Fairy Godmother By the time she reached Year 6, everyone knew that Lizzie Goodwin was destined to be
A cat quite accidentally stumbled across a phone one day The object positively reeked of human and was
Dad, you remember Mary Penelope Winter, dont you? It’s too late today, but come over tomorrow.
MY DEAR DAUGHTER-IN-LAW Mum, Im marrying Alice. Were expecting in three months, my son announced, leaving
When I returned home, I found the door wide open. My first thought is that someone has broken in. “
Lucy, I’m home! Come greet me! L-Luke?! Why are you back so early? Werent you supposed to come
“Mr. William, Overslept Again!” — The Bus Driver’s Gentle Chiding Greets the Elderly Passenger Who Rushes for the Third Time This Week
The pensioner, glasses slipping down his nose, catches his breath as he boards. “Sorry, Andrew,” he pants, fishing for change, “Must be my old clock, or maybe it’s just me…” For over twenty years, Andrew, a weathered forty-five-year-old route driver, has watched familiar faces filter through his bus. But Mr. William especially stands out — reserved and kind, always heading to the cemetery, always at the same hour.
One morning, Mr. William is suddenly absent, and days pass with no sign. Concern grows, prompting Andrew to search the cemetery, consult its caretaker, and, with gentle persistence, track down the old man’s neighbour. He learns that Mr. William suffered a stroke and is now in hospital.
Determined, Andrew visits Mr. William in his ward. The old man’s greatest worry isn’t for himself, but that, for the first time in eighteen months, he has been unable to keep his promise to visit his late wife’s grave every day. Moved, Andrew offers to go in his place, delivering news of her husband’s health and love.
Their bond deepens — no longer just driver and passenger. Andrew, with his wife’s blessing, begins driving Mr. William to the cemetery on weekends in his own car. What started as a routine now feels like friendship and family. Eventually, Mr. William confides: “When my Annie passed, I thought life had ended. But it turns out, people do care… and that means the world.”
Have you ever witnessed ordinary people accomplish extraordinary acts of kindness? Mr. Arthur, overslept again, did you? The bus drivers voice is warm but tinged with gentle reproach.
The Further Away, the Dearer the Heart…
“You know what, my dearest grandson! If I’m such a burden, there’s only one choice left. I won’t go live with my daughters anymore, nor will I traipse about from friend to friend. And I certainly don’t need you matchmaking me for some old gentleman—imagine, marrying me off in my golden years!
—Gran, it’s what I’ve been telling you for ages! Mum says the same—just move into the retirement home. All you have to do is sign the house over to me, and you’ll get a cozy room, Mum will sort it out. There’ll be people to chat with, neighbours close by, and you won’t be in my way anymore.
—I’m not leaving my house for anyone, Sasha. If I’m in your way, there’s the door and seven roads—take your pick. You’re young, clever, find a flat and live as you please. If you won’t study, go get a job. Parade a different girl home every day if you want. I’m a woman of nearly 65; I need peace and quiet. I’ve wandered enough these past couple of years. Time to come home. It just isn’t right, my boy—when you drive me out of my own house and live off my pension with your girlfriends. My pension isn’t endless. So you’ve one week. If you can’t find a place, go to your friends or that girlfriend—her name I keep forgetting—but I want you out of my home by tonight. First you try to foist a husband on me, then pack me off to a care home—ridiculous!”
Her indignant grandson tried to argue, but Lydia Pavlovna was done listening. She walked silently to her room and closed the door, her head pounding. She ought to take a pill, but it would mean braving the kitchen and a run-in with her grandson, which she’d rather avoid.
Glancing around her small room, Lida spotted a bottle of sparkling water—just enough for a sip.
***
Lida never thought she’d stand up for herself with such resolve. Years of biting her tongue had caught up with her. For two long years, she’d endured in silence, running to one daughter or the other whenever summoned—and just as quickly heading home at their first hint of overstaying her welcome.
