Michael said, bewildered. “Stop playing games! Melanie told me everything. I didn’t raise you to act this way—you should be ashamed!” “Melanie? I don’t understand. First, I told you not to contact her. Second, what’s she got to do with this child?” Incensed, Natalie told Michael everything—with plenty of scolding thrown in. Michael listened, then clutched his head. “Oh, Mum!…” “Go on, call me foolish again! But I—” “Mum, this isn’t my child. Melanie’s lied to you, and you… you’re just so trusting! She’s only interested in money—what did she take?” “Nothing! You’re being—” “Mum! Check your savings! She’s probably run off with them already!” “She’s just at work!” The two argued for ages. At last Michael agreed to wait for Melanie’s “return”—then they’d have it out for good. Night came, but Melanie didn’t show up. The next day brought no sign of her. Natalie tried calling—but the workplace Melanie had named had never employed anyone by that name. When Natalie showed the staff a photo, they still shook their heads. Natalie rushed home and, following her son’s advice, checked—her money and the card were gone. So were Melanie’s clothes—only Annie’s things remained. Only then did Natalie grasp she’d been duped. “How could this be? I can’t believe she’d just abandon Annie and leave!” “Oh, she’s quite capable,” Michael sighed grimly. “My friends warned me she was trouble. Then Fred told me she’d robbed him… But I was seeing her, introduced her to you… Later, she claimed to be pregnant—whose child, who knows? Said it was mine… Yeah, right. Word was, she was always with different blokes.” “Oh, what a fool I am!” Natalie wept. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I didn’t want you to hear such things. You’re always so kind-hearted…” “What do we do now?” “File a police report! Thank goodness you didn’t sign the flat over. Or you’d be homeless now.” They filed the report—Melanie had vanished without trace. She’d barely taken any money, as Michael froze the bank account as soon as he found out. The card was eventually retrieved at a train station. Meanwhile, since Melanie was missing, the authorities allowed Natalie to look after Annie. She had to quit her job for a time, but Michael made enough for them both. A DNA test confirmed Michael was not Annie’s father. But by then, Natalie couldn’t bear to let the little girl go. After much discussion, mother and son decided to bring Annie up as their own. Melanie was stripped of her parental rights in absentia. Natalie had to resume working, sort out daycare for Annie, and there was a mountain of paperwork to obtain custody. Michael was refused guardianship, but Natalie, with her job and home, was allowed. Eventually, everything settled down. A year later, Michael returned from sea with… a wife. “Mum, meet Sonia. We’ll be living together now.” “And what about—” Natalie gestured at Annie’s nursery, unsure if Michael had told his new wife. But Sonia smiled warmly. “So lovely to meet you, Mrs. Michaels. Michael told me everything, and honestly, I admire what you did! If you’ll let me help raise Annie, I’d be thrilled—” she looked at her husband. “Yes, Mum. I’m finishing my sea contracts. Sonia and I will adopt Annie officially. I’m sure they’ll approve us now.” Natalie beamed through happy tears. “Oh, my goodness—what joy! Come in, both of you! I’ve made a huge meal in anticipation of today! Let’s all get acquainted. I’m so happy!”

The Long-Awaited Granddaughter Margaret Chapman was relentlessly ringing her son’s phone, though

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Just Give Me a Reason: A Quiet Love Lost and the Unexpected Fight for a Marriage in Suburban England

Have a lovely day, Daniel murmured, briefly pressing his lips to her cheek. Emily nodded, barely aware

