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Look at her, off to ‘work’ again,” chuckled a nearby neighbour, just softly enough to sound like a whisper, yet loud enough to be heard.

21March2025 Dear Diary, I was watching the lift shaft at the bottom of our tower block in Leeds when Mrs.

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They’ll Be Staying Temporarily: When Family in Need Moves In, and Boundaries Are Put to the Test

Theyll stay for a while Listen, love, theres a bit of a situation Helen braced herself for a long talk.

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Happy Women Always Look Fabulous: Lila Finds Confidence and Love After Her Husband’s Betrayal at Forty, With a Little Help From Her Glamorous School Friend

Happy women always look wonderful Eleanor was shattered by her husband’s betrayal. At forty, she

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I Won’t Let Anyone Take Her Away. A Short Story

I wont give her up to anyone. My stepfather never treated us badly. He certainly never withheld a crust

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Come now, my dear, and tell me she isn’t delightful,” said Aunt Ilenuța to the wealthy woman in her elegant fur coat.

A bustling Saturday market in the heart of York thrummed with life: rows of stalls, hurried vendors

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The Truth That Tightened Every Heartstring As she hung freshly laundered clothes on the line in her back garden, Tanya heard soft sobs and peered over the fence. There, beside her fence, sat Sophie—the eight-year-old girl next door. Though already in Year 3, Sophie looked small and skinny, as if she were only six. “Sophie, have they upset you again? Come on, let’s go inside,” Tanya said, moving aside a loose fence board. Sophie often came running to their house for comfort. “Mum kicked me out. Told me, ‘Get lost,’ and shoved me outside. She’s laughing inside with Uncle Nick,” Sophie explained through tears. “Don’t worry, come on in. Lisa and Michael are having lunch, I’ll make sure you get something too.” Tanya had rescued Sophie from her mother’s harsh ways many times. With only the fence between them, Tanya could scoop Sophie up and provide a safe haven until Sophie’s mum, Anna, cooled off. Tanya’s own children, Lisa and Michael, were never scolded or mistreated; Sophie envied them deeply. Their home was peaceful, warm, and loving—a stark contrast to her own. At home, Sophie wasn’t allowed anything. Her mother made her haul water, clean out the shed, weed the garden, and scrub floors. Anna had raised Sophie on her own, out of wedlock and, from the beginning, resented her daughter. When Anna’s mother was alive, she defended and cared for Sophie, but when she passed away at Sophie’s sixth birthday, things grew much harder. Consumed by the bitterness of life alone, Anna worked night shifts as a cleaner at the bus depot, always looking for a new man. When Nick, a freshly-divorced driver, joined, Anna quickly moved him in. He was happy for a roof over his head, and Sophie was barely a concern—more like a future housemaid. Anna’s attention went solely to Nick. Sophie was berated, forced to work, smacked, and threatened with the orphanage. When she struggled with chores, she would slip by the fence into the neighbour’s garden and cry beneath the currant bush—if Tanya saw, she brought her inside at once. Neighbours gossiped in their English village about Anna’s cruelty, and Tanya was never silent. Anna, however, spread rumours that Tanya wanted Nick for herself and invented stories about Sophie being mistreated. Anna and Nick often held raucous parties. In those times, Sophie escaped overnight to Tanya’s house. Tanya understood her pain and comforted her as no one else could. Years passed. Sophie excelled at school. When she finished her GCSEs, she dreamed of nursing college in the city—but Anna was adamant: “Get a job. You’re old enough. Don’t think you’ll sit around living off me,” she said harshly. Sophie burst into tears but wasn’t even allowed to cry at home. Sophie went to Tanya for support; Tanya’s own children were off at university. This time, Tanya confronted Anna directly: “Anna, you’re no mother, just cruel. Most mums do everything for their children; you’re pushing yours away. She deserves a chance, she nearly got top marks. Then you’ll be glad she’s around for you in your old age.” Anna snapped, “Mind your own! Sophie’s used to running next door to you.” Tanya persisted, “Nick sent his own lad off to the city for college; you could try showing kindness to your own daughter.” After shouting herself hoarse, Anna finally relented, “Fine, let her apply for nursing. Whatever.” Sophie entered the programme easily. Her happiness was boundless, though her simple clothes made her self-conscious—others from rural towns dressed that way too. She returned home only for holidays, stopping at Tanya’s first for a meal and a warm welcome. Meanwhile, Anna’s problems mounted. Nick left her for a younger woman. When Sophie returned for half-term, Anna was irritable, barely acknowledging her: “Why are you here? I can’t deal with you. Go find a job on your break.” Nick, packing his bags to go, cut Anna deeply with his words: “My new partner is having my baby, and I’ll be there for my child. Your daughter doesn’t know what a mother’s love is, as if you found her under a bush. My kid will know real love—both parents together.” His words wounded Anna beyond tears—the truth closed her throat and weighed on her heart. Sophie overheard it all. She remembered every cruel moment—her mother’s blows and neglect. Nick never lifted a hand, but watched with a smirk. On her final term, Sophie worked at the hospital while studying. Self-sufficient and growing into a fine young woman, she was respected and even complimented for her upbringing—but she knew it was thanks to Tanya. Anna, sinking further, hosted drinking friends and grew more unkempt. Sophie’s rare visits left her saddened, but Anna only demanded more money. After graduating with distinction, Sophie went home. Alone and bitter, Anna greeted her, “Why have you come? I’ve nothing for you. The fridge’s off—give me money, my head aches.” A lump formed in Sophie’s throat, but she remained firm: “I won’t stay long. I’m starting at the county hospital soon. I’ll send money now and then. Goodbye, Mum.” Anna only focused on the money, her sole desire to “fix her head.” Sophie handed over some cash and left, hoping—just maybe—her mother might follow and embrace her, but was instead met with silence. She quietly headed next door. Tanya welcomed her with open arms and a celebration: “Come sit down, Sophie, let’s eat together. And here’s a gift—for graduating with honours, and some money for your new start.” Sophie broke down in tears. “Tanya, why does my mum treat me like a stranger?” Tanya embraced her. “Don’t cry, Sophie. Some mothers are like Anna. It’s not your fault—you’re clever, beautiful, and destined for love and happiness.” Sophie moved to the county, working as a surgical nurse. There she met her husband, Oliver, a young surgeon. At her wedding, it was Tanya at her side, beaming with pride. Anna boasted to her drinking friends, “I raised my daughter well—she sends me money! I taught her everything. But she never invites me over, never lets me see the grandkids, not even met her husband.” Soon after, Tanya found Anna passed away at home. No one knows how long she’d lain there. Sophie and Oliver arranged her funeral and sold the house, visiting Tanya and her husband now and then—forever grateful for the love that made all the difference.