Now, her twenty-year-old grandson was master of her own home—different ‘true loves’ trailing behind him every week as if Gran’s mere presence and sniffles behind the wall were ruining his romantic atmosphere.
—Gran, why not go stay with someone, let us have the house to ourselves—Dasha, Masha, Sveta, Ira (circle as appropriate, they change often) would appreciate it!
So Lydia Pavlovna stayed with her cousin, her old workmate, her friend’s wife – initially welcomed, but eventually she realised her visits were a strain.
***
When there was nowhere left to go, her eldest daughter had a baby. City life, a mortgage, a school-age child—the family needed Gran more than ever.
At first, everyone was happy: dinners hot, house tidy, children cared for. But after a few months, her son-in-law—barely a decade younger than Lydia—grew snippy.
“Lydia, don’t buy those sausages—they’re poison! If you’re at home all day, can’t you make proper meals—homemade burgers, a proper roast…?”
“Lydia, why are you spending so much on groceries and toiletries? You need to economise!”
“Lydia! Do I look like a cow, gnawing on vegetables? We need more meat, but do keep an eye on the budget.”
“You’re home anyway—can’t you help the eldest with her studies? Why are we paying for tutors with a perfectly good grandmother in residence?”
Even her eldest granddaughter, just a bold nine-year-old, found fault—Gran’s clothes were embarrassing, she made her study, ‘Gran, why are you even here? Off to your country house, go play boss there!’
Lida endured it all. Her meagre pension bought meat for her son-in-law, pocket money for the embarrassed granddaughter, and even topped up the grandson’s bills—just to keep the house running. Complaining was pointless; her daughter worshipped her husband, never a word against him.
When the youngest granddaughter started nursery, Lydia’s job was done. Her son-in-law said it plainly: “Thank you, Lydia, but we don’t need you now, time to go home.”
Lydia’s heart sang with relief—finally she’d have her own space again. But her grandson had moved back in, with a girlfriend in tow. The place was a dump; bills unpaid, even the electric at risk.
With no other option, Lydia took out a personal loan, settled the debts, scrubbed the house clean. Still, her grandson complained—no privacy with Gran coughing behind thin walls.
And then, providence: her youngest daughter needed help with a newborn. Off she went again—only to realise after three months that she was, once again, surplus to requirements. Lydia fled before she could be asked to leave, returning to yet another frown from her grandson.
Lydia might have carried on like this forever had it not been for one incident after returning home…
House clean (she always paid her own way), debts gone, but again: “Gran, I’m going to Karen’s today—it’s her birthday, I’ll be back late. Lock up after yourselves, I’ll use the back door so I don’t disturb you.”
“Why not stay the night then? Give us a break!”
“Where would you two get tired of me in seven days?”
“You won’t stay?”
“No, I’ll come home.”
The party was joyful—first the café, then just the close friends at Karen’s place, reminiscing about youth, steering clear of complaints. Lida was just about to head home when Karen’s phone rang—it was Lida’s daughter, Nastya.
“Is everything all right? Why didn’t she call me?”
Karen answered quietly: “She just asked to keep you here for the night. Sasha rang his mum—wants you to give them space. She called me—said if you won’t go to a care home, perhaps we can find you an old gent with a flat, so Sasha can get married without Gran breathing down his neck.”
Lida poured out everything—to Karen and later, to her grandson and daughter: all the years of juggling, of being unwelcome in her own home.
Sasha left, vowing never to return or help.
At last, Lida was alone—and relished it: after a lifetime of accommodating everyone else, she could finally breathe.
Her daughters called, hoping for babysitting—she said, “Bring the children to me. The air is better here, and in my own home I’m the boss. No more running around for everyone else.”
Lida says: the further away, the dearer they become. And I think she’s right. The further you go, the more you realise where you belong… You know what, my dear grandson, Margaret
It must have been many years ago now, but I remember it as if it were yesterdaythe day a cat quite by
One more thing she realised her mother-in-law wasnt as bad as shed thought all these years.
