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Impossible to Completely Forget: Every Evening, Prokhor’s Long Commute Home Through the London Underground and Buses Reminded Him of His Past—Two Years After a Quiet Separation from His Wife, Encountering His Lost First Love, Mary Anne, Now a Renowned Herbal Healer from Their Countryside Schooldays, Reawakens Memories and Sets Him on a Journey Back to His Roots and Heart

Its strange how some memories persist. Every evening after work, Id find myself back on the train, then

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Dandelion Jam The snowy winter has finally ended. It wasn’t very harsh this year—just mild and filled with flurries—but even so, it’s worn out its welcome, and now everyone longs for green leaves, colourful sights, and the chance to shed their heavy winter coats. Spring arrives in a sleepy English market town. Tasha adores spring, eagerly awaiting the return of nature—and finally, she’s rewarded. Peering from her third-floor flat window, she muses: “With these warm spring days, the whole town seems to have woken from a long, wintry slumber. Even the traffic hums differently now, and the market is alive again. People in bright jackets and coats bustle here and there, and the morning birds are noisier than our alarm clocks. Oh, spring is lovely, but summer… that’s even better!” Tasha has lived in this five-storey block for years. Now, she shares it with her granddaughter, Vera, who’s in Year Four. Vera’s parents—both doctors—moved to Africa for work a year ago, entrusting their daughter to her gran. “Mum, we’re leaving Vera in your care. No dragging her halfway across the world! We know you’ll watch over your favourite granddaughter,” Tasha’s daughter declared. “Oh, of course I will—I’ll be happier with company! Now off you go, Vera and I’ll manage just fine,” Tasha replied. “Yay, Gran! Just you and me—plenty of trips to the park, and more time together. Mum and Dad are always too busy!” Vera cheered. After serving breakfast and sending Vera off to school, Tasha busied herself with housework—time slipped away. “I’ll pop to the shop before Vera gets back—she earned a treat for her top marks,” she thought, pulling on her boots. She left her flat to find two neighbours already perched on the communal bench, cushions beneath them to soften the chill. Mrs Simmons—ageless and living alone, perhaps seventy, perhaps more—keeps her birthday a secret and occupies a ground floor studio. Valerie, a lively 75-year-old, well-read and brimming with tales, is Simmons’s opposite—always laughing and full of life. As soon as the snow melts and the sun warms the ground, this bench is never empty, and Simmons and Valerie are its regulars. They spend all day chatting, with the briefest interlude for lunch at home. They know everything about everyone in the block—not even a fly gets past their watchful eyes. Sometimes Tasha joins them to swap stories—TV shows, books, the latest local news. Mrs Simmons is fond of discussing her blood pressure. “Morning, ladies!” Tasha grinned. “Already on duty?” “Morning, Tosh! Of course—otherwise they’d mark us absent. Off to the shop, are you?” Simmons declared, eyeing Tasha’s shopping bag. “Spot on. Vera’s expecting something sweet for her stellar grades,” Tasha waved, heading off. The day passed in a blur. Tasha picked up Vera from school, fed her supper, then Vera buried herself in homework while Tasha watched a bit of television. “Gran, I’m off to dance!” Vera chirped. Vera’s been in dance class six years now—she loves it, performing at all the local events. And proud Tasha can’t help but glow when speaking of her talented granddaughter. “All right, Vera dear—off you go!” said Gran, sending her to rehearsals. Later, Tasha waits alone on the bench for Vera to return from dance. “Feeling lonely?” Her second-floor neighbour, Mr Gordon, took a seat beside her. “How could I be, on a day like this? It’s spring. Gorgeous weather!” Tasha replied. “Yes, the sun’s warming up, the birds are singing—everywhere’s turning green, and those yellow coltsfoot flowers look just like tiny little suns,” Mr Gordon smiled. At that moment, Vera sneaked up and flung her arms