The truth that squeezed everything inside While Peg was hanging freshly laundered clothes on a line in

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German Pianist Called English Folk “Noise Without Technique”… Until a Young Londoner Made Him Weep at the Royal Festival Hall’s Grand Opening Night

The Grand Theatre of Bath sparkled beneath the floodlights, a beacon of culture for a particularly chilly

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ARE YOU MY HAPPINESS? To be honest, marriage was never part of my plan. If it hadn’t been for my future husband’s relentless courtship, I’d probably still be flying free as a bird. Artem fluttered after me like a lovesick moth, never letting me out of his sight, eager to please, never missed a detail. Eventually, I gave in. We got married. Artem instantly felt like home—a familiar, comforting presence, as easy as slipping into cosy slippers. A year later, our son Svyatoslav was born. Artem worked in another city, coming home once a week, always bringing tasty treats for me and our little Svya. During one of those visits, as I prepared to do his laundry, I went through the pockets—and out tumbled a neatly-folded list. I unfolded it. It was a long list of school supplies (it was August), and at the end, in a child’s handwriting: “Daddy, come home soon.” So that’s what my husband gets up to on the side! A double life! Instead of causing a scene, I packed my bag, grabbed Svya (not quite three yet) by the hand, and moved in with Mum. Mum gave us a room: “Stay until you make up.” Thoughts of revenge crept in. I remembered my old classmate, Roman. He’d never taken no for an answer, at school and beyond. So I called him. “Hi, Romka! Married yet?” “Nadia? Hello! Married…divorced…it’s all the same! Shall we meet?” My unplanned fling with Roman lasted six months. Artem brought child support for Svya every month, handing it silently to my mum and leaving. I knew he was living with Katya Yevseyeva, who had a daughter from her first marriage. Katya insisted her little girl call Artem ‘Daddy’. They all lived in Artem’s flat. As soon as Katya found out I had gone, she moved with her daughter to Artem from another city. Katya worshipped him—knitted socks, warm jumpers, cooked delicious meals. I’d only hear about it later. I still tease Artem about Katya to this day. Back then, our marriage seemed dead in the water. …Yet, over coffee (to discuss the divorce), Artem and I were suddenly swamped by fond memories. He confessed to an all-consuming love, repented, and admitted he didn’t know how to get rid of persistent Katya. I felt unbearably sorry for him. We reunited. For the record, Artem never learned about Roman. Katya and her daughter left town for good. Seven happy years flew by. Then Artem was in a car accident. Several surgeries, rehab, a walking cane—the recovery lasted two years. It wore him out. Artem began drinking heavily, shutting down completely. Words failed; he wore himself and us out. Refused help. Meanwhile, at work, my “shoulder to cry on” was Paul. Paul listened to me in the smoking area, walked me home, comforted me. He was married, expecting his second child. I still don’t know how we ended up in bed together. Madness. He was a head shorter than me, not remotely my type! And so it began! Paul dragged me to exhibitions, concerts, ballet. Once his wife had their daughter, Paul stopped the fun, quit our office, got another job. Maybe he thought: ‘out of sight, out of mind’? I never made demands, so I let him go. He only numbed my heartache. I never meant to interfere in another family’s love. My husband drank on. …Five years later, Paul and I bumped into each other. He seriously proposed. I just laughed. Artem managed to pull himself together—briefly—and went to work in the Czech Republic. While he was away, I was the model wife and mother, every thought revolving around my family. He came back after six months. We renovated the flat, bought appliances, and Artem finally fixed his foreign car. Life should have been perfect. But no—he relapsed. Hell resumed. His friends carried him home. I’d run round our neighbourhood in search of my absent husband, finding him asleep on benches, pockets turned out, dragging him back. …One spring day, I was waiting at a bus stop, feeling low. Birds chirping, sunshine sparkling, but I couldn’t care less. Someone softly whispered in