The husband left for a younger woman. I did not weep. I sat down, took a breath, and for the first time
I buy myself high-quality turkey and prepare my own steamed cutlets, while he gets the out-of-date pork.
Were moving into your flat You know, Emilys got a lovely flat right in the city centre. Freshly done
For Five Years, She Thought She Was Living With Her Husband—But Realised She Wanted to Be With Him Like a Mother
Helena grew up in a quiet English town, where she and Alex fell for each other and decided to leave their rural roots behind. Telling their parents they were off to London to save for a wedding, they followed the trendy route—trainers and jeans at the ceremony, gifts strictly in cash, and a simple buffet in place of a lavish reception. Instead of splashing out, they put the cash gifts toward their mortgage, while their mums held a modest family party back home.
Five years passed. The couple chose to delay having children, focusing on repaying their home loan. Helena’s mum, a fiercely independent single mother, constantly reminded her daughter she was ready for grandchildren, but Helena felt no rush.
Suddenly, Helena started arguing with her husband over things she once ignored: his long phone calls, his interest in horror films, his lack of effusive compliments about her cooking—little things that left her feeling misunderstood. She called me for advice. Our hour-long chat revealed Helena’s yearning for admiration and involvement, the sort of attention her emotionally demonstrative mother gave her—attention her quieter husband struggled to provide.
Delving into their relationship, it became clear Helena expected the same emotional nurturing from Alex that she’d received from her mum, despite not having a father figure to model alternative dynamics. When I gently suggested she was seeking a marriage more like her relationship with her mum, she was shocked, but ultimately agreed.
“How do I get a divorce from my mother?” she asked. “Simple,” I replied. “Whenever you find yourself criticising Alex, imagine your caring mum is with you, not him—he can’t compete with her.”
“That’s it!” she exclaimed.
And just like that, the complaints began to fade. For five years, she believed she was living with her husband, but in truth, she longed to live with him
On that peculiar evening, my son Henry and his wife Florence arrived with keys in hand, their faces blurry
He turned up after a year of silence, suitcase in handthe same battered leather case hed lugged out the
“It Doesn’t Look Right That Your Kids Will Have Homes While My Son Won’t—Let’s Get Him a Flat with a Mortgage!”
Recently, my husband Anthony pointed out that my children have homes, but his son does not, so we need to figure out how to get his son a place to live too. Let me explain: my children are both mine and Anthony’s, while Anthony’s son is from his first marriage.
Why am I the one expected to worry about finding his son a home? Of course, I always knew Anthony had been married before and had a child. That’s why I wasn’t in a hurry to marry Anthony.
We lived together for three years before getting married. I paid close attention to how he felt about his ex-wife and son. A year later, I gave birth to our son. Two more years passed, and I had our second son.
I’m happy with Anthony—he’s a good husband and father. He spends plenty of time with me and the kids and earns a good salary. Of course, we have the occasional disagreement, but that’s normal in any family.
We lived in the flat I inherited from my father. My mother divorced him when I was still in nursery school. She’s since remarried but didn’t have any children with her second husband.
Anthony and his first wife always rented. They saved for a mortgage for years but never managed to get one. After their divorce, Anthony’s ex-wife moved back in with her parents. Anthony rented on his own until we got married, and then he moved in with me. We never really discussed who owned the flat—we just lived there together, did renovations, and bought new furniture for the place.
About a year and a half ago, both my grandmothers—my mum’s mum and my dad’s mum—passed away. They both left me their flats in their wills.
While my sons are still young, I decided to rent out those flats. Later on, I’ll give each son one of the flats. At the moment, I give the rent from one to my mum as a supplement to her pension, and the other supports my own income—extra money is always useful.
Anthony never involved himself in my property matters; after all, it’s none of his business. I made it clear that, when our children grow up, each of them will receive one of the flats, and he agreed. That was that—the topic was closed.
Then, out of the blue, Anthony said to me:
“My son will be finishing secondary school in a few years. He’s an adult now—he needs to think about his future!”
I didn’t know where he was going with this, but listened anyway.
“Your kids have homes! My son doesn’t! Let’s buy my son a flat with a mortgage!” he suddenly declared.
I was simply stunned and had a million questions. First, I asked: why are our kids suddenly just mine? Anthony asked me not to nit-pick his words.
“But my son will never inherit anything. I want him to have a home of his own!”
“That’s great that you care! But your son has a mum and a dad—shouldn’t they be the ones to handle that? Why doesn’t your ex sort it?”
Anthony explained his ex-wife doesn’t make much, her parents help her, and he himself can’t afford a mortgage alone. But, he said, if I help, everything will work out. Apparently, I’m expected to co-sign for a mortgage so Anthony can buy a flat for his son. The flat would be in the son’s name, but we would pay off the mortgage.
“Between our two good salaries and the rental income, we could do it!” Anthony insisted.
We could, but we’d have to save pretty hard. Plus, Anthony pays child maintenance for his son. When the boy goes to university, Anthony will help again, as his mum has no money. So, in the end, my children and I would have to give up holidays, trips to the seaside, and generally scrimp and save. For what? Just so Anthony looks like a good dad?
I’d understand if Anthony had provided homes for our children and wanted to do the same for his eldest. But I’m the one who secured the homes for my children—Anthony had nothing to do with the properties. Why should I pay for his mortgage?
I told Anthony straight away: if he’s so worried about his son, his ex should take out a mortgage, and they can pay it off with the child maintenance.
“But I won’t have anything to do with it!”
Anthony is furious and hasn’t spoken to me in a week. It’s a shame he doesn’t understand my point of view. It doesnt look right that your children will have homes and my son wont. Lets sort him out with a place
I Buy Top-Quality Turkey Meat for Myself and Make Steamed Cutlets, While My Husband Gets Discount Pork Past Its Best-By Date
I’m Fifty-Seven, Have Been Married for Over Thirty Years, Raised and Educated Our Two Children by Myself, Managed Multiple Jobs So Our Kids Had Everything, But My Husband Never Worked Hard—Now He’s Retired and I’m Still Working, Looking After Grandchildren and Doing All the Housework. Despite Asking Him to Get Even a Part-Time Security Job, He Refuses, Saying We Manage Just Fine.
He’s Picky About Food—When I Get Home from Work, Sometimes He’s Eaten All the Good Stuff and Left Me Just Soup. My Friend Suggested I Cook Separately: Cheap Ingredients for Him, Quality Produce for Myself. So Now I Hide My Food, Say I’m on a Doctor-Recommended Diet, Stash Sweets and Deli Meats Away Where He Won’t Find Them, Thanks to Having Two Fridges.
You Know How Men Are—They Never Notice Anything. I Buy Premium Turkey for Myself and Make Steamed Cutlets, Add Spices to His Old Pork That’s Nearly Expired, Get Him Budget Pasta While I Eat Durum Wheat.
I Don’t See Anything Wrong with This—If He Wants to Eat Well, He Should Get a Job. At Our Age, Divorce Seems Foolish—Most of Our Lives Are Behind Us, and Why Sell the House and Split the Money Now? I’m fifty-seven this year. For over thirty years Ive been married, and throughout all that time
Not long ago, I ran into a woman as she strolled down the street with her one-and-a-half-year-old daughter
One day, I was meandering through Marks & Spencer and spotted my usually disinterested sister, Rebecca