around Gran’s neck. “Woof, woof!” “You little rascal! You nearly scared me to death!” Tasha laughed. “Now, now—bit soon to joke about that!” chuckled Mr Gordon, patting her shoulder. “Come along, mischief. I’ve grated carrots with sugar and fried your favourite meatballs. You must be tired after all that dancing,” Gran coaxed, ushering Vera home. Mr Gordon rose to follow them. “What? You’re heading inside too?” Tasha asked. “You made those meatballs sound so good, I got hungry! Maybe I’ll come back out for a stroll later.” Mr Gordon winked. “I can’t promise—busy day! Maybe though…” Tasha smiled. She did come back out for a bit in the evening, just in case. Mr Gordon was waiting—and for once, the regular bench warmers had gone home. “Mrs Simmons and Valerie just slipped away for dinner,” Mr Gordon said cheerfully. From that night on, Tasha and Mr Gordon often met in the park, reading the paper together, swapping stories, recipes, and laughter beneath the old linden tree. Mr Gordon hadn’t had an easy life. Once, he had a wife, daughter, and grandson—but he was widowed young and raised his daughter, Vera, alone while struggling to make ends meet on double shifts. He rarely saw her, as she was often asleep when he left and again when he returned. Vera eventually grew up, married, moved to another city, and had a son. She visited infrequently, and their meetings lacked warmth. After fifteen years, Vera separated from her husband and raised her boy solo. “Tash, my daughter’s coming to visit in two days. Called this morning. Strange… we’ve not spoken in years,” Mr Gordon confided. “Maybe she’s feeling sentimental; getting older makes you treasure family,” Tasha suggested. “I’m not so sure…” he sighed. Vera arrived—sharp, unsmiling, purposeful. Mr Gordon braced for a serious conversation. “Dad, I’m here for a reason. Let’s sell your flat. Come live with us—with your grandson—won’t that be more fun?” Vera said, clearly having made up her mind. But Mr Gordon felt uneasy, not wanting to uproot to a distant city and become a burden to his frosty daughter. He refused, claiming he liked his independence. Vera persisted. Learning of her dad’s friendship with Tasha, she marched over during tea. Tasha served up biscuits and her homemade jam. “So, Vera—what brings you here?” Tasha greeted gently. “I see you’re quite friendly with my father. Can I ask a favour?” “What is it?” “Convince him to sell his flat. Why should one old man rattle around in a space like that? Can’t you think of others?” Vera said, her tone sharp. Startled by Vera’s bluntness, Tasha declined. Vera lost her cool—face red, voice shrill—accusing Tasha of angling for the flat herself, questioning their park strolls, and even their discussion of dandelion recipes. “You two—just a pair of dandelions! Having your little chats, planning your schemes. Have you registered at the registry office yet? Well, it won’t work. Nothing will work—got it, you old hag!” she spat, slamming the door on her way out. Tasha felt embarrassed, hoping the neighbours hadn’t overheard. Soon, though, Vera was gone and Tasha avoided Mr Gordon, rushing home at the sight of him. But fate has its own plans. One afternoon, returning from the shop, Tasha saw Mr Gordon waiting by the bench—he held a bunch of yellow dandelions, deftly weaving them into a garland. “Tasha, don’t rush off,” he pleaded. “Wait a minute. I’m sorry for my daughter. Really. I know what she said… We’ve had a long talk. My grandson will always have my help. But Vera—she’s gone now. Said she no longer has a father. So—here, take this garland. I made dandelion jam; it’s really tasty, very healthy. You must try some. And they’re good in salads too,” he smiled. After that chat, they made a salad together. Tasha enjoyed tea with dandelion jam—she loved it. That evening, they headed to the park again. “I’ve got the latest issue of our favourite magazine,” Mr Gordon said, settling onto their bench beneath the linden tree. Tasha sat beside him, and conversation sparkled—the world faded away, and all that mattered was two friends, together, sharing spring. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and supporting me. Wishing you all the best in life!

