Trending Link

You dont need a wife; you need a housekeeper. Mum, Millies chewed up my colouring pencil again!

La vida

Drifts of Destiny

Drifts of Fate Martin, a 35-year-old solicitor from Oxford, had always loathed New Years Eve.

La vida

019

“I’m Off on Holiday, and I’m Not Babysitting Anyone!” My Mother-in-Law Let Me Down, But I Returned the Favour

Im going on holiday Im not here to babysit anyone! My mother-in-law left me in the lurch, but I gave

La vida

017

“You Should Have Paid for My Renovation Instead of Going on Holiday! – How My Mother-in-Law Turned Against Us When We Saved Up for a Family Trip to Italy Instead of Funding Her Home Makeover”

You should have refurbished my flat instead of wasting money on a holiday! My mother-in-law has been

La vida

038

“You Should Have Done My Home Renovation Instead of Going on Holiday!” – My Mother-in-Law Is Furious We Finally Took a Family Trip Abroad Rather Than Paying for Her Unnecessary Refurbishment, Even Though Her Flat Is Lovely and We’re Still Paying Off Our Own Mortgage While Raising Two Teenagers

You should have done my flat up, not gone off on holiday! It still amazes me how my mother-in-law finds

La vida

You Don’t Deserve It “I thought after my divorce I’d never trust anyone again,” Andrew twisted an empty espresso cup in his hands, his voice breaking so believably that Kate instinctively leaned forward. “You know, when someone betrays you, it’s like losing a part of yourself. She left me with scars I’ll never heal from. I honestly didn’t think I’d survive…” Andrew, sighing heavily, talked for quite a while. About his ex-wife who never valued him. About pain that never went away. About his fear of starting over. Every word landed on Kate’s heart like a warm pebble, and she was already picturing herself as the woman who would restore his faith in love. That together, they’d heal his wounds. That one day, he’d realize true happiness was only possible with her. Andrew only mentioned Max on their second date, somewhere between dessert and coffee… “I’ve got a son, actually—he’s seven. Lives with his mum, but he spends every weekend with me. Court order.” “That’s wonderful!” Kate beamed. “Children are a blessing.” Already, in her mind, she saw Saturday breakfasts for three, Sunday mornings in the park, cosy evenings in front of the telly. That little boy needed a woman’s warmth, a mother’s care. She’d become his second mum—not a replacement, of course, but a close, loving presence… “You’re really okay with it?” Andrew gave her an odd half-smile, which at the time Kate mistook for caution. “A lot of women bolt when they hear about a kid.” “I’m not like most women,” she said, proud. …Their first weekend with Max felt like a celebration. Kate made blueberry pancakes—his favourite, as Andrew had warned her. She patiently worked through his maths homework, explained things simply. She washed his dinosaur t-shirt, ironed his school uniform, made sure he was in bed by nine. “You should put your feet up,” she told Andrew once, catching him sprawled with the TV remote. “I can handle this.” Andrew nodded—gratefully, she thought. Looking back, she realised it was the approving nod of someone getting exactly what they expected. …The months blurred into years. Kate worked as a manager at a logistics company, out the door by eight, back by seven. The London salary was decent. Enough for two. But there were three of them. “Another delay on site,” Andrew would announce as if bearing news of a national disaster. “Client’s backed out. But there’s a big contract coming—I promise.” For a year and a half, the big contract hovered on the horizon, always just out of reach. But the bills—rent, gas, council tax, groceries, child support for Max’s mum, new trainers for Max, school trips—those came without fail. Kate paid everything quietly. She cut back on lunches, packed leftovers, refused taxis in the rain. She hadn’t had a manicure in a year—she filed her own nails, trying not to dwell on the things she used to afford. In three years, Andrew brought her flowers just three times. Kate remembered each sad little bouquet—cheap roses from the 24-hour stand outside the Tube, their heads already drooping, thorns snapped. Probably a special offer… The first was an apology after Andrew called her a drama queen in front of Max. The second followed a row, because her friend dropped round for tea unannounced. The third, a token after missing her birthday altogether—he’d lost track of time at the pub with his mates. Or just forgotten, plainly. “Andrew, I don’t care about expensive gifts,” she chose her words carefully, softly. “It’d just be nice to know I cross your mind sometimes. Even a card…” His face twisted instantly. “So you only care about money, is that it? Fancy things? Have you even thought about what I’ve been through? About love?” “That’s not what I—” “You don’t