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A Carer for the Wife “What do you mean?” Lida thought she’d misheard. “Where am I supposed to move? Why? For what reason?” “Oh, please, don’t start with the scenes,” he grimaced. “What’s unclear here? You’ve got no one left to look after. Where you go next is none of my concern.” “Ed, what’s got into you? Weren’t we planning to get married?” “That was just your idea. I never said anything like that.” At 32, Lida decided it was time for a fresh start. She packed up and left her small hometown, hoping to leave behind her critical mother, who never stopped blaming her for the divorce. “How could you let your husband slip away?” she’d demand. But Vas, her ex, was a hopeless drunk—a waste of time if ever there was one. Lida didn’t mourn the divorce; she actually felt relieved. Still, she and her mother argued constantly, especially about money, which was always short. Time to move to the city and make a new life! Her old school friend Sue had married a widower—never mind the 16-year age gap or his looks; he had a flat and money, and Sue was living well. “I’m no worse than Sue,” Lida thought. “Thank goodness! You’ve finally come around,” cheered Sue. “Pack up quick—you can stay with us at first, and we’ll get you sorted with a job.” “Are you sure your David won’t mind?” Lida asked anxiously. “He does whatever I say! Don’t worry, we’ll manage.” Lida didn’t stay long with Sue; just a couple of weeks until she’d earned her first wages and found herself a room. And then, luck seemed to strike. “Why is a woman like you selling at the market?” asked a regular customer, Edward Thompson, with concern. Lida knew all her regulars by name by then. “It’s cold, it’s lonely, but what else can you do?” She shrugged. “You’ve got to make money somehow.” She added, playfully, “You got a better offer?” Edward Thompson was no dreamboat—at least 20 years her senior, pudgy, balding, with shrewd eyes, always fussy over his vegetables, counting out his change to the penny. But he was well dressed, drove a nice car, clearly not some bum. He even had a wedding ring, so she’d never considered him husband material. “You strike me as reliable, practical, tidy—ever done any care work?” he moved easily to ‘you’. “Yeah, I have. Looked after my neighbour after her stroke. Her kids lived far off, never had time for her, so they asked me.” “Brilliant!” he perked up, then put on a mournful face. “My wife, Tamara, recently had a stroke too. Slim chance she’ll recover, and I’ve brought her home, but I’ve no time for care. Can you help? I’ll pay you properly.” Lida didn’t think twice—it beat standing outside in the cold tending picky customers all day. Plus, Edward offered her a room in the flat—no rent to pay. “There are THREE rooms, Sue! Enough space to play football!” she gushed to Sue. “No kids, either.” Tamara’s mother, a lively 68-year-old, had recently remarried and was too busy with her new husband to care for Tamara. “Is she really that ill?” Sue asked. “Properly bed-bound—can’t do anything, barely mumbles. Doubt she’ll get better.” “Are you pleased about that?” Sue gave her a sharp look. “Of course not,” Lida said, avoiding her eyes, “but if Tamara’s gone, Edward Thompson is a free man…” “Have you lost your mind, Lida? Wishing someone dead for a flat?” “I’m not wishing for anything. Just not missing my chance, that’s all. Easy for you to talk—your life’s perfect!” After a row, they didn’t speak for months. When Lida finally told Sue she’d started an affair with Edward Thompson, Sue was appalled. “So you’re cosying up while his dying wife’s in the next room? Aren’t you ashamed? Or are you blinded by all that wealth (if it even exists)?” “You never say anything nice!” Lida snapped, and broke off the friendship. But she barely felt guilty (“maybe just a little”), convinced that well-fed people never understand the hungry. Lida cared for Tamara as diligently as she could, and once her affair with Edward began, she took on all the housework too. Lida cooked, cleaned, did his shirts, scrubbed the floors—after all, a man’s needs go beyond the bedroom. She felt sure her lover was satisfied. She hardly noticed he’d stopped paying her for the care work—after all, they were “almost married” now, weren’t they? As time passed, their passion cooled, and Edward spent less and less time at home. Lida blamed his exhaustion from caring for his ill wife, even though he never spent more than a minute a day with Tamara. And though she’d expected it, Lida still cried when Tamara passed away. Eighteen months of care—all for nothing now. Lida handled all the funeral arrangements, as Edward was “overcome with grief,” and did it all on a shoe-string, making a good show of it. Even Edward’s mother-in-law, Matilda, was pleased. But Lida never expected what Edward said next. “As you know, I no longer need your services, so you’ll need to be out within the week,” he said dryly on the tenth day after the funeral. “What do you mean? Where am I supposed to go? Why?” “Oh, don’t make a fuss,” he sneered. “What’s unclear? There’s no one left to look after, and I don’t care where you end up.” “Ed, weren’t we planning to get married?” “That was all in your head. I never promised any such thing.” The next morning, after a sleepless night, she tried to talk to him again, but he repeated the same words and urged her to hurry with the move. “My fiancée wants to renovate before our wedding,” he said matter-of-factly. “Fiancée? Who is she?” “Never you mind.” “Fine, but before I go, you’ll pay me what I’m owed,” Lida replied, no longer afraid. “You promised to pay me £2,000 a month, but I only got that twice. You owe me £32,000.” “You can do sums quickly,” he scoffed. “Don’t hold your breath for it…” “And you owe me for being your housekeeper too! I won’t get picky on pennies—give me £50,000, and we’ll be quits.” “And if not? You’ll sue? You don’t have a contract.” “I’ll tell Matilda. This flat was hers, after all. One word from me, and you’ll be out on your ear.” He blanched but quickly recovered. “Who’ll believe you? Go on, threaten me all you like. I want you out—now.” “You’ve got three days. Pay me, or we’ll have a scandal,” Lida said, heading to a hostel with her things and the little cash she had managed to save. On the fourth day, still no word, so she went back to Edward’s flat—luckily, Matilda was there. Lida didn’t hesitate; she told Matilda everything, watching as Edward paled. “She’s rambling! Don’t listen!” Ed shouted. “I’d already heard rumours at the funeral but didn’t want to believe,” Matilda’s eyes flashed. “Now I see everything very clearly. And I hope you do too, dear son-in-law. Or have you forgotten that this flat is in my name?” Edward froze. “And I want you out, not a trace left, within three days. No, make that one.” Matilda made to leave but paused near Lida. “And you, young lady, what are you hanging about for? Hoping for a medal? Out!” Lida fled, knowing she’d never see a penny. Back to the market for her—there’s always work there… (The original Russian title Сиделка для жены is best adapted as a title for the UK market as:) The Caretaker for the Wife: Lida’s Bid for Love and Security—From Small-Town Dreams to a London Betrayal

A Nursemaid for the Wife What do you mean? Lydia couldnt believe her ears. Where am I supposed to go?

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The Fiancée and the Father: When Karina Met Vadim’s Parents, an Awkward Reunion with Her Future Father-in-Law Ignites a Battle of Secrets, Blackmail, and Broken Trust in an English Suburban Home

Wife and Father Emily only pretended to care about meeting Adams parents. Why would she? She wasnt planning

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When I returned from my trip, my belongings were strewn across the garden with a note: “If you want to stay, live in the basement.”

When I got back from my trip, I found all my stuff strewn across the lawn with a note on it: If youre

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She Got My Mother-in-Law Back on Her Feet—But I’m Furious Because I Didn’t Weed the Vegetable Patch —“What are you doing here?”—My mother-in-law shouted, standing in the middle of the vegetable beds. “There’s never been such disgrace here before! I never had to hide behind a child—I had seven and not a single weed in my garden!” Her shout brought the neighbours, who flocked to the fence like crows and eagerly discussed everything they heard. Seeing her audience, my mother-in-law enjoyed the moment. She said her piece, while I stood there speechless. At last, worn out from ranting, she took a breath and declared loudly enough for all the neighbours to hear: I didn’t say a word. I calmly walked past my mother-in-law, hugging my child closer. Once inside, I went to the wardrobe and neatly sorted everything my mother-in-law was supposed to take that evening and the following morning into a special box. Without even folding anything, I tossed my son’s and my own things into a bag. I left without saying another word to her. Three days later, my mother-in-law called: —“What did you do with all those things the professor put together for her? I asked a neighbour to buy a few, but she said one jar is terribly expensive. And those with foreign writing—we absolutely don’t use or trade those. So what am I supposed to do? You’ve left, taken offence for some reason, and I’m here on my last legs!” I didn’t answer. I turned off my phone and took out the SIM card. That was it—I couldn’t do it any longer, not physically, not emotionally. A year ago, just before my son was born, my husband lost control of his car on an icy road. I vaguely remember taking him on his final journey, how the ambulance took him, and how the next morning, I became a mother… I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything. Nothing seemed important or worthwhile without my beloved husband. I fed and rocked my son mechanically, because that’s what I was told to do. The phone broke through my numbness. “Your mother-in-law is in bad shape. She won’t survive long without her son, apparently.” My decision was instant. After leaving hospital, I immediately sold my flat in London. I invested part of the money into building a new home, so my son would have something of his own when he grew up. And I went to save my mother-in-law. This past year, I didn’t live—I merely existed. I barely slept, caring for both my mother-in-law and my little boy. The baby was restless, and my mother-in-law needed my constant attention. Thank goodness I had money. I brought in the best specialists from across the UK to see her. I bought everything they prescribed, and at last, my mother-in-law returned to normal life. At first, I wheeled her from room to room, then around the garden. In the end, she regained so much strength she began walking on her own—then— I don’t want to know or hear from her again. She can find out everything she needs for her recovery herself. At least I was wise enough not to spend all the money on her. My son and I moved into our new flat. I never thought it would come to this. I wanted to live my life with my husband’s mother, as I’m an orphan. But now, I just want peace. At least I’ve learned: not everyone deserves good treatment. Some people care much more about a spotless vegetable patch.

I managed to get my mother-in-law back on her feet. But Im still fuming because I never weeded the vegetable beds.

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His Wife Packed Her Bags and Vanished Without a Trace: When Family Ties Turn Toxic, How One Woman Refused to Be Trapped by Betrayal, Control, and the Illusion of the Perfect Home

His wife packed her bags and vanished in an unknown direction. Stop pretending to be so saintly.

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Turning Our Daughter Away: When Tough Love Is the Only Option — A British Family’s Struggle With an Addicted Elder Sister Returning Home, Tensions, Tears, and the Fear for the Future

They Didnt Let Their Daughter In “Why didnt you let her in this time?” Victoria finally dared

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For Two Years, Maria Was Nothing More Than the Nurse for Her Mother-in-Law Maria managed to marry a highly respected English gentleman—her friends were green with envy. Her husband owned his own business, a luxurious house in the countryside, and an impressive collection of cars—all by the age of thirty-two. Maria, meanwhile, had just finished university and spent a year teaching. That summer, they wed. After the wedding, her husband insisted she quit her low-paid job, stay home, and prepare for motherhood. Maria didn’t protest. Their first year of marriage seemed a fairy tale. Maria and her husband travelled, acquiring cherished memories and expensive souvenirs. Yet Maria had nowhere to wear her new clothes. Her friends worked long hours and spent weekends with family. Her husband was constantly out at social events, never inviting her along. Maria grew bored. Unable to conceive, her feelings for her husband faded. After completing her daily chores, she wandered the empty house, wondering about her future. Another year passed. Her husband was seldom home, returning late, exhausted and irritable. He admitted business was not as successful as he’d hoped. He first told Maria to spend less, then demanded a full account of every purchase. He calculated every penny, insisting they could live well on half the money. Worried, Maria wanted to return to work but couldn’t find employment in her field. She decided to enroll in a course, but just then, her husband’s mother fell ill. Maria was expected to care for her—and did so for two years, as her husband moved his mother into their home. Maria did everything, while her husband started coming home even less. When the mother-in-law passed away, Maria’s husband became more distant, barely speaking to her and staying at work late into the night. Maria only figured out what happened after visiting her late mother-in-law’s old flat—the one she hadn’t been to in ages. Behind closed doors, she heard a baby crying. Surprised, she rang the bell. A young woman answered. Maria discovered her husband had started another family before his mother’s illness and then settled the new family into his mother’s flat. For Maria it was a shock. She knew she could never save her marriage. She left for another city to stay with her aunt, taking almost nothing—just a small handbag. She didn’t want a single item to remind her of her marriage or how badly life had turned out…

For two years, Emily was nothing but a caregiver to his mother. Emily managed to marry a very distinguished man.

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She Got My Mother-in-Law Back on Her Feet—But I’m Angry Because I Didn’t Weed the Garden Beds “What are you doing here?” My mother-in-law shouted, standing smack in the middle of the flower beds. “There’s never been such disgrace in this house! I never had to hide behind a child; I had seven—and not a single weed!” Her shout brought the neighbours running. They crowded by the fence like crows, immediately discussing everything they overheard. Seeing her audience, my mother-in-law carried on, relishing the drama. She said all sorts, and I just stood there, stunned. Finally, exhausted by her outburst, she took a breath and declared loudly enough for every neighbour to hear. I didn’t say a word. Silently, I walked past her, holding my child even tighter. Back inside, I went to the wardrobe and sorted everything my mother-in-law would need that evening and the next morning into a special box. Without folding them, I tossed my son’s things and mine into a bag. I left, without a word. Three days later, my mother-in-law rang: “What did you do with all those things the professor gave her? I asked the neighbour to buy a few things, but she said one jar is ridiculously expensive. And the ones with foreign writing? We won’t swap or spend a penny on those. So what am I supposed to do? You took off, offended at who knows what, and I’m left here to meet my maker!” I didn’t reply. I turned off my phone and took out the SIM card. That’s it. I can’t go on. I haven’t a scrap of physical or mental strength left. A year ago, just before my son was born, my husband lost control of his car on a wet road. My memories are blurred—how I said goodbye at the funeral, how the ambulance came, and the next morning I became a mother. Nothing mattered. My beloved husband was gone and everything else felt pointless. I fed and rocked my baby as if on autopilot, just because that’s what I was told to do. Then one day, the phone rang: “Your mother-in-law is in a bad way. They say she won’t survive her son long.” I made my decision instantly. As soon as I was discharged, I sold my flat in London. I invested some of the money into building a new home, so my son would have something of his own one day. And I went to save my mother-in-law. This past year I haven’t lived—I’ve simply existed. I had no time for sleep, caring for both my mother-in-law and my young son. The baby was restless, and my mother-in-law needed me there round the clock. Thank goodness I had enough money. I called in the finest specialists from across the country to examine her. I bought everything they prescribed, and eventually she returned to a normal life. At first, I wheeled her around the house, then the garden. By the end, she became strong enough to walk on her own—and then… I don’t want to know her anymore or hear from her again. She can figure out whatever she needs for recovery herself. At least I was wise enough not to spend all my money on her. My son and I have moved into our new flat. I never imagined this is how things would turn out. All I wanted was to build a life with my husband’s mother, since I’m an orphan. But now I’m done. I just need to teach my son: not everyone deserves kindness. Some people care more about a weed-free garden than family.

I managed to get my mother-in-law back on her feet. But Im still cross with myself because I didnt get

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Discovering That Her Child Was Born With a Disability, His Mother Drafted a ‘Declaration of Refusal’ Eleven Years Ago – A Document That Little Sanka Came Across While Delivering Personal Files to the Medical Centre.

Dear Diary, Eleven years ago my mother, after learning that my brother was born with a disability, filled

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A Country Cottage Divided: The Daughter Who Finally Claimed What Was Hers

The Summerhouse of Disputes Daughter Reclaims Whats Hers Lizzie, youve got to understand this is a desperate