The Pancake Pan According to every clock, Galina was late for work—threatening another fine and an awkward talk with her ever-punctual boss—and all because of the usual morning chaos. Her second-grader, Jack, refused to eat his porridge, whining about a sore throat. With her reading glasses on, Galina checked for any hint of redness—none, as expected—so she threatened her inventive son with a scolding and helped him shoulder his backpack. Meanwhile, her older boy, Billy, dashed from room to room searching for his homework diary, sending Galina’s head spinning with his commotion. Shouting at the scatterbrain, she grabbed her little fibber by the hand and hustled him to the front stoop. But getting into the car was delayed yet again, as her husband was still washing it. When they finally set off, the never-ending traffic jam dashed Galina’s hopes of arriving on time. Rushing up to her job at the train ticket office, Galina nearly slipped on the slick pavement, but was saved from a nasty fall by clutching a gigantic suitcase—miraculously keeping her balance. Flustered but in one piece, she rolled the suitcase over to its elderly owner and hurried inside. Relieved to learn from colleagues that the boss hadn’t arrived yet, she gulped down a glass of water and got to work. Within half an hour, the busy rhythm of the office eclipsed her frazzled morning. On her lunch break, Galina gazed out at the platform—the image of that old lady with the huge suitcase drew her eyes. Something forlorn lingered about the woman her eyes spoke of despair, resignation, and indifference. The ticket she clutched trembled in the wind, ready to break free like a dried leaf, but the faded blue eyes seemed not to notice. She sat frozen, unmoved by cold winds and drizzle. “How long has she been sitting there?” Galina asked her co-worker. “They say this is the second day,” the woman replied. “Where’s she going?” “To York.” “But there are trains to York every day. Why hasn’t she left?” Galina poured tea into a cup, grabbed a piece of homemade tart, and went out to the lonely passenger. “You probably remember me—your suitcase saved me this morning. May I sit with you? Where are you headed?” “To York,” the woman answered dully, sipping her tea. Galina peered at her ticket. “But your train left two days ago… Why didn’t you go?” Adjusting her old-fashioned felt hat, the lady croaked, “Looks like I’m a nuisance here, too. Don’t worry; I’ll move.” “No, please, stay here. It’s just so cold… Are you sure you’re alright?” “Honestly, I don’t feel anything anymore. As if everything inside has numbed…” She took out an embroidered handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “It’s the usual story—things didn’t work out with my son or rather, with his new bride. Beautiful but selfish. My son’s blinded by love, and sees my concerns as nagging. He bought me a ticket to my sister’s in York, packed my bags, dropped me at the station. Poor lad didn’t know my sister’s been gone three years, her house sold. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him… So, here I am, waiting… for something—perhaps for shame to kill me, or maybe the paramedics to take me to a care home. Thank you for the food, dear. Only now do I realise how hungry I was.” “Dear…” The word ripped Galina back to her own orphaned childhood, to memories of envying adopted children, knowing she’d always been overlooked. But now, the grateful word seeped warmth into her, softening her heart as no other kindness could. She touched the lady’s arm. “Please, wait for me until my shift ends. Come home with us—for tonight, at least. Our house is big. There’s room for everyone. If you don’t like it, we’ll bring you back here. Deal?” Galina looked into the woman’s weathered face and saw tears glinting in grateful eyes. They introduced themselves in the car: “I’m Galina, my husband’s Tom, my boys—Billy and Jack. What should we call you?” “Call me Granny May,” the old woman replied, warming up in the car. The next morning, on her day off, Galina woke to the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen. Throwing on her dressing gown, she stepped out onto the porch. There, a towering plate of lacy pancakes greeted her; Granny May hovered over the skillet, expertly flipping pancakes and dishing them out to the delighted boys. “Don’t be cross, dear,” Granny May said, “I found a pan in the cupboard perfect for pancakes, so I thought I’d pitch in. Come sit—try my cooking.” After breakfast, the whole family raked leaves and roasted potatoes in a smoky bonfire. Galina marvelled at Granny May’s tireless energy: she glowed as she worked, humming a tune none of them knew. “Don’t be surprised by my stamina, dear. I’m tough—earned the nickname May-the-Mare in the war for carrying wounded lads to safety. Brought up my son alone after my husband died, made do, got him on his feet…” May drifted off in thought, before grabbing a rake and singing as she tidied the garden. Monday morning, the daily scramble resumed. As Galina and her boys dashed out, they spotted May dressed with her suitcase. “Thank you, dear—I’ve had my stay. Time for me to go…” “Granny May, didn’t you like it here?” “I did… But who needs a stranger in their home?” “Please stay! Who else could make pancakes like those? Please… you’re family now.” Galina hefted the heavy suitcase—now light as a feather—and looped her arm through May’s as they headed back inside. As the family loaded into the car, May called out, “Dearie, pick up another frying pan if you’re shopping—it’s much quicker to make pancakes with two!” She didn’t hear Galina quietly reply, “All right, Mum May…”