Dandelion Jam The snowy season finally ended. This year, the frosts werent harsha gentle, snowy winter.

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If Only Everyone Got This Kind of ‘Help’: The Real Cost of a Mother-in-Law’s Good Intentions, a Husband’s Indifference, and a Mother’s Breaking Point

If only everyone received such help Polly, Ill pop round today to help with the grandkids. Polly wedged

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Revenge: A Tale of Retribution and Justice

28April Two years ago I had everything: a steady job, a house in a leafy suburb of Manchester, my wife

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Never Quite Let Go: Prokhor’s Daily Commute, a Forgotten First Love, and an Unexpected Reunion in His Hometown

Completely forgetting is impossible Each day, Peter travels back home from work in London by tube, then

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She Didn’t Want To, But She Did: The Story of Vasilisa, Alone in Her Grandmother’s House, Working at the Village Post Office, Forced Into Crime by Her Late Fiancé’s Debts, Pursued by Ruthless Thugs, and Saved by Newfound Love with the Local Constable Anton

Didnt Want To, But Did Lydia never really learned how to smoke, but she convinced herself it calmed her nerves.

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Just a Childhood Friend — Are you seriously planning to spend your entire Saturday sorting junk in the garage? The whole day? — Ellie speared a piece of cheesecake with her fork and shot a sceptical look at the tall, ginger-haired lad opposite her. Ian leaned back in his chair, warming his hands on his cooling cappuccino. — Ellie… That’s not junk, those are my childhood treasures. My “Love Is” bubblegum wrapper collection is somewhere in there, I’ll have you know. Can you imagine what riches await? — Oh my god. You kept gum wrappers. Since what year? Ellie snorted, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. This café, with its well-worn plum-coloured sofas and eternally misted-up windows, had long since become their territory. The waitress, Mari, no longer asked what they wanted—she just put a cappuccino down for him, a latte for her, and the day’s dessert to share. Fifteen years of friendship had turned this into ritual. — Alright, I’ll admit it, — said Ian, saluting with his mug — the garage can wait. My treasures too. Kieran’s invited us for a barbecue on Sunday, if you’re keen. — I know. He spent three hours yesterday picking out a new grill online. Three. Hours. I thought my eyes would glaze over with boredom. Their laughter melted into the hum of the coffee machine and the quiet buzz from other tables… …There were never any awkward silences or unspoken words between them—they knew each other as well as they knew their own hands. Ellie remembered when skinny Year 8 Ian, with perpetually untied laces, was the first to greet her in a new class. Ian remembered she was the only one who didn’t mock his chunky specs. Kieran had accepted their friendship from the very start, without question or suspicion. He watched his wife and her childhood friend with the calm of someone who trusts completely. On Friday nights of Monopoly and Uno, Kieran laughed loudest when Ian lost to his wife at Scrabble yet again, and topped up everyone’s tea while the other two argued over the rules of charades. — He’s cheating, that’s why he always wins, — Ellie announced once, tossing playing cards at her husband. — It’s called strategy, my love, — Kieran retorted, unruffled, as he gathered the scattered cards. Ian watched them with a fond smile. He liked Kieran—steady, reliable, with such dry wit you never knew when he was joking. Ellie blossomed around her husband, became softer, happier, and Ian celebrated her joy the way only a true friend could. That balance shifted when Vera came into their world… …Kieran’s sister turned up on their doorstep a month ago, eyes red with exhaustion and determined to begin afresh. The divorce had drained her completely, leaving only bitterness and an aching emptiness where some semblance of stability had once been. On the first evening Ian came round for their usual board game, Vera looked up from her phone and sized him up like some distant mechanism had been triggered inside her. Here stood a man—calm, kind-eyed, with a smile you couldn’t help but return. — This is Ian, my mate from school, — Ellie introduced. — And this is Vera, Kieran’s sister. — Lovely to meet you, — Ian said, offering a hand. Vera held it a second longer than necessary. — Likewise. From then on, Vera’s “accidental” appearances became routine. She’d show up at their favourite café at exactly the time Ellie and Ian were there. She’d float into the room with a plate of biscuits just as Ian arrived. She’d squeeze in dangerously close at the board game table, shoulders brushing. — Could you pass me that card? — Vera leaned over his arm, her hair “accidentally” brushing his neck. — Oops, sorry. Ian would politely draw away, murmuring something mild. Ellie exchanged glances with her husband, but Kieran only shrugged—Vera had always been a bit much. It became blatant. Vera steadily fixed her gaze on Ian, showered him with compliments, found any excuse to touch his arm. She laughed at his jokes so