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On the Brink of This Summer Working in a local library, Dana considered her life rather dull—visitor numbers had dwindled, with most people now surfing the internet. She busied herself by rearranging books and dusting shelves. The only real perk was her having read an incredible number of books, from romance to philosophy. By the time she turned thirty, Dana realized romance itself had somehow eluded her life. A reasonable age to start a family, she thought; her looks were ordinary, and her job poorly paid. Changing jobs just never crossed her mind—she was content enough. The library’s regulars were mainly students, with the occasional school pupil or pensioner. Recently, a county-wide professional competition was held, and much to her surprise, Dana won the grand prize: an all-expenses-paid fortnight at a seaside resort. “How wonderful! I’ll definitely go,” she told her friend and mum excitedly, “On my salary I’d never travel far, so this is a stroke of luck.” Summer was drawing to a close. Dana strolled along a deserted English beach—most holidaymakers were in cafés, as the sea was particularly choppy that day. On her third day by the coast, she longed for a solitary walk to reflect and dream. Suddenly, she saw a young man swept off the pier by a wave. Without thinking, she rushed to help—even though she wasn’t the strongest swimmer, she could hold her own in water. The waves alternately helped and hindered the rescue, but finally she managed to get him ashore. Only then did Dana realise: “He can’t be older than fourteen! Just tall for his age—taller than me, even.” “Why did you go swimming in this weather?” she asked, but the lad, thanking her briefly, staggered off. The next morning, Dana awoke smiling—the sun was shining and the blue sea sparkled, calmer than before. It was as if the sea itself was apologising for yesterday’s trouble. After breakfast, she found a spot on the beach for sunbathing. Toward evening, she wandered into a seaside amusement park and spotted a shooting gallery. Having shot well in school and university, she missed her first shot but hit the bullseye the second time. “Look, son, that’s how it’s done,” came a man’s friendly voice behind her. Dana turned to find the same boy from the pier, accompanied by his father, a tall, pleasant man called Andrew. Later, they wandered together, enjoyed ice creams at a café, and rode the big wheel. Dana expected the boy’s mother to join them, but she never appeared. Andrew turned out to be an interesting, engaging conversationalist. “Dana, have you been holidaying here long?” “No, just arrived. Still got another week left.” When Dana told them her home city, she was surprised—they lived there too. They all laughed at the coincidence. “Fancy that! Never met in town, but fate brings us together here,” Andrew smiled warmly. Their easy camaraderie grew. The next days were a dream—days on the beach, evenings spent exploring together, taking in the local sights. Dana, sensing a cloud over the boy, wanted to chat with him alone; an opportunity arose when he arrived solo at the beach. “Dad’s under the weather, so I’ve got the day to myself. Hope you don’t mind keeping me company?” he said, all charm. With Andrew’s blessing, Dana happily obliged. Relaxing together, the boy said suddenly, “You’re a real friend—you didn’t tell Dad about what happened the other day. I got swept off the pier and panicked for a moment.” Smiling, Dana asked, “Where’s your mum, by the way? Why just the two of you on holiday?” He hesitated, then shared how his once-happy family had changed, thanks to his mother’s betrayal. He described the separation, his decision to stay with his dad, and the pain of losing trust. The day Andrew rejoined them, he looked cheerful, promising to make up for lost time. But in just a few days, father and son had to return home. Summer was almost over. At summer’s end, they parted on the beach’s edge with promises to meet again. Andrew pledged to meet Dana at the airport, and his son beamed with hope. Dana let go of plans, basking in the glow of Andrew’s affectionate messages proclaiming how much he missed her. Soon, Dana moved in with Andrew and his son. Of all of them, the boy seemed the happiest—full of joy for his dad, for himself, and for Dana. Title: Edge of This English Summer – Dana’s Unexpected Seaside Rescue, New Friendship, and the Beginnings of Love at Thirty

At the Edge of This Summer Working at the local library in Brighton, I, Hannah Bennett, had always considered

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Blind Date Extravaganza: Unveiling Hidden Connections

After a heated argument with Lucy, George felt a twinge of guilt. He had been seeing Lucy, a coworker