Author Walton MerrittReading 9 minViews 1

Pancake Pan

According to all indications, Alice was running late for work, which meant another likely deduction from her wages and a stern chat with her punctual boss. Blame it on the jumble of morning mishaps. Her younger son Charlie, a Year 3, refused his porridge and whiningly claimed his throat hurt. Armed with her reading glasses, Alice tried to spot any sign of redness, but soon realised he was putting it on. She threatened the crafty lad with a smack and helped him strap on his school backpack. Meanwhile, her elder, William, was dashing about the house desperately searching for his homework diary. Alices head spun from his frenzied darting about. Snapping at the clumsy pair, she grabbed Charlies hand and dashed out onto the porch. Even then, it took a moment to get into the car as her husband lingered, busy cleaning its windows. By the time the morning scramble ended and the family finally hit the road, a never-ending snarl of London traffic had well and truly crushed Alices hope of making it to work on time.

Racing towards her office at the rail booking agency, Alice nearly slipped on the slick pavement. By sheer luck, a huge suitcase broke her fallshe clung to it, just managing to keep her balance. Realising shed escaped with nothing more than a fright, Alice apologetically wheeled the case closer to its elderly owner and hurried inside. When her colleagues told her the boss hadnt arrived yet, she breathed a sigh of relief, downed a glass of water in one go, and settled at her desk.

Within half an hour, the workday swept away any memory of the mornings tribulations. During her lunch break, Alice glanced out the window. The sight of the elderly passenger with the enormous suitcase somehow drew her attentionher entire posture radiated a weary resignation, eyes empty and defeated. The train ticket in her wrinkled hand fluttered in the wind, as if trying to escape like a dry leaf tugged from a bare branch. But the old woman’s faded eyes didnt seem to notice her tickets tenacious yearning for freedom. She sat on the bench, unmoved by the biting autumn air, wind, or drizzle.

How longs she been out there? Alice asked her colleague.

“Word is, since yesterday,” came the reply.

“And do you know where shes going?”

“Manchester.”

“Odd. There are a few trains to Manchester every day. Why hasnt she gone yet?” Pouring tea from her thermos, Alice grabbed a slice of homemade cake, stepped outside, and joined the lone passenger, offering her a warm drink and some food.

You might remember me. Your suitcase saved me from a nasty fall this morning. May I ask where youre headed?

Manchester, came the colourless reply, as the woman sipped her tea.

Alice checked the ticket, puzzled. Your train left two days ago. Why didnt you go?

The lady adjusted her old-fashioned felt hat and rasped, It seems Im in the way everywhere I go. Don’t worry about meIll move. She placed her half-empty cup on the bench and tried to rise, but Alice gently stopped her.

