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Leonard Refused to Believe Ira Was His Daughter, Distrustful Due to Rumours About Vera’s Flirtations at the Shop—He Never Loved His Fragile Child, But Grandpa Matthew Cherished Her, Left Her His Countryside House, and Predicted She’d Find Happiness There Ira Was Loved Only by Her Grandfather During her childhood, delicate little Ira was often ill. Leonard would insist, “No one in our families is this tiny! How could she be mine?” His indifference passed on to her mother, Vera. Grandpa Matthew, a retired forester living at the village’s edge near the woods, was the only one who cared for Ira. Locals found him odd; his predictions often came true, and they sought his herbal remedies. With his wife gone, the forest and Ira were his comfort. She mostly lived with him, learning about healing plants and dreaming of becoming a nurse, even as her mother claimed there was no money for school. Grandpa reassured her, promising help even if it meant selling the cow. Grandpa’s Will Promises Home and Fortune Vera rarely visited her father, but appeared when her son lost money gambling. Grandpa refused to pay the debt: “I’m not covering for Andrew’s mistakes—I need to support my granddaughter.” Furious, Vera shouted she’d disown her family and stormed off. Only Grandpa helped Ira attend nursing college, and her scholarship supported her studies. Before she graduated, Grandpa fell ill. He reminded Ira he’d left her the house, advising her to find work in town but keep the home alive—“Stay in the house and happiness will come to you,” he predicted. Grandpa Matthew’s Prophecy Came True After Matthew died in autumn, Ira commuted from the city hospital to maintain her grandfather’s home. One snowy weekend, a young man named Stan knocked, his car stuck outside. After helping dig him out, Ira invited him for tea, and Stan was charmed by her courage. Their acquaintance grew, and Stan offered Ira a lift to the district center. Soon, Stan surprised Ira with a visit, joking that her herbal tea must be magical because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. There was no wedding—Ira declined—yet sincere love blossomed. Stan was devoted, carrying her in his arms as she read about in novels. When their first son was born, nurses marvelled that such a tiny woman had a strapping baby boy. Ira named him Matthew, in honour of her beloved grandfather.

John stubbornly refused to believe that Lucy was his daughter. My mother, Grace, worked at the local shop.

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I Never Took What Wasn’t Mine: How Martha Lost Everything While Nastya Gained a Family, Love, and Self-Respect in the Struggle Against Alcoholism

NEVER TOUCHED ANOTHER’S LOT Back in school, Martha always scorned and yet secretly envied Nancy.

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She’s Not My Mother 🍎

She isnt my mother, Emily. Anny? Who does she need? Let her go to a childrens home. Aunt Maud, thats

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Ten Years as the Unthanked Cook in My Son’s Household: How a Retired Teacher Regained Her Freedom at Sixty-Five After a Decade of Domestic Devotion

For ten years I laboured as a cook in my sons house and received not a shred of gratitude. She had been

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Nobody Was Expecting Him When our dad, with his free-spirited ways and his habit of leaving for work in far-off places, disappeared for good, I was in Year 6 and my sister Masha was just starting school. He and Mum had never married—Dad was a roamer, always coming back with money and gifts when it suited him. Mum loved him blindly and put up with his absences, while Dad’s brother, Uncle Nick, watched over us whenever Dad was gone. Uncle Nick was quietly dependable, never making his feelings obvious, but always there for us. He fixed things, took us for walks at weekends, and one year installed a gymnastics wall in our hallway—by then, Dad had been absent for nearly six months. As we grew, Uncle Nick became more central, even as my sister clung to Dad’s memory and his promises of presents. But Dad never returned. Uncle Nick stepped up even more, supporting Mum, eventually confessing his feelings. Mum battled with her heart, torn between loyalty to Dad and the genuine devotion of Uncle Nick, but ultimately, our family changed; Mum married Nick, had another son, and stability returned. As I graduated from school with good marks, our family was celebrating when, out of the blue, Dad walked in the door, disrupting our lives with his unexpected presence. But this time, Mum stood firm, and Uncle Nick—our real dad in every way that mattered—stayed. Even though our world was shaken, in the end, our new family endured. Nobody had been waiting for him.

