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Dear Diary, This afternoon I was ambling along the banks of Lake Windermere, when I spotted a lone wild

La vida

020

A Visit to My Son…

Mother, you really shouldnt bother coming now, my son Alex said. Think about it: the journey is long

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04

My Son Has a Fantastic Memory: The Hilarious Christmas Pageant Saga of the Costume-Swapping Five-Year-Old—How Three British Surgeons, a Cucumber Outfit, and a Last-Minute Switch Created the Most Unforgettable ‘Kolobok’ with a Handcrafted Grin, Thirty Cardboard Teeth (and Two Missing Front Ones), and an Accidental Green Cap That Had Parents, Teachers, and Children Rolling with Laughter at the School Nativity

My son is blessed with a marvellous memory. Back at nursery, he could recite all the lines from the Christmas

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07

A Mother’s Heart Stan sat at his usual spot at the kitchen table, a deep bowl of his mum’s signature beetroot soup in front of him—rich, aromatic, with that familiar tang. Each spoonful was a journey: no London bistro, no Michelin-starred restaurant, no trendy eatery, not even the most extravagant French oysters or Japanese wagyu, could ever compare to this. In every bite, he tasted not just flavour but warmth, care, and the nostalgia of childhood. As he ate, his mother, Mary, joined him—cup of tea in hand, worry etched on her face. “When do you have to leave, Stan?” she asked, anxious. “Tomorrow morning,” he replied, smiling. “My car’s out, so I’ll go with a mate.” A heavy silence fell as Mary, pausing, gripped the edge of the table tightly. Her voice, barely above a whisper, voiced her worry: “With a mate? Please, Stan, don’t go with him. Order a taxi instead.” He tried to reassure her—his friend was a careful driver, good car, even a lucky number plate. But as she clung to his hand, her chill reaching into his warmth, he promised to call as soon as he arrived. That night, sleep evaded both. When morning came, Stan woke late—his phone dead, his mate gone, and over twenty missed calls from his mum. Rushing to her house, breathless, he found her pale, eyes red from crying, collapsed in relief as the news reported a terrible accident—one his friend had been in. Mary had recognised the car. In her mind, she had already lost her son. The ambulance came. They spent anxious hours in hospital together, Stan holding his mother’s trembling hand, guilt and love colliding in his chest. Mary finally confessed her lifelong fear of losing Stan—her independent, headstrong boy who always insisted on tying his own shoelaces, packing his own schoolbag, running ahead despite her warnings. He promised never to dismiss her intuition again, understanding—truly, for the first time—just how deep a mother’s love runs, even as children grow up and away. As they waited in the calm of the hospital ward, hands entwined, Mary gently asked about the girl Stan had been seeing—a new chapter in his life she wanted to share, not hinder. Stan spoke, relieved at last to share his hopes true and unfiltered, grateful for the love that waited for him, steady and unconditional, at home. And so, in his mother’s heart, he found the strongest shelter of all.

A Mothers Heart Edward sits at the kitchen table, settling into his usual spot. In front of him is a