“No, no… Please, stay where youre comfortable. Its just so chilly and damp…”

Believe me, I cant feel a thing Like Ive burned through every feeling I ever had, murmured the stranger indifferently. She took a well-worn embroidered handkerchief from her battered handbag, dabbed away sudden tears, and continued:

The trouble is, Ive really nowhere to go. A typical family tiff. I never got on with my son Well, actually his fiancée. Beautiful, but quarrelsomeselfish, flighty. Hes absolutely smitten, and saw all my comments as nagging. To please her, he decided to be rid of me. Bought a ticket to my sisters in Manchester, packed my suitcase, and drove me to the station. Poor lad doesnt even know my sister passed away three years ago, and her house was sold. I couldnt bring myself to tell him the truth. I thought, ‘Let things bemaybe the young couples life will settle if Im out of their hair.’ So here I am, alone and at a loss, waiting Perhaps for shame to finish me off or the ambulance to fetch me to an old folks home. Thank you, dear, for the tea and cake. I hadnt realised how hungry I was.

“Dear…” That single, grateful word from a stranger whisked Alice back to her own orphaned childhood. So many years had passed, but the old ache of jealousy towards adopted, smiling children still lingered. Alice, awkward and freckled, never chosen, never able to recite poetry with any charm, always left behind. After the childrens home, she was sent to the textile mill as an apprentice and given a cramped room in a shared house, where she lived until she was fortunate enough to marrya happiness she still thanked God for.

“Dear…” The unfamiliar warmth of motherly love seemed to gently touch her cheeks, seeping through her, softening her heart with an unexpected tide of compassion.

Resting her hand on the ladys shoulder, Alice quietly said, Please, dont move from this bench. When my shift ends, well go home together. Our house is big and theres room for everyone. If you dont like it, Ill bring you back here. Agreed? Glancing into the wrinkled face, Alice saw her chin trembling and grateful tears streaming from swollen eyes.

Once in the car, introductions were made:

Im Alice, my husbands name is James, our children are William and Charlie. And how shall we call you?

Call me Granny May, replied the old woman, thawing out in the car.

The next day was a Sunday. Alice woke to the most tempting aroma drifting from the kitchen. Slipping on her dressing gown, she went to the veranda. There sat a towering stack of golden, lacy pancakes. Granny May, swift and sure, flipped fresh pancakes onto plates, serving the lot to the delighted men of the house. Spotting Alice, Granny May hurried to explain:

Dont fret, love. I found a pan in the ovennothing sticks to itso I just made myself useful. Come, sit! Try my pancakes.

After the hearty breakfast, the family joined in raking fallen leaves and burning them, tossing potatoes into the glowing embers. Alice watched Granny May with surpriseher cheeks rosy now, humming a tune under her breath.

Dont mind my verve, love. Always been a grafter. They called me ‘May the Clydesdale’ in the armycarried wounded lads from the line, no matter their size. Helped everyone I could, until I copped one myself. Then I was sent home to recovermet my husband, had my son. Poor dear didnt last long, lungs ruined after the warfaded away with the spring melts. Left me alone with a small boy. But I managed. Raised him right, gave him every chance.

May grew quiet then, lost in her own thoughts. Eventually, she picked up a rake and hummed her mysterious tune again as she worked the garden.

Monday meant the usual commotion. Charlie whinged, William darted about collecting scattered homework, and James readied the car for work. As Alice and her boys hurried onto the porch, she spotted Granny May dressed and waiting with her suitcase.

Thank you, dear. Ive outstayed my welcome. Time to be on my way…”

Granny May! Didnt you like it here?

Its lovely, but who wants a stranger cluttering up the place?

Granny May! Please stay! Who else could make such splendid pancakes? Mine never turn out quite right Do stay Please. Youre one of us now

Alice hoisted the heavy suitcase as if it weighed nothing, took Granny Mays arm, and together they crossed the porch.

As the family settled into the car, May called from the veranda:

Love, could you buy another pancake pan? Two would be ever so handy in the mornings…

She didnt hear Alice softly whisper, Of course, Mum MayAlice grinned wide, her heart both aching and overflowing. Of course, Granny May. One more pancake pancoming right up! Maybe even two, if you’re planning a feast.

