There Won’t Be a Wedding “Tanya, why are you so quiet today?” she asked as she sipped her tea. “We agreed—we’re going furniture shopping for the bedroom on Saturday. But you seem down. What’s going on?” Denis knew this was the moment. If not now—never again. “Tanya… There’s something I need to say. About the wedding.” Tanya had waited ages for this day. She and Denis had already agreed to keep things simple, but she suspected he wanted to make their wedding special: guests, catering, a real event. She had hoped and hoped for this conversation. “No need for a dramatic build-up,” Tanya smiled. “I think I know what you’re going to say.” But Denis’ answer was not what she’d expected. “Let’s postpone it, Tanya. Let’s put off the wedding.” This was not the talk she had prepared for. “Postpone?” She was stunned. “Why? We just picked our invitations! You were the one choosing them…. We’ve decided who we’re inviting! Did you change your mind about marrying me?” It felt like a scene straight out of a melodrama. Any moment now, he’d say his feelings had faded. But Denis didn’t follow the script. “It’s just… money, Tanya. I’m short on cash, my payday keeps being pushed back. We haven’t managed to save up at all. Plus… we haven’t been living together that long. Six months isn’t much, don’t you think?” “Six months? Denis, we’ve been together three years! Three years dating, half a year under one roof—that’s ‘not long’ to you?” Denis looked more resolved. “Let’s not fight, okay, Tanya? I don’t want a row. It’s just… a pause. I still want to marry you, but a wedding costs a lot.” “Fine… Let’s just go to the registry office together, and celebrate with friends after.” “Tanya, that won’t be a proper wedding.” “Honestly, who cares anymore!” “But you’ve always dreamed of—” “I’ll survive, Denis!” It was such a feeble excuse. “Be honest with me. Is something going on? Are you not sure you love me? Or… is there someone new? Because ‘weddings are too expensive’ doesn’t convince me.” Denis shook his head. “No, Tanya. I swear. I just want our wedding to be perfect. And right now, I just can’t make that happen. And yes—six months together. We’re still learning about each other. Maybe it’s too soon.” His logic… almost convincing. Denis was never usually this desperate to persuade her. He himself had pushed to get married sooner, not later. She pretended to believe him. After that talk, Denis was the model boyfriend—attentive, careful, picking up on all the details he used to ignore as if to make up for cancelling the wedding. At the shops, he asked what she wanted, always did the dishes… But he was gloomy, not just thoughtful, but truly down, sighing at night and brushing off Tanya’s questions with, “Just tired, that’s all.” Tanya did her best not to push. “Later, later, later,” her inner voice insisted. A couple of weeks later, they were invited for dinner with Denis’ parents. Tanya wasn’t keen—she knew the wedding would come up. And Denis’ parents would ask questions. Awkward. But they had to go. Of course, the wedding came up. “So, are you two ever going to make us happy?” his mother asked, as the father disappeared to the TV. “We’ve already found a place for the banquet—table for twenty. Should I reserve a date?” Denis looked as glum as Tanya. What were they reserving a table for? There would be no wedding. “Mum, we’ve told you. We’re postponing it,” he mumbled. “Postponed? What for? Short on money, is it? Denis, as a man, shouldn’t you have thought of that sooner?” After dinner, while the men examined a half-dismantled radio, Tanya headed to the spotless bathroom to freshen up. Not even a dust mote, nor a spot of makeup—his mother always kept all that back in the bedroom. Tanya used to laugh at the ritual of lugging it all in and out. She dried her face—and suddenly tuned in. The bathroom walls could carry every whispered secret. Denis had returned to the kitchen, talking quietly to his mother. “…Denis, you’re not planning to break up with Tanya, are you?” Tanya froze with a towel to her chin. What? She pressed her ear to the chilly tiles, not daring to rustle. “Mum, I’ve said—postponed, not broken up.” “Postponed is just an excuse.” Galina snapped. “I can see you’re miserable. Why are you with her? You know she isn’t a wife. A wife should obey her husband, not constantly question him… Why marry if you’ll just divorce in a year?” “I love her, Mum,” Denis replied softly. Tanya almost felt moved. But the next thing his mother said wiped away any sentiment. “You say you love her? She’s cunning, Denis. I told you! She’s got you turned against us and she’s not even your wife yet. Stopped helping your sister, stopped visiting the cottage… She’s changing you—but not for the better.” Tanya stood frozen, glued to the wall. Turned Denis against them? She always tried to be as polite as possible with his parents, even when his dad had cruelly mocked her new haircut. She’d never, ever tried to come between them. In fact, she’d always nudged Denis to visit more—family was important to him. Then it clicked: postponing the wedding wasn’t about money. His mum was the one behind it all, lying to Tanya’s face, against the wedding. Tanya returned to the kitchen. “Ah, Tanya! We were just discussing how you shouldn’t put off registering the marriage. Youth, yes, but I don’t approve of living together until it’s official.” How sweet. “Of course, Mrs Williams,” Tanya replied warmly. “We won’t leave it too long. Once we save a bit more, off to the registry office, isn’t that right, Denis?” “Absolutely, Tanya. We’re practically married already,” Denis picked up instantly. That night, driving home, Denis reached to hug her, but Tanya slid away. She didn’t know how to start the conversation. Should she? If Denis hadn’t dumped her on his mother’s orders, did he really love her? Yet he’d called off the wedding. “You acted weird when your mum started talking,” she said, watching the streetlights disappear into the distance. “Me? No, she just… wants the wedding to happen, that’s all—” “Don’t lie. She’s not in a hurry for a wedding at all. She’s completely against it. She says I’ve turned you against the family. She wants us to split.” Denis jerked the steering wheel nervously. “So you heard? Tanya, she’s just afraid her son will get married and forget about her. Typical, right? Don’t take it personally. She’ll get over herself.” Tanya didn’t care about a mother-in-law’s possessiveness. It was Denis’ own words that stung—he hadn’t defended her, just agreed to avoid a row. The wedding question hovered, unresolved. Denis remained gloomy, and now, whenever Tanya hinted at plans, he just said, “Maybe, in time…” And then Tanya got the chance to see Denis’ unlocked phone. “I’m just checking the time,” she told herself. “I’m not snooping. I’ll just… glance.” On the screen—a message from his sister, Vera. Vera was only a couple of years younger than Tanya, but acted as if she was still twelve. No job, no studies, living at home with their parents, on their dime. Her message was clear: “So I’m not getting any money then. Under the thumb again, I see. Go live with her then, if some girl’s more important than your own family.” Tanya read it again. “Under the thumb again.” And the memory came back… Before the wedding was off, when Vera had once again asked Denis for cash, Tanya had said, unable to keep quiet: “Denis, she’s 27, living with your parents and asking for pocket money. Maybe it’s time she started her own life? We’re not made of money.” She wouldn’t have cared, but they shared finances, and Tanya contributed as much as Denis. Denis had reluctantly agreed. “You’re right, Tanya. Enough’s enough.” So now it was clear—Vera was turning everyone against Tanya. Tanya took Denis’ phone, copied the message, and sent it to herself to keep the evidence. Then she put the phone back exactly where it was. Denis was shaking snow from his coat in the hall: “I got bread… and your favourite chocolate with hazelnuts. I was just thinking, maybe, we should have gone—” “Denis,” Tanya interrupted. “Yes? Who else were you expecting?” he joked. She didn’t laugh. “What did Vera mean in her message?” she asked. He tried to shift blame, tried to get angry first. “Did you go through my phone while I was out?” Classic defence, Tanya thought. Lay the blame elsewhere. “That doesn’t matter, Denis. I want an explanation. Now.” Denis stood there, face flickering between panic and anger. “Oh Tanya, don’t worry about it. She’s just a kid, always taking offence.” “Offence at what? That I asked her to grow up?” Tanya pressed. “She’s used to coming to her brother for cash. Not easy to break the habit. Forget it, don’t get worked up.” “She got your parents wound up, didn’t she?” “Well… yeah,” he admitted, “I tried to explain it’s our money, that Vera should stand on her own… Mum flipped out—accused you of turning me against my own family. But that’s not what I think…” “But you still called off the wedding. So, what—I can’t get along with your family, I get that. But what do you actually want? Do you want to marry me, Denis? Or are you just putting it off because you can’t say no to your mother?” “Of course I want to marry you! Just… not right now. Maybe later… when it all calms down…” There it was. “You know what, Denis—I finally get it. I won’t marry someone who isn’t sure about me and jumps every time his sister scowls. Maybe it’s for the best—the wedding’s off.”

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 11 minViews 1

There Will Be No Wedding

Why are you so quiet today? Emily asked as she looked up from her cup of tea. We agreed to go furniture shopping for the bedroom on Saturday, remember? But youre acting like youve lost a shilling and found a sixpence. Whats wrong?

James knew it was now or never. He couldnt keep putting it off. If he was ever going to say something, it had to be now.

Em Theres something I need to talk to you about. About the wedding.

Emily had been waiting ages for this conversation. Theyd both agreed that theyd keep things simple, but she was sure James wanted to throw her a proper wedding guests, photos, the lot. Shed been looking forward to discussing it.

Go on, dont keep me in suspense, Emily smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. I think I know what youre about to say.

But James said, Lets postpone it Lets put the wedding off for a bit.

That wasnt at all what shed expected.

Postpone it? Emily stared, stunned. Whats with the sudden change of heart? Why? We just talked about ordering invitations in fact, you picked them out yourself! Wed made a guest list! Dont tell me youve changed your mind about marrying me?

She braced herself for the melodramatic confession that his feelings had faded.

But James didnt go by the script.

Its just moneys a bit tight at the moment, he muttered. Paycheques been late, and we havent managed to save enough. Plus Weve only been living together for six months. Isnt it a bit soon?

A bit soon? Emily repeated, incredulous. James, weve been together three years! Three years in a relationship, half a year living together and thats too soon for you?

Somehow, James didnt look as panicked anymore.

Dont, Em. I dont want to have a row. Its just a pause. I havent changed my mind about marrying you, but weddings cost a fortune.

Fine, then why dont we just pop down the registry office, just us, and have a little celebration with friends after?

That wasnt what you dreamed of, though, Em.

Oh, let it go then! Ill live!

His excuses sounded feeble.

Be honest. Did something happen? Are you not sure you love me? Or have you met someone else? Because the weddings too expensive doesnt sound convincing.

James shook his head earnestly.

No, Em, I swear. I just want things to be perfect when we marry, you know? Right now, I cant give you a dream wedding. And, yeah, six months in Were still getting to grips with living together, sussing out if we really fit

There was logic in what he said, and he was certainly persuasive, but Emilys gut told her something was off. James rarely tried so hard to convince her of anything. And it was he who had wanted them to get married as soon as possible.