La vida

I Think the Love Has Faded — “You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole department,” he said, handing her a bunch of daisies from the flower stall by the tube. Anna laughed, accepting the flowers. The daisies smelled of summer and something indescribably right. Dmitry looked at her like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was her. Their first date was in Hyde Park. Dmitry brought along a blanket, a flask of tea, and homemade sandwiches his mum had made. They sat on the grass until dark. Anna remembered the way he laughed, head thrown back. How he touched her hand as if by accident, and looked at her as if she was the only person in all of London. Three months in, he took her to a little indie cinema to watch a French comedy she didn’t really understand, but she laughed with him all the same. Six months later, he introduced her to his parents. A year on—he asked her to move in. “We’re always together anyway,” Dmitry said, gently running his fingers through her hair. “Why pay for two flats?” Anna said yes. Not for the money, of course. Just because with him, the world made sense. Their rented one-bed flat smelled of Sunday roast dinners and freshly washed sheets. Anna learned to make his favourite cottage pie, exactly the way his mum did. In the evenings, Dmitry read aloud articles from The Economist and The Times. He dreamt of running his own business. Anna listenend, propped on her hand, believing every word. They planned their future. First—a deposit. Then—their own home. After that—a new car. Children, obviously: a son and a daughter. “We’ve got plenty of time,” Dmitry would say, kissing the top of her head. Anna would nod. With him, she felt invincible. …Fifteen years together brought routines, little traditions, and stuff—so much stuff. They had a nice flat with a view over the green, a 20-year mortgage they worked hard to pay off early, sacrificing holidays and restaurants. A silver Toyota in the drive—Dmitry chose it, haggled for it, and polished the bonnet to a shine every Saturday. There was pride—a warm, rising wave. They’d achieved everything on their own. No handouts from parents, no lucky breaks. Just hard work, saving, perseverance. Anna never complained. Not even when she was so tired she fell asleep on the tube and woke up at the end of the line. Not even when she wanted to pack it all in and fly away somewhere sunny. They were a team. That’s what Dmitry always said, and Anna believed him. His happiness always came first. Anna learned that rule by heart, wove it into her very DNA. Rough day at work? She’d make a special dinner and a pot of tea and listen to him. Trouble with his boss? She’d stroke his hair and whisper everything would be alright. Self-doubt? She’d find the right words, pull him out of his slump. “You’re my harbour, my anchor, my rock,” Dmitry would say. Anna would smile. What could be better than being someone’s anchor? There were tough times. The first, five years in—the company Dmitry worked for went bust. He sat at home, scrolling job listings and sinking into gloom. The second was worse. Some colleagues set him up, and not only did he lose his job, he got hit with a big bill. They had to sell the car to pay it. Anna never blamed him. Not a word, not even a look. She took on more freelance work, stayed up late, scrimped every penny. All she cared about was how he was coping. Would he break? Would he lose faith in himself? …Dmitry pulled through. Landed an even better job. They bought another silver Toyota. Life went back to normal. A year ago, they were sitting in the kitchen when Anna finally voiced what she’d been quietly thinking for ages: “Maybe it’s time? I’m not twenty anymore. If we keep waiting…” Dmitry nodded. Serious, thoughtful. “Let’s start getting ready.” Anna held her breath. So many years of dreaming, postponing, waiting for the right moment. Now it was here. She’d imagined it all a thousand times: tiny hands gripping hers, the smell of baby powder, first steps across their flat, Dmitry reading bedtime stories. A child. Their child. At last. Everything changed at once. Anna revamped her diet, her routine, cut back on stress. Saw doctors, took her vitamins, shifted career plans—even as her boss offered her a huge promotion. “Are you sure?” her manager asked, peering over her glasses. “A chance like this…” But Anna was sure. The promotion meant late nights, travel, pressure—not ideal for starting a family. “I’ll transfer to the branch near home instead,” Anna said. The manager just shrugged. The branch was a fifteen-minute walk around the corner. The work—dull, routine, no prospects. But she could leave on time and stop thinking about it come Friday. Anna settled in fast. The new colleagues were nice enough, if unambitious. She made her own packed lunches, took walks at lunchtime, was in bed by midnight—all for the baby they hoped for, all for their family. The chill crept in slowly. Anna didn’t notice at first. Dmitry was working a lot, tired—that happened, right? But he stopped asking about her day. Stopped hugging her goodnight. Stopped looking at her the way he did when she was the most beautiful girl at uni. The flat got quiet. Wrong kind of quiet. They used to chat for hours—about work, plans, silly things. Now Dmitry scrolled on his phone every evening, gave short answers, turned his back to sleep. Anna would lie next to him, staring at the ceiling. Between them—a gulf, half the width of a mattress. Intimacy vanished. Two weeks, three, a month. Anna lost count. Dmitry always had an excuse: “I’m just shattered. Tomorrow, alright?” Tomorrow never came. One night, Anna just asked. She blocked his way to the bathroom. “What’s going on? Please, honestly.” Dmitry looked past her, at the doorframe. “Everything’s fine.” “It’s not.” “You’re overthinking. It’ll pass.” He sidestepped her, locked himself in the bathroom. Water started running. Anna stood in the hallway, clutching her chest where it hurt—dull, persistent, constant. She lasted another month. Then she couldn’t bear it any longer. “Do you love me?” she asked, straight out. A pause. A long, awful pause. “I… don’t know what I feel for you.” Anna sat on the sofa. “You don’t know?” Dmitry finally looked her in the eye. There was emptiness. Confusion. None of the fire from fifteen years ago. “I think the love’s gone. Has been for ages. I kept quiet because I didn’t want to hurt you.” Anna realised she’d been living in this hell for months, desperate for an explanation. Maybe it’s work. Midlife crisis. Just a bad patch. But no—he simply stopped loving her. And said nothing while she planned their future, gave up her promotion, prepared herself for motherhood. The decision came suddenly. No more “maybe,” no more “give it time.” Enough. “I’m filing for divorce.” Dmitry turned pale. Anna saw his Adam’s apple twitch. “Wait. Don’t go so fast. We can try—” “Try what?” “Let’s have the baby, yeah? Maybe a child will bring us together. People say kids do that.” Anna laughed bitterly. “A baby will just make things worse. You don’t love me. Why have a child just to end up divorcing with a newborn?” Dmitry said nothing. There was nothing left to say. Anna left that day. Packed a bag of essentials and moved in with a friend. Filed for divorce a week later, when her hands finally stopped trembling. Sorting out the house and car would take ages. Fifteen years of stuff to split. Life, measured out in square feet and horsepower. Anna listened to the lawyer, taking notes, doing her best not to think about how their life had boiled down to a spreadsheet. Soon, she found a little flat to rent. She learned to cook for one, watch Netflix without commentary, stretch out in bed all by herself. The waves of grief broke at night. She’d bury her face in the pillow and remember: daisies from the market, picnics in Hyde Park, his laughter, his arms, his voice telling her, “You’re my anchor.” The pain was unbearable—fifteen years doesn’t go out with the rubbish. But through the pain came something else: relief. The sense that it was right. She’d stopped in time, before tying herself to someone with a child, before getting stuck in a marriage for the sake of keeping up appearances. Thirty-two years old. Her whole life ahead. Is it terrifying? Completely. But she’ll make it through—there’s no other way. I Think the Love Has Faded: Fifteen Years Together, a Dreamed-of Family, and the Courage to Walk Away in Search of Happiness

I think the love is gone. Youre the most beautiful girl in this entire department, hed said that day

La vida

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As Long as There’s Life, It’s Never Too Late: A Heartfelt Story of Family, Second Chances, and Finding Happiness at Any Age

As long as one has breath, it is never too late. A Recollection Well then, Mum, just as we agreedIll