my ear: “May I help with your troubles?” I turned. Good heavens! What a handsome, fragrant man. And at 45, could I really become a berry again? I flushed like a shy girl. Thankfully, the bus arrived. I hopped on, escaping temptation. He waved. All day at work, my thoughts drifted to him. For a few weeks, I played hard to get, just for show… But Egor—so he was called—powered through my defences like a tank. He waited for me every morning at the same stop. I’d watch for him. He’d spot me and blow kisses. One morning, he brought a bouquet of red tulips. “What am I supposed to do with flowers on my way to work? The girls will suspect something!” Egor smiled, handed the bouquet over to an intrigued old lady. “Thanks, dearie! May you find a passionate lover!” I blushed at her words—thank heaven she didn’t wish for a younger one! Egor said: “Come on, Nadia, let’s both be guilty! You won’t regret it.” Honestly, the offer was irresistible and timely. My husband was out of action, lying in a drunken stupor. Egor was a teetotal, non-smoking former athlete (57 years old) and a wonderful conversationalist. Divorced. Something enchanting about him! I plunged headlong into this affair! It was a whirlwind of passion for three years. I was torn between home and Egor, my soul in turmoil. Stopping wasn’t an option—but when the desire to leave did come, I lacked the strength. As they say, ‘the girl drives the lad away, and he won’t go.’ Egor completely possessed me, body and soul! When Egor was nearby, I could barely breathe! It felt like madness! But I knew this obsession would end badly. I didn’t love Egor. Coming home drained (after my fiery lover), I just wanted to cuddle my husband—blearily drunk, smelling foul, but so familiar and pure! Better plain bread with your own than someone else’s fancy cakes! That was my truth. Passion—as in suffering—made me want to get it over with and return to family life, not keep chasing excitement. At least, that’s how my mind reasoned. My body ignored it. Still, I couldn’t stop myself. My son knew about Egor. He saw us at a restaurant with his girlfriend; I had to introduce them. They shook hands. Later, Svya looked at me for an explanation. I joked: a colleague invited me to discuss a new project. “Right…in a restaurant,” he replied knowingly. Svya never judged me—asked me not to divorce Dad. Maybe he’d come round. I felt like a lost lamb. My divorced girlfriend urged me to “ditch these miserable lovers and settle down.” Her advice carried weight—she’d finished off husband number three. Though, it was all logical, I could only stop when Egor raised his hand to me. That was the breaking point. As my friend warned: “The sea’s calm as long as you stay on shore…” The scales fell from my eyes. Life was in colour again! Three years of anguish—gone. Freedom and long-awaited peace! Egor kept chasing me everywhere, begging publically for forgiveness. I stood firm. My friend kissed me and gave me a mug that said “You Did the Right Thing!” As for Artem, he knew all about my escapades. Egor called him, told him everything. My lover was sure I’d leave my family. Artem told me: “When I heard your suitor’s serenading, I just wanted to quietly die. But I brought this on myself. Lost my wife to drink. What could I say to you?” …Ten years have passed since then. We have two granddaughters. One day, sitting at our kitchen table, sipping coffee, I gaze out the window. Artem gently takes my hand: “Nadia, stop looking around. I am your happiness! Do you believe it?” “Of course I do, my one and only…”

ARE YOU MY HAPPINESS? Truth be told, I never really planned on getting married. If it werent for the

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How I Pretended to Be Happy for Nine Years, Raised Another Man’s Son, and Prayed My Secret Would Stay Hidden—Until the Day My Child Needed His Real Father’s Blood, and for the First Time I Saw My Husband Cry

How I Pretended To Be a Happy Wife for Nine Years, Raised Another Mans Son, and Prayed My Secret Would

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How I Pretended to Be Happy for Nine Years, Raised Another Man’s Son, and Prayed My Secret Would Stay Hidden—Until the Day My Child Needed His Real Father’s Blood, and I Saw My Husband Cry for the First Time

The golden light of the evening sun poured over the rolling hills like honey, bathing the humble cottages