Never Expected Our dad vanished when I was in Year Five and my sister, Lucy, was just starting Year One.

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Sofia Rushed Home with Excitement to Surprise Her Husband, But What She Found…

Sophie rushed home, eager to surprise her husband. As she burst through the front door, panic set in.

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My Dear Wife – “How have you managed to live with the same woman for so many years? What’s your secret?” My brother never missed the chance to ask these questions whenever he visited. “Love, and endless patience—that’s the whole secret,” I always replied. “That recipe isn’t for me. I love all women. Each one is a mystery. Living with a book you’ve already read? No, thanks,” my brother would smirk. My younger brother Peter married at eighteen. His bride, Asya, was ten years his senior—a sweet woman hopelessly in love with Peter for life, while Peter saw her only as a passing amusement. Asya moved into Peter’s family home, where seven relatives lived, and gave birth to a son, Mitya. She believed her happiness was finally complete. The young couple was given a tiny room, where Asya displayed her cherished collection of rare porcelain figurines—ten delicate treasures that everyone in the family knew meant the world to her. At the time, I myself was searching for the one woman to spend a lifetime with—a dream that ultimately came true. My wife and I have now been married over fifty years. Peter and Asya lasted ten years. Asya could boast of little—the devoted, compliant wife who loved her husband and son wholeheartedly. What more did Peter want? One night, Peter came home drunk, picking on Asya and making crude jokes. Sensing trouble, Asya quietly left with Mitya. Suddenly, there was a terrible crash—the sound of her precious collection shattering. She ran back to find all her treasured figurines in pieces, except for one that miraculously survived. Asya kissed it, eyes brimming with tears, and said nothing. From that day, a rift opened between them. Asya fulfilled her duties, but a spark was gone. Peter drank more, brought home questionable friends and women. Asya withdrew, becoming distant and unreachable. Peter neglected the family, and eventually, they parted ways—without shouting or accusations. Asya took Mitya and moved back to her hometown, leaving the lone surviving figurine behind as a memory. Peter wasn’t lonely for long; he threw himself into a reckless, untethered life of repeated marriages, heartbreaks, and drink. Though a brilliant economist—in-demand at universities, author of a textbook, with a sparkling future—he let it all slip away. At last, thinking he had settled down, our relieved family attended his simple wedding to a stunning woman with a seventeen-year-old son—a stepchild Peter underestimated, and who ultimately drove them to divorce five years later after much strife. Peter bounced from one romance to the next—Lily, Natalie, Sue—believing each was the one. But life had other plans. At fifty-three, Peter fell gravely ill. No women remained but his family. On his deathbed, he asked me, “Simon, there’s a suitcase under my bed—bring it here.” I opened it, stunned to find it packed with delicate porcelain figurines, each carefully wrapped. “I collected these for Asya—never forgot the silent reproach in her eyes when her collection was smashed. My poor wife endured plenty. There’s a hidden compartment with money—give it all to my dear wife. Ask her to forgive me. Promise you’ll do this, Simon.” I choked back tears and solemnly agreed. He pointed to an envelope under his pillow with Asya’s address. Though they hadn’t spoken in years, Asya had kept in touch, writing letters—never replied to, but always sent. After Peter’s funeral, I set off to find Asya. We met at a lonely train platform. She hugged me, “Oh Simon—you and Peter could be twins.” I handed her the suitcase, passed on Peter’s request for forgiveness and his last gifts. It was our final parting. Later, I received one last letter: “Simon, thank you and Peter for everything. I’m grateful to God that Peter was part of my life. Mitya and I sold the figurines to a real enthusiast and used the money to move to Canada—my sister had long invited us, and nothing kept me here. All that remained was hope Peter would call me back—he never did. But I am happy he always saw me as his true wife. Now Mitya is better, and I am content. Farewell.” She left no return address…

THE TRUE WIFE How have you managed to survive so many years with one wife? Whats the trick?

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Life Sorted: “Lada, I Forbid You to Speak to Your Sister and Her Family!” How My Husband’s Jealousy, Family Drama, and Hidden Secrets Led Me from Heartbreak to True Happiness with a New Love and Family

LIFE IN ORDER Lydia, I forbid you to talk to your sister and her family! They have their life, we have ours.

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Ten Years as the Cook and Caretaker in My Son’s Home—Yet No Word of Thanks A Former Teacher Retires at 55, Moves in with Her Son’s Family for a Decade, Sacrificing Her Freedom for Grandchild Care—Unappreciated Until She Finally Rediscovers Joy in Her Own Independence at Sixty-Five

For ten years, Margaret worked as a cook in her sons home and received barely a word of thanks.

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“Mum, I’m Getting Married!” Cheered the Son “That’s nice,” replied Sonia with little enthusiasm. “Mum, what’s wrong?” asked Victor, surprised. “It’s nothing… Where do you plan to live?” she squinted. “Here. You don’t mind, do you?” Victor replied. “It’s a three-bedroom flat, surely we’ll all fit?” “Do I have a choice?” Sonia asked. “We can’t exactly afford to rent,” her son said gloomily. “So I really don’t have a choice,” Sonia said resignedly. “Mum, rents are so high now we’d barely have money for food,” Victor insisted. “It won’t be forever. We’ll save up for our own place much quicker this way.” Sonia shrugged. “I hope so… All right, you can move in and stay as long as you need, but on two conditions: We split the bills three ways and I am not going to be anyone’s housekeeper.” “Fair enough, Mum, whatever you say,” Victor agreed immediately. The young couple had a simple wedding and all moved in together: Sonia, Victor and his new wife, Irene. From the moment they arrived, Sonia seemed to have a new lease of life. Every evening, when the newlyweds got home, the house was a mess and there was nothing cooking. Sonia was always out: one day at choir rehearsals at the Community Centre (“They say I’ve got a great voice, you know!”), the next day at a poetry reading (“You remember how much I love Shakespeare!”), or at coffee and bingo with her new friends—all pensioners enjoying themselves until late, taking over the kitchen with laughter, tea, and biscuits brought from the corner shop. She purposefully refused to do any household chores, leaving everything for Victor and Irene. At first, they didn’t complain. Then Irene started giving sideways looks. Next they grumbled, and finally Victor resorted to loud sighs. Sonia ignored it all, embracing her active lifestyle. One day, she came home singing “Greensleeves,” and announced cheerfully, “Good news, children! I’ve met a wonderful gentleman and we’re off to a spa together tomorrow. Isn’t that lovely?” “It is,” Victor and Irene agreed in unison. “And is it serious, Mum?” asked Victor, secretly worried about one more moving in. “We’ll see after the spa,” Sonia said, helping herself to soup and seconds. When she came back, she was disappointed: “Alex wasn’t my type, so I’ve moved on. But life is still ahead of me!” She kept up her busy social calendar, her circle of friends growing. Eventually, one day Irene snapped, slamming the empty fridge: “Sonia, couldn’t you help with the housework? The flat’s a tip and there’s no food! Why should we do everything?” “And what’s got you so wound up?” Sonia replied with genuine surprise. “If you lived on your own, who’d do those chores?” “But you live here!” Irene argued. “And I’m not going to be some sort of Mrs. Mop for you. I’ve served my time! I warned Victor straight away: I won’t be the maid. If he didn’t tell you, that’s not my fault,” Sonia said. “I thought you were joking…” Victor mumbled. “So you want a free ride AND for me to tidy your mess and cook? Absolutely not! I said I wouldn’t, and I won’t! If you’d rather, you can always live on your own,” Sonia declared, and went to her room. The next morning, she cheerfully sang, did her lipstick and put on her best blouse, and set off to the arts centre—her choir was waiting.

Mum, Im getting married! my son said cheerfully one sunny afternoon. Thats nice, I replied, doing my