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04

— Get Yourself Home! We’ll Talk There! — Max Barked, Not Wanting to Entertain Bystanders with a Scene. “Oh, whatever,” snorted Varya. “Varya, don’t push your luck!” Max threatened. “We’ll talk at home!” “Oh, how frightening!” she tossed her braid over her shoulder and marched toward the house. Max waited until Varya was out of sight, then pulled out his phone and spoke into the microphone: “She’s on her way home! Make sure you welcome her—just like we discussed! And send her down to the cellar to cool her temper! I’ll be there soon.” He pocketed his phone and set off toward the shop, hoping to reward himself for ‘disciplining’ his wife, but a perfect stranger stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Sorry to accost you like this,” the man smiled apologetically. “You were just with a young lady—” “My wife. What about her?” Max frowned. “Oh, nothing!” the man’s smile turned nervous and placating. “Er, by any chance, is your wife called Barbara Melton?” “Barbara, yes. She was Melton before the wedding. Why?” “And is her middle name Sarah?” “Yes!” Max snapped, growing irritated. “How do you know my wife?” “Forgive me,” the man stammered, “but was she born in ’93?” Max quickly did the math and replied: “Yeah. What’s with all the questions—how do you know Varya?” He tensed. She’d moved to their small English village just three years ago, from who-knows-where. Varya once confided her parents had tried to force her into marriage, so she’d run off. Strange enough that someone in their village, where gossip ran faster than the post, suddenly seemed to know all about Varya. “Sorry, I’m not acquainted with her personally!” the man flushed. “Just, well, I’m a bit of a fan!” “A fan?” Max growled, “Fan of what, mate—d’you think you can steal my wife?” “No, no, you misunderstand!” the man waved his hands desperately. “A fan of her skills, you see!” “Varya hasn’t got any special talents,” Max muttered, confused. “To get a lifetime ban from Muay Thai at eighteen for being too brutal—now that takes skill!” the man exclaimed. “A shame she stopped after a few private tournaments. Watching her in the ring was a sight to behold!” Max, his hands shaking, fumbled for his phone. It clattered to the pavement, scattering into pieces. By the time he’d gathered it up, it refused to turn on. Max took off running for home—murmuring under his breath, “Dear God, let me be on time!” When Barbara—Varya—first arrived in their village, Max immediately noticed her. Who wouldn’t? Young, athletic, spirited, and fun. She’d taken a job as a PE teacher at the primary school. People assumed she was just a student on placement, but it turned out she was twenty-five and here for good. When the villagers learned she came alone—well, the gossip brewed. “She’s hiding something!” clucked the old guard. “No family, just turns up out of the blue? There’s a secret, I swear!” “Maybe she’s just had a bad experience with a bloke and came here to mend her wounds,” others suggested. Max was intrigued, but cautious. “Lord only knows what baggage she’s lugging. In time, we’ll see.” Teachers’ lounges in England are hotbeds of personal tales, and within six months, Varya revealed her story: “My parents run a business—a decent family. But when things went bust, Dad decided to marry me off to settle our debts. You should’ve seen the groom! I chose to run.” “So you’re completely alone?” a seasoned colleague shook her head. “People live everywhere,” Varya shrugged, “but I’d rather make my own way than marry someone I don’t love! And I refuse to be some item up for sale.” “You’ll find love here, I’m sure!” her colleagues encouraged. “Small villages can still have decent people!” When the details trickled through the grapevine, Max made up his mind. “She’ll be my wife! The local girls are greedy and bold, but she’s an outsider. And we’ll never have to deal with her family!” That’s what he told his own: his mum, dad, and older brother. “She’s young, healthy, and athletic—teaches PE for a reason! She’ll give us healthy kids and pull her weight at home! How much can there be to do at school?” “A perfect match!” his family agreed. “If she kicks up a fuss, she’ll learn the hard way—our way.” They assumed the wedding was a matter of course. Max was good-looking, had a position as deputy manager at the local produce depot. When directors visited, he was nothing more than a clerk, but