loudly Ellie’s ears rang. — You’ve such beautiful hands, so long and elegant. Play piano? — Vera caught his hand one night over the Scrabble tiles. — Um, I’m a software engineer. — Still beautiful. Ian gently pulled away, staring at his cards with exaggerated focus. He blushed. By the third invite for a “friendly chat over coffee,” Ian gave in. He liked Vera—she was lively, fun, vibrant. Maybe, he thought, if they actually dated, she’d stop giving him that hungry look and things could just go back to normal. The first weeks of their romance went well—Vera was beaming, Ian relaxed, family evenings became normal again. Then Vera noticed what she’d rather not. She saw Ian brighten when Ellie entered. How his face opened around her. How easily they picked up each other’s jokes, finished each other’s sentences, shared a connection she could never reach. Jealousy bloomed in Vera’s chest. — Why do you see her all the time? — Vera blocked Ian’s path, arms folded. — She’s my friend. Fifteen years, Vera. That’s— — I’m your girlfriend! Me! Not her! The rows came in waves. Vera cried, accused, demanded. Ian explained, pleaded. — You think about her more than me! — Vera, that’s just not true. We’re just friends. — Just friends don’t look at each other like that! Ian’s phone buzzed every time he was with Ellie. — Where are you? When are you back? Why aren’t you answering? With her again? He learned to mute it, but Vera started turning up—in the café, the park, outside Ellie’s house—flustered, eyes blazing with jealous tears. — Vera, please — Ian rubbed his temples. — This is crazy. — Crazy is you spending more time with someone else’s wife than your own girlfriend! Ellie was exhausted too. Every meet-up became a trial—when would Vera appear, with what fresh accusations, what drama? — Maybe I should see you less… — Ellie started. But Ian cut her off: — No. Absolutely not. You are not reorganising your life for her tantrums. None of us are. But Vera had already decided: if honesty wouldn’t work, she’d bend the truth. Kieran was in the kitchen when Vera breezed in. — Big brother, I need to tell you something. I really didn’t want to, but… you deserve the truth… …She spun her story in careful doses, sobbing in all the right places. Secret meetings, lingering looks, Ian supposedly holding Ellie’s hand when no one was looking. Kieran listened in silence, giving nothing away. When Ellie and Ian walked in an hour later, the atmosphere in the lounge was thick as syrup. Kieran lounged in his armchair with the expression of a man expecting a show. — Sit, — he motioned to the sofa. — My sister’s just told me a rather… fascinating story about your secret affair. Ellie froze mid-step. Ian stiffened. — What the hell… — She claims to have witnessed some compromising things. Vera shrank into her seat, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. Ian spun round so suddenly that Vera recoiled. — That’s enough, Vera. I should have drawn the line ages ago! His face was ashen with fury—the ever-calm, patient Ian now simmering over. — We’re through. Right now. — You can’t— Her tears, for once, were real. — It’s her! — Vera jabbed a finger at Ellie. — It’s always her! You always choose her! Ellie let the silence stretch, allowing her sister-in-law to let it all out. — You know, Vera, — she said quietly, — if you hadn’t tried to manage every second of his life, if you didn’t make scenes out of nothing, none of this would’ve happened. You destroyed what you were trying to keep. Vera snatched her handbag and stormed out, slamming the door. Kieran burst out laughing at last—genuine, head thrown back, amusement pouring out. — Good grief, finally. He pulled Ellie in, arm around her shoulders. — You didn’t believe her, did you? — Ellie pressed her nose to his neck. — Not for a second. I’ve watched you two for years. It’s like brother and sister squabbling over the last biscuit. Ian let out a long breath as the tension finally broke. — Sorry for dragging you into this circus. — Don’t be. Vera’s a grown woman—it’s her own responsibility. Now let’s eat. The lasagne’s getting cold, and I won’t reheat it just because of someone else’s drama. Ellie laughed softly, relief in her voice. Her family was whole. Her friendship with Ian survived. And her husband had once again proved his trust was ironclad. They headed for the kitchen, where golden lasagne gleamed beneath the lamps—and the world slid easily, quietly, back into place.

Are you honestly planning to spend your Saturday in the garage sorting through old rubbish?

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THE TOUGH FATHER-IN-LAW

“Father, would you mind if we stayed with you for a few months?” James asked, his voice wavering. “

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If Only Everyone Got This Kind of “Help”: When a Well-Meaning Mother-in-Law Turns Family Life Upside Down and Forces a Mother to Choose Her Own Sanity

If only everyone got this kind of help! Polly, Ill come round today and help out with the little ones.

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Dandelion Jam: A Heartwarming Spring Tale in a Small English Town About Friendship, Family, and New Beginnings

Dandelion Jam So, you know how winter sometimes just drags on? Well, this year it was nothing drasticmore