Chuckles rippled through the family as the boys jostled into the back seat, arguing over whod get the first pancake tomorrow. James winked at May, who gave a small, bashful salutehalf military, half grandmotherly mischief. The suitcase, once a heavy memory of exile, now rested inside by the coat rack, its burdens quietly shared and gently unpacked.

The car pulled away down the dew-sparkled street, leaving behind the house with its golden panes and a puff of wood smoke curling skyward. On the veranda, May watched their laughter mingle with the morning, her old heart pumping a tender, steady beat.

She finally understood: some journeys turned out better when you missed the train. And in the kitchen windows reflection, she caught the silhouette of herselfgrayer, perhaps, but never again alone.

The Road to Humanity Max sat behind the wheel of his brand-new car—the very one he’d dreamed of for the past two years. He’d scrimped and saved, turning down little luxuries to get here, and now, at last, he could savour the moment. The dashboard glowed softly in the dusk, casting a cozy light across the cabin, and the steering wheel, cool and smooth, seemed to invite his touch, yearning to respond to every movement. Max ran his palm over the leather, enjoying the chill of it, and couldn’t keep from smiling. This was more than just a car—it was the result of hard work and grit. He flicked on the radio, and the interior filled instantly with a gentle, rhythmic tune. Max started to hum along, fingers tapping in time on the dash. In that moment, happiness felt absolute. He was on his way home, where his friends were waiting to throw a little party—to toast his long-awaited purchase. In his mind, Max reviewed the stories he’d tell that night: about pinching every penny, working weekends after his day job, giving up cafés, and skipping new clothes. But right now, those memories seemed far away, unimportant. Now, he just wanted to take in the drive, to feel the power of being on the road, to enjoy the fact that a dream had finally come true. His route wound through a quiet neighbourhood. Houses lined the street in neat rows, windows glowing warm and inviting against the evening. Lamp posts lit the pavement in a soft haze, sketching patterns of shadow across the tarmac. A few passers-by hurried along, wrapping themselves in coats and scarves—it was a chilly night. Max eased off the accelerator at a junction, watching the intersection closely. And then, without warning—a child darted onto the road right in front of the car. Max didn’t even register what was happening. Instinct took over—he slammed on the brakes, the car skidded, tyres shrieked across the asphalt, leaving dark streaks. Seconds stretched forever, but somehow, miraculously, the car stopped—just inches from the boy. Max’s heart thundered, trying to break free from his chest. Cold sweat stung his eyes, blurring his vision as a piercing, distracting ringing filled his ears. He gulped air, trying to steady trembling hands, finally understanding just how close disaster had come. One second more and everything could have ended in tragedy. He’d almost hit a child… Max sat frozen for several moments, struggling to breathe. His heart still pounded in his throat, his temples throbbed. His hands shook, so he clenched them into fists, making himself take control. All he could think was, “It’s okay. It’s okay.” But anger, hot and raw, welled up from inside and demanded release. He flung the door open and stumbled out. His legs felt unsteady, but he strode over to the boy, standing a few feet away, hunched and staring at the ground. Max gripped his shoulders, not realising how tightly his fingers dug in. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low but hearing it crack anyway. “You want to get yourself killed? There are easier ways, you know!” The boy didn’t try to break away. He stood with his head bowed even lower and whispered, almost too quietly to hear: “I didn’t mean to… I just…” “Just what?!” Max’s grip tightened, but he relaxed his hands at once as the boy flinched. “If you won’t think of yourself, what about your mum? How would she feel burying her own son? I could have killed you!” Max’s words shook with not just anger, but the very fear that had frozen him for an instant—the same fear of how close he’d come to disaster. The boy gulped and, staring up with teary eyes so full of confusion and desperation, began to cry. Tears rolled slowly down his cheeks, leaving glossy trails. He looked at Max again—so lost, so desperate—that Max’s anger began to ebb. “Please help me…” the boy whispered, voice trembling. “My brother’s ill. No one would stop. So I had to run into the road.” Max froze. All anger vanished, replaced by bewilderment and a kind of empty shock. He saw only a skinny, sobbing, trembling boy—not a troublemaker, not a reckless child, but a frightened brother trying to save someone he loved. “Your brother’s ill?” Max repeated, fighting the urgency rising in him. He searched the boy’s eyes for any trace of a lie, but saw only genuine fear. “Where is he?” “There,” the boy pointed with a shaking finger towards a small park across the road. “We were out walking. Then he fell and he’s in pain. He can’t move!” Max didn’t think twice about leaving his new car unattended. He slammed the door, hit the fob to lock it, and hurried after the boy, every step echoing a chorus of “What if it’s serious? What if he needs help now?” racing round his head. They crossed the street, Max quickening his stride to keep up. The boy ran ahead, checking often to be sure Max was following. “Where are your parents?” Max asked, keeping his voice calm, even as it threatened to waver, “It’s not exactly safe for kids to be out alone.” “At work,” the boy replied, barely missing a beat. “They work all the time to earn money.” Max nodded, a pang of understanding hitting him. He knew what it meant to work day and night, to count every penny, but the thought of children left without supervision unsettled him. “So you’re on your own?” Max said gently. “And, by the way, what’s your name?” “I’m Sam,” said the boy, glancing back briefly. Tears still stood in his eyes, but his voice carried a flicker of pride. “Well, our nan looks after us, but she’s old and can’t walk well. But we’re not babies; we can play by ourselves!” They reached the park. Sam scampered confidently down a narrow path, and Max trailed close behind, anxiety growing with each step. In the distance, under the spreading boughs of a tree, lay a small figure curled up on the grass. Max’s breath caught—he remembered his own childhood. His parents had always been there: dinners round the table, talking and laughing, weekends together at home or out in the park. He’d never once been left alone to care for his brother. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on differences—it was time to help. The park was quiet, sun rays flickering through the last leaves. A little boy of about six lay doubled up on a weathered bench: face pale, lips trembling, hands clutching his stomach. “There he is! Dan, you okay?” Sam ran over, voice trembling in fear, touching his brother’s shoulder as gently as possible, afraid he might hurt him. Max dropped to his knees by the bench. Grass soaked his trousers, but he didn’t care, all focus on the boy. “Where does it hurt?” he asked carefully, keeping his tone as warm and steady as he could. He met Dan’s eyes, searching for any sign of relief, but found only fear and pain. “My stomach…” Dan choked out, barely audible. Max had to lean closer to hear. “Hurts a lot…” Max felt his insides twist. He wasn’t a doctor and had no idea what was really wrong, but it was clear the boy needed real help—not a pat on the back, but a proper hospital. An ambulance would take hours at this time… “Right, we’re off to hospital then,” Max said, careful to steady his voice. He gently scooped Dan up. The boy gasped in pain but didn’t resist—he was past arguing. “Sam, can you call your parents?” Max called back. “I left my phone at home,” Sam replied, eyes dropping, fingers nervously twisting his jacket. “But my aunt works at the hospital. She can ring Mum!” “Well, that’s something,” Max nodded, feeling a wave of relief. At least one adult would know where they were. He carried Dan to the car. Opening the back door, he settled him carefully on the seat, fastening the belt as gently as possible. Dan just sighed, silent. Sam slipped in beside his brother without a word, instantly grabbing Dan’s hand and holding it tight, as if by force of will he could give him strength. Max watched Dan visibly relax at the touch, silently praising Sam for his presence of mind. Climbing into his seat, Max first switched on the heater—the car was chilly, and the boys were cold from their time outside. Then he started the engine, checked the mirrors, and eased off, heading toward the hospital. He tried to keep his voice calm and steady. “Nearly there, Dan, hold on, all right?” “Okay…” Dan murmured, so faint Max wasn’t sure he’d heard. “Good lad,” Max encouraged. “We’ll be there soon.” Sam whispered something to Dan, earning a slight smile in return—a small reassurance for Max that they were coping, for now. “You did well, Sam,” Max said as the hospital’s lights grew closer, neon signs flashing past as they approached the entrance. “You didn’t hesitate to help your brother. But can we make a deal?” He eased the car into a parking bay, turned off the engine, and turned to Sam. In the glow of the cabin light, Sam’s face looked so young, still frightened but steely beneath the tears. “No more running into roads. You could have died tonight, and that wouldn’t have helped your brother.” Sam nodded, understanding, tears streaking once more—not out of fear, but the realisation of what could have happened. “Promise,” he whispered, clenching his jacket. Max’s smile was soft; he squeezed Sam’s shoulder gently. “Good lad. Let’s look after Dan now.” Inside, Max carried Dan into A&E. A nurse in blue assessed the situation quickly and whisked Dan off for checks. Sam sat on a hard plastic bench, fists clenched, staring at nothing. Max paced nearby, glancing at the doors that had swallowed Dan. Half an hour later, a woman appeared, breathless and wild-eyed. Seeing Sam, she called out: “Sam!” He leapt up and flung himself into her arms, shaking. “Mum!” he hiccupped, voice trembling. “Dan’s really poorly… we didn’t know what to do…” “It’s all right, darling,” she soothed, stroking his hair, voice close to breaking. “You did brave. Where is he?” “He’s with the doctors,” Max said, stepping closer. “I found Sam running out onto the road—he explained about his brother and we drove here.” The woman looked at Max, fear and gratitude mingling on her face. “Thank you… I don’t know how to thank you enough. My husband and I work late, my mum usually watches them, but she’s unwell… I never thought they’d go out alone…” “Dan’s in good hands now,” Max cut her off gently, steering the conversation away from guilt. “Let’s wait for news together.” They all sat—together, but inside their own thoughts, the tension fading now that they were no longer alone. The mother hugged Sam, stroking his hair, whispering comfort. “It’ll be alright,” she murmured. “I’m here.” Sam pressed closer. He didn’t cry now, but still trembled—whether from cold or all that had happened, Max couldn’t tell. Max stood aside, watching—this was a moment for them. But he couldn’t quite leave until he knew Dan was safe. He felt the tension draining from him as the minutes ticked by, leaving only exhaustion…and a warm sense of reassurance that things were, at last, going to be okay. The mother turned to Max. Her eyes, brimming with tears, met his. “You really helped them?” she asked, stepping towards him. “I did,” Max nodded, keeping his voice even. “I saw Sam run out, pulled over, he told me about Dan, and we came straight here.” He left out the details—no need to remind anyone just how close it had all been. That was in the past. “Thank you,” she said, shaking his hand firmly. “Not many would have stopped. People just… don’t want to get involved.” “It’s alright,” Max said softly. He felt the warmth of her gratitude spread through him. “What matters is Dan’s alright.” She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment, then hurried to speak to a doctor who emerged from a doorway. Max saw her face relax with relief as the news came through—all was well. Quietly, not wanting to intrude further, Max slipped outside into the cold evening air. He paused, staring at the hospital’s glow, and took a deep breath. Then he turned back to his car, feeling a quiet satisfaction—today, he’d done something that mattered. The air was cold—he shivered, tucking his jacket closer. He took his phone out, thinking to ring his mates and cancel the party with an explanation, but stopped mid-action. He stood there, looking up at the sky, bright with pale stars, as scenes replayed in his mind: frightened Sam, pale Dan, their desperate mother, the rush down hospital corridors. Today, I made a difference, he thought, and that warmed him even as he shivered. He’d only been driving home, only saw a child in the road, only did what anyone should do—but it had become so much more. Maybe, tomorrow, someone would help him…and that thought filled him with hope. He pocketed his phone, drew another deep breath, and headed for the car. The familiar clunk of the door, the purr of the engine, the warmth rising through the seats—all signalled a return to normality. Driving home, seeing the lights, the people strolling, the shopfronts glowing, he realised—life went on, always with room for small, vital acts of kindness. Though the party was postponed, Max felt no disappointment. Instead, contentment grew. The day had become important, not for the new car, nor the celebration, but because he had done something truly worthwhile. It was a satisfaction greater than any party. As he drove, he recalled his own childhood, his parents always there for him, helping solve any problem together. He now saw not every child had such support. Simple human kindness—a timely word, a hand reached out—meant so much. You didn’t need to be a hero. You just needed not to turn away. Though the celebration would wait, Max was at peace. Today had mattered, not because of the car or the party, but because he had made a difference. And that feeling was worth more than anything else. He drove on, watching the city lights and the people walking home, knowing that life would always make space for small, unsung acts of kindness.

Anna parked her car a street away from her mother-in-law’s house. The clock read 5:45pm—she had arrived earlier than planned. “Maybe this time she’ll appreciate my punctuality,” Anna thought, smoothing the creases in her new dress. The gift—an antique brooch she’d spent months tracking down with collectors—was carefully wrapped on the back seat. As Anna approached the house, she noticed the ground floor window was ajar. From inside, her mother-in-law’s voice rang out clearly: “No, Beatrice, can you believe it? She didn’t even bother to ask what kind of cake I like! She ordered some trendy dessert… Our David has always loved good old Victoria sponge, but she—” a pause, “—she just doesn’t get it. Seven years of marriage!” Anna froze. Her feet felt rooted to the spot. “Of course I’ve told you—she’s just not right for David. She’s always working late at that surgery and is never home. What kind of housewife is that? I popped round yesterday—dirty dishes, dust everywhere… And of course, she was busy with some complicated operation!” Inside, everything went quiet. Anna leaned against the garden fence, knees trembling. Seven years she’d tried to be the perfect daughter-in-law: cooking, cleaning, remembering every birthday, visiting when her mother-in-law was ill. And all of it… “No, no, I’m not saying anything, but is someone like that really right for my son? He needs a proper family, warmth, care… And she’s always off at conferences or working a night shift. Children don’t even cross her mind! Can you imagine?” Anna’s head thudded. Mechanically, she pulled out her phone and dialed her husband’s number. “David? I’ll be a bit late. Yes, everything’s fine, just… traffic.” She turned and walked back to her car. Sitting down, she stared at nothing in particular. The words she’d just overheard echoed in her head: “Maybe a pinch more salt?”, “In my day, women stayed home…”, “David works so hard, he needs special care…” Her phone buzzed—a text from her husband: “Mum’s asking where you are. Everyone’s here already.” Anna inhaled deeply. A strange smile formed on her lips. “Fine,” she thought, “if they want the perfect daughter-in-law, that’s what they’ll get.” She started the engine and drove back to her mother-in-law’s house. The plan had formed in a heartbeat. No more trying to please. It was time to show them what a “real” daughter-in-law could be. Anna swept through the door with the broadest smile she could muster. “Mummy darling!” she exclaimed, hugging her mother-in-law with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Forgive me for being late, but I visited three different shops to find the exact candles you love!” Her mother-in-law froze, startled by such eagerness. “I thought…,” she began, but Anna was already carrying on: “Oh, and guess what—I happened to see your friend Beatrice on my way! Such a charming woman, always tells it exactly like it is, doesn’t she?” Anna looked meaningfully at her mother-in-law, watching her colour drain away. All through dinner, Anna put on the performance of a lifetime. She loaded her mother-in-law’s plate with the best morsels, loudly admired everything she said, and asked for endless tips on running a household. “Mummy, tell me, should you cook borscht for five or six hours? And carpets—should they be cleaned in the morning or evening? Maybe I should give up my job? After all, David needs a proper family, don’t you think?” David stared at Anna, astounded, while the relatives exchanged glances. But Anna continued: “I was thinking—maybe I ought to take a course in housekeeping? Ditch silly old surgery… After all, a woman should be the heart of the home, shouldn’t she, Mummy?” Her mother-in-law nervously tapped her fork against her plate. Her confidence was ebbing away with every minute. And what happened next? Well, some stories you really must read to the very end…