always had ideas for rationalising supply and handling stock—so much so, he was promoted. People joked about initiative being punished, but he’d built the entire depot’s success. Workers moaned about his tough discipline—and his brother Nick, as head of security, was a tyrant—but thefts stopped. How could Barbara refuse such a solid man? She accepted his courtship, then his proposal, moved out from her tiny flat, and into Max’s family home. “There’s only one way to live—together, as a family!” his mother declared. “Everything’s shared, everything together! I don’t know what you’re used to, but this is our way.” “I fled my old family ways for a reason,” Barbara replied. “Now I’m here, I’ll learn our new ones.” Her humility was welcomed. “Except I don’t know how to do much,” she admitted shyly, “Back home, our staff handled everything.” “We’ll fix that soon enough!” her father-in-law chuckled warmly. “We’ll teach you!” “I’m willing to learn, but I can’t abide unfairness,” Barbara warned. “My dear,” her mother-in-law interjected, “sometimes fairness is relative! Family has centuries-old rules. Honour your husband and his kin, be respectful, and a gentle woman is a beautiful woman! The men handle the big problems.” “If that’s how it is,” Barbara shrugged, “but I hope you’re not into punishments like the old days?” “No whips, no stables!” her father-in-law laughed. But Varya sensed what was coming. Within a month, her freedoms vanished. Work or shopping only! “Where are you off to? There’s work at home—garden, chickens, ducks!” “Varya! We’re a family! I can’t do it all myself!” her mother-in-law lamented. Truth be told, the men were always at work, from dawn ‘til late. Father-in-law nattered from his chair, but most of the chores fell to his wife and Barbara. Barbara worked hard but insisted on respect in return. If someone got lazy, she spoke up. “Work? Then everyone does their bit. If not, I’m not playing.” Two and a half years passed, and she would not settle. She stood her ground, demanded fairness. “What a handful this Barbara is!” her mother-in-law would exclaim. “If you say one thing, she says five back!” “She doesn’t respect me!” added her father-in-law. “I asked for a cushion, she brushed me off, said she was busy!” “Max, this isn’t right,” Nick said. “She’s disrespectful! Who forgives that?” “I know she’s enjoying herself at our expense! She needs taming—a circus beast needs breaking! And what if we have kids? She’ll take charge, say she’s the mother, and we’ll have no place here!” “We need a plan,” Nick decided. “Take her to the high street, then send her home alone. We’ll be waiting and have a word—or two—with her. If she listens, great. If not, we’ll use force. If she acts up, we’ll lock her in the cellar, say she’s gone on holiday. A month down there will sort her out!” And so they prepared. Max took Barbara for a walk, the family readied themselves, stoked their righteous fury, and waited for Max’s call telling them she was on her way. But Max was too late. The gate was intact; the front door—gone as if it had never existed. In the hall, Nick sat howling, cradling a broken arm. Max grabbed his brother’s phone, dialed for an ambulance, held it to his ear: “Tell them the address!” Nick nodded, writhing in pain. Among smashed furniture, his father lay unconscious. Alive, mercifully. In the kitchen doorway, his mother sat on the floor, a splendid bruise blooming across her cheek, holding a giant rolling pin snapped in two. At the table, Barbara sipped her tea. “Darling?” she looked up at Max, “Have you come for your share?” “N-no,” muttered Max. “Then I don’t know what to offer you,” she pondered. “Maybe a little fairness in our family?” “You should have warned us!” Max exclaimed. “You nearly…” “I know my limits. Everyone got what they deserved. Came at me with something, got it back the same way. Snapped the rolling pin over my own knee! And as for your mother, she ran into the door herself—never laid a finger on her.” “How do we even live together now?” Max asked. “I think, very harmoniously!” Barbara smiled. “And above all, with justice! And don’t even think about divorce—I’m expecting. My child will have a father!” Gulping, Max replied, “Alright, love.” Once everyone had recovered—tempers and bones alike—the family’s rules got a little update. And, from that day forward, there was peace and quiet in their home. And nobody ever dared wrong another, ever again!