deserve it.” Andrew spat the words at her like dirt. “After everything I do for you, all you do is moan.” Kate fell silent. She always did. Life was easier that way. Easier to breathe, easier to pretend nothing was wrong. Oddly enough, Andrew always found cash for pints with the lads. Bars, match nights, a café every Thursday. He’d come home tipsy, reeking of sweat and smoke, flopping on the bed without noticing Kate was still awake. She’d convince herself: this is normal. Love means sacrifice. Love is patience. He’d change. Surely he’d change. She’d give him more attention, more kindness, more love—he’d been through so much… …Talk of marriage turned into walking through a minefield. “We’re happy as we are, why spoil it with a bit of paper?” Andrew dismissed the subject as if swatting a bluebottle. “After what happened with Jess, I need time.” “It’s been three years, Andrew. That’s a long time.” “You’re pressuring me. You always do!” He’d storm off into another room, conversation dead. Kate longed for children of her own—her biological clock was ticking louder every month. But Andrew refused—he already had a son, and in his mind, that was plenty. …That Saturday, all she’d asked for was a single day. Just one. “The girls invited me round. I haven’t seen them in ages. I’ll be home tonight.” Andrew looked at her as if she’d announced she was moving to Australia. “And Max?” “You’re his dad. Surely you can manage a day with your own son.” “So you’re abandoning us? On a Saturday? When I was planning to relax?” Kate blinked, then blinked again. Not once, in three years, had she left them alone. Never asked for a single day off. She cooked, cleaned, helped with homework, did the laundry, all while holding down a full-time job. “I just want to see my friends. For a few hours… And he’s your son, Andrew. Can’t you spend one day with him, without me?” “You’re supposed to love my son as much as me!” Andrew suddenly roared. “You live under my roof, eat my food, and now you’re getting stroppy?!” His roof. His food. Kate paid the rent. Kate bought the food out of her wages. She’d bankrolled a man who yelled at her for wanting a day with friends. For the first time, Kate saw Andrew plainly—not a broken soul in need of rescue, but a grown man who’d mastered the art of exploiting kindness. She was never his beloved, nor his future wife. She was a financial sponsor, a housemaid. Nothing more. When Andrew took Max back to his mum, Kate quietly packed her bag. Her hands never wavered—no trembling, no doubt. Passport. Phone. Charger. A couple of shirts. Jeans. She could buy the rest later. None of it mattered. She didn’t bother with a note. What would be the point? The door closed quietly behind her, without drama… The calls started within the hour. First one, then another, then a barrage—a shrill, continuous ringtone making her phone buzz. “Kate, where are you?! What’s going on?! I come home and you’re gone! How dare you?! Where’s dinner? Am I supposed to starve here? What bloody cheek!” She listened to his voice—angry, entitled, full of righteous indignation—and marvelled. Even now, with her gone, Andrew was only worried about himself. About his inconvenience. Who would make dinner? Not a single “sorry.” Not a single “what happened.” Just “how dare you.” Kate blocked his number. Then his WhatsApp. Then every social network—everywhere he could reach her, she put up a wall. Three years. Three years with a man who never loved her. Who used her kindness as a consumable resource. Who convinced her that sacrificing herself was what love meant. But love isn’t that. Love doesn’t shame you. Love doesn’t reduce a living human being to staff. As Kate walked through London in the evening, she felt lighter than she had in years. She promised herself: never again would she confuse love with self-obliteration. Never again save those who trade on pity. Always choose yourself. Only yourself.

You Dont Deserve It I used to think Id never trust anyone again after the divorce, Michael murmured

La vida

011

I’m 45 and I No Longer Host Guests in My Home: Why I Prefer Celebrating Special Occasions at Restaurants—and How Prioritising My Own Comfort Transformed My Social Life

Im 45 years old, and I no longer welcome guests into my home. Some people, when they visit, forget that

La vida

020

The Boy Awoke to the Sound of His Mother’s Moans: A Tale of Illness, Kindness from a Stranger, and the Transformative Power of a Child’s Prayer

The boy awoke to the faint moans of his mother. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he crept to her bedside.

La vida

Loneliness Doesn’t Add Colour to Life

Hey love, let me tell you Emilys story its a proper English yarn, full of that villagelife charm and

La vida

Driven to Distract: A Tale of My Ex-Husband

Luke, just sit with Jack for a couple of hours, Emily says, fixing a sour look at her husband.