Get home! Well talk there! I snapped at Victoria, trying to keep my voice down. The last thing I needed

La vida

05

The Individual in the Photograph

When Eleanor turned thirty, the world around her seemed to have settled into a long, uneasy pause.

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08

“How Could She?! Didn’t Ask! Didn’t Even Consult Me! Imagine the Nerve – Waltzing Into MY Flat and Acting Like She Owns the Place! No Respect at All! Lord, Why Do I Deserve This? I’ve Spent My Whole Life Caring for Her, and THIS Is the Thanks I Get? She Doesn’t Even See Me as a Person! – Nina Wiped Away Her Tears – Apparently, My Life Doesn’t Suit Her! She Should Look at Her Own! Sitting Alone in Her Tiny Studio Flat Thinking She’s Caught the Luckiest Break. No Decent Job, No Proper Husband: Just Some Remote Work. How Does She Even Live? Yet She Thinks She Can Teach Me About Life! I Forgot Long Ago What She’s Only Starting to Grasp!” That Last Thought Jerked Nina Out of Her Chair. She Walked to the Kitchen, Put the Kettle On, and Went to the Window. Looking Out Over the Festive, Brightly Lit City, She Began Crying Again: “Everyone Else Is Busy Preparing for New Year, and Me? No Celebration At All… Alone as Can Be…” The Kettle Whistled – Lost in Her Memories, Nina Didn’t Even Notice… She Was Twenty When Mum Gave Birth to a Second Child at Forty-Five. Nina Was Astonished: Why Would Mum Take That On? “I Don’t Want You to End Up Completely Alone,” Mum Explained. “It’s Wonderful to Have a Sister. You’ll See. Later.” “I Get It, Even Now,” Nina Had Said Indifferently, “Just So You Know: I Won’t Be Looking After Her. I Have My Own Life.” “Not Anymore,” Mum Smiled. Her Words Were Prophetic. The Baby Was Only Three When Mum Died… Dad Had Passed Even Earlier. All the Responsibility Fell to Nina, Who Effectively Became Natasha’s Mum. Until She Was Ten, Natasha Even Called Her Mum. Nina Never Married – Not Because of Natasha, But Because She Never Met the One Man Who Could Win Her Heart. And Where Was She Supposed to Meet Him? She Kept to Herself: Home, Work, Sister. Home, Work, Sister… Forced to Grow Up Overnight, Nina Dedicated Her Whole Life to Her Sister: Raised Her, Educated Her. Now Natasha’s an Adult, Living Independently and Engaged to Be Married. She Visits Nina Often: The Sisters Are Very Close, Despite the Big Age Gap and Their Different Personalities and Outlooks. Nina, for Example, Is Extremely Frugal. Her Flat Has Become a Storage Depot for Ancient, Useless Things: The Dressing Gown She Wore Ten Years Ago, Receipts Dating Back to the Early 2000s. Her Kitchen Cupboards Are Full of Cracked Mugs, Chipped Tea Pots, and Lidless Saucepans. She Hasn’t Used Most for Years, but Can’t Bear to Throw Anything Out – ‘What If I Need It Someday?’ She Hasn’t Even Done Minor Decorating in Ages – Not Because She Can’t Afford It, But Because “The Wallpaper’s Still in One Piece.” Her Habit of Sacrificing Her Own Comfort for Her Sister’s Sake Has Left a Mark. Natasha’s the Opposite: Lively, Cheerful, and Practical. Her Flat’s Bright and Minimal, No Hoarding – Only What She Needs. She Even Has a Rule: “If I Haven’t Used Something in a Year, It Goes.” Natasha’s Place Feels Open, Airy, and Light. Time and Again She’d Offer: “Let’s Redecorate Your Place. We Can Even Sort Through Your Things, Before You Run Out of Space for Yourself.” “I’m Not Throwing Anything Out, and I Don’t Want Any Changes, or a New Decor,” Nina Would Reply. “I’m Fine as I Am.” “How Can You Say That? Just Look at Your Hallway! That Wallpaper’s Practically an Exhibit. Walking in Feels Like Entering a Cellar. All This Clutter is Sucking the Life Out of You – You Don’t Realise! It’s Not Healthy,” Natasha Persuaded. But Nina Would Brush Her Off Every Time. So Natasha Took Matters into Her Own Hands – Determined Her Sister Would See the Difference. She Chose to Surprise Her by Redecorating Just the Hallway, the Least Cluttered Part of the Flat. A Week Before New Year, While Nina Was Working a Long Shift (They Had Each Other’s Spare Keys), Natasha and Her Fiancé Replaced the Dingy Wallpaper: The Once Dreary Walls Became a Sunny Green with Gold Detailing. They Put Everything Back, Careful Not to Move Nina’s Belongings, and Left. Nina, Unsuspecting, Returned Home – Then Immediately Turned Around, Certain She’d Gotten the Wrong Flat. She Double-Checked the Flat Number – It Was Correct… She Entered Again. She Understood. Natasha! How Could She?! Nina Rang Her Sister and Let Her Have It. Half an Hour Later, Natasha Arrived. “Who Asked You?!” Nina Barked. “Nina, I Just Wanted to Surprise You. Look How Nice It Is: Clean, Bright, So Spacious!” Natasha Pleaded. “Don’t Ever Take Over My House Again!” Nina Raged, Unable to Stop Herself. A Barrage of Cruel Words Rained Down on Natasha. Finally, Natasha Broke: “Fine. Live in Your Dump if You Want. You Won’t See Me Here Again!” “Oh, Does the Truth Hurt? Running Away?” “I Pity You,” Natasha Whispered, Then Walked Out… She Hasn’t Called in a Week. The Sisters Have Never Stayed Angry for So Long – and With New Year Coming, Might They Have to Celebrate Separately? Nina Sat Down in the Hallway. “But It Really Is Roomier,” She Thought, Imagining Natasha and Sasha Hanging up the Wallpaper, Hoping to Survive Her Reaction. “And Why Did I Blow Up? It’s So Much Better Now. Brighter. Makes Me Happier, Too. Maybe My Sister Was Right?” Suddenly, the Phone Rang… “Nina,” Natasha’s Voice Was Shaky with Tears, “Please Forgive Me, I Didn’t Mean to Upset You. I Just Wanted to Make You Happy…” “Oh, My Darling Girl, I’ve Not Been Angry For Ages,” Nina Started to Sob as Well, “And There’s Nothing to Forgive: You Were Absolutely Right, and the Wallpaper’s Beautiful. After the Holidays We’ll Tackle My Clutter – If You Don’t Mind, That Is.” “Of Course I Don’t Mind! I’ll Gladly Help! And As for Today – It’s New Year’s Eve… I Can’t Imagine Celebrating without You…” “Nor Can I…” “Then Get Ready!” Natasha Chimed In, “We’ve Got Everything Sorted: Real Christmas Tree, Fairy Lights, Candles – Just How You Like It. And Don’t Fuss – I’ve Done All the Cooking. I Was Sure We’d Make Up and See in the New Year Together. Take Your Time – Sasha Will Come for You.” Nina Returned to the Window. Now She Saw the Sparkling City with New Eyes. She Smiled, Thinking: “Thank You, Mum… For My Sister…”

How could she?! Didnt even ask! Not a word, no discussion! Imagine the cheekbarging into someone elses

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054

Alex, Have You Lost Your Mind? You’re Leaving Me for a Woman Half Your Age? Well, Good Luck—Because I’m Ready to Start Living My Best Life Without You!

Alex, I simply dont understand you. Have you lost your mind? What do you mean, Im leaving? Thats exactly

La vida

06

— Get Yourself Home! We’ll Talk There! — Max Barked, Not Wanting to Entertain Bystanders with a Scene. “Oh, whatever,” snorted Varya. “Varya, don’t push your luck!” Max threatened. “We’ll talk at home!” “Oh, how frightening!” she tossed her braid over her shoulder and marched toward the house. Max waited until Varya was out of sight, then pulled out his phone and spoke into the microphone: “She’s on her way home! Make sure you welcome her—just like we discussed! And send her down to the cellar to cool her temper! I’ll be there soon.” He pocketed his phone and set off toward the shop, hoping to reward himself for ‘disciplining’ his wife, but a perfect stranger stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Sorry to accost you like this,” the man smiled apologetically. “You were just with a young lady—” “My wife. What about her?” Max frowned. “Oh, nothing!” the man’s smile turned nervous and placating. “Er, by any chance, is your wife called Barbara Melton?” “Barbara, yes. She was Melton before the wedding. Why?” “And is her middle name Sarah?” “Yes!” Max snapped, growing irritated. “How do you know my wife?” “Forgive me,” the man stammered, “but was she born in ’93?” Max quickly did the math and replied: “Yeah. What’s with all the questions—how do you know Varya?” He tensed. She’d moved to their small English village just three years ago, from who-knows-where. Varya once confided her parents had tried to force her into marriage, so she’d run off. Strange enough that someone in their village, where gossip ran faster than the post, suddenly seemed to know all about Varya. “Sorry, I’m not acquainted with her personally!” the man flushed. “Just, well, I’m a bit of a fan!” “A fan?” Max growled, “Fan of what, mate—d’you think you can steal my wife?” “No, no, you misunderstand!” the man waved his hands desperately. “A fan of her skills, you see!” “Varya hasn’t got any special talents,” Max muttered, confused. “To get a lifetime ban from Muay Thai at eighteen for being too brutal—now that takes skill!” the man exclaimed. “A shame she stopped after a few private tournaments. Watching her in the ring was a sight to behold!” Max, his hands shaking, fumbled for his phone. It clattered to the pavement, scattering into pieces. By the time he’d gathered it up, it refused to turn on. Max took off running for home—murmuring under his breath, “Dear God, let me be on time!” When Barbara—Varya—first arrived in their village, Max immediately noticed her. Who wouldn’t? Young, athletic, spirited, and fun. She’d taken a job as a PE teacher at the primary school. People assumed she was just a student on placement, but it turned out she was twenty-five and here for good. When the villagers learned she came alone—well, the gossip brewed. “She’s hiding something!” clucked the old guard. “No family, just turns up out of the blue? There’s a secret, I swear!” “Maybe she’s just had a bad experience with a bloke and came here to mend her wounds,” others suggested. Max was intrigued, but cautious. “Lord only knows what baggage she’s lugging. In time, we’ll see.” Teachers’ lounges in England are hotbeds of personal tales, and within six months, Varya revealed her story: “My parents run a business—a decent family. But when things went bust, Dad decided to marry me off to settle our debts. You should’ve seen the groom! I chose to run.” “So you’re completely alone?” a seasoned colleague shook her head. “People live everywhere,” Varya shrugged, “but I’d rather make my own way than marry someone I don’t love! And I refuse to be some item up for sale.” “You’ll find love here, I’m sure!” her colleagues encouraged. “Small villages can still have decent people!” When the details trickled through the grapevine, Max made up his mind. “She’ll be my wife! The local girls are greedy and bold, but she’s an outsider. And we’ll never have to deal with her family!” That’s what he told his own: his mum, dad, and older brother. “She’s young, healthy, and athletic—teaches PE for a reason! She’ll give us healthy kids and pull her weight at home! How much can there be to do at school?” “A perfect match!” his family agreed. “If she kicks up a fuss, she’ll learn the hard way—our way.” They assumed the wedding was a matter of course. Max was good-looking, had a position as deputy manager at the local produce depot. When directors visited, he was nothing more than a clerk, but always had ideas for rationalising supply and handling stock—so much so, he was promoted. People joked about initiative being punished, but he’d built the entire depot’s success. Workers moaned about his tough discipline—and his brother Nick, as head of security, was a tyrant—but thefts stopped. How could Barbara refuse such a solid man? She accepted his courtship, then his proposal, moved out from her tiny flat, and into Max’s family home. “There’s only one way to live—together, as a family!” his mother declared. “Everything’s shared, everything together! I don’t know what you’re used to, but this is our way.” “I fled my old family ways for a reason,” Barbara replied. “Now I’m here, I’ll learn our new ones.” Her humility was welcomed. “Except I don’t know how to do much,” she admitted shyly, “Back home, our staff handled everything.” “We’ll fix that soon enough!” her father-in-law chuckled warmly. “We’ll teach you!” “I’m willing to learn, but I can’t abide unfairness,” Barbara warned. “My dear,” her mother-in-law interjected, “sometimes fairness is relative! Family has centuries-old rules. Honour your husband and his kin, be respectful, and a gentle woman is a beautiful woman! The men handle the big problems.” “If that’s how it is,” Barbara shrugged, “but I hope you’re not into punishments like the old days?” “No whips, no stables!” her father-in-law laughed. But Varya sensed what was coming. Within a month, her freedoms vanished. Work or shopping only! “Where are you off to? There’s work at home—garden, chickens, ducks!” “Varya! We’re a family! I can’t do it all myself!” her mother-in-law lamented. Truth be told, the men were always at work, from dawn ‘til late. Father-in-law nattered from his chair, but most of the chores fell to his wife and Barbara. Barbara worked hard but insisted on respect in return. If someone got lazy, she spoke up. “Work? Then everyone does their bit. If not, I’m not playing.” Two and a half years passed, and she would not settle. She stood her ground, demanded fairness. “What a handful this Barbara is!” her mother-in-law would exclaim. “If you say one thing, she says five back!” “She doesn’t respect me!” added her father-in-law. “I asked for a cushion, she brushed me off, said she was busy!” “Max, this isn’t right,” Nick said. “She’s disrespectful! Who forgives that?” “I know she’s enjoying herself at our expense! She needs taming—a circus beast needs breaking! And what if we have kids? She’ll take charge, say she’s the mother, and we’ll have no place here!” “We need a plan,” Nick decided. “Take her to the high street, then send her home alone. We’ll be waiting and have a word—or two—with her. If she listens, great. If not, we’ll use force. If she acts up, we’ll lock her in the cellar, say she’s gone on holiday. A month down there will sort her out!” And so they prepared. Max took Barbara for a walk, the family readied themselves, stoked their righteous fury, and waited for Max’s call telling them she was on her way. But Max was too late. The gate was intact; the front door—gone as if it had never existed. In the hall, Nick sat howling, cradling a broken arm. Max grabbed his brother’s phone, dialed for an ambulance, held it to his ear: “Tell them the address!” Nick nodded, writhing in pain. Among smashed furniture, his father lay unconscious. Alive, mercifully. In the kitchen doorway, his mother sat on the floor, a splendid bruise blooming across her cheek, holding a giant rolling pin snapped in two. At the table, Barbara sipped her tea. “Darling?” she looked up at Max, “Have you come for your share?” “N-no,” muttered Max. “Then I don’t know what to offer you,” she pondered. “Maybe a little fairness in our family?” “You should have warned us!” Max exclaimed. “You nearly…” “I know my limits. Everyone got what they deserved. Came at me with something, got it back the same way. Snapped the rolling pin over my own knee! And as for your mother, she ran into the door herself—never laid a finger on her.” “How do we even live together now?” Max asked. “I think, very harmoniously!” Barbara smiled. “And above all, with justice! And don’t even think about divorce—I’m expecting. My child will have a father!” Gulping, Max replied, “Alright, love.” Once everyone had recovered—tempers and bones alike—the family’s rules got a little update. And, from that day forward, there was peace and quiet in their home. And nobody ever dared wrong another, ever again!

Get home! Well talk there! I snapped at Victoria, trying to keep my voice down. The last thing I needed

La vida

05

A Mother’s Heart

A Mothers Heart I sat at the kitchen table, right in my usual spot, feeling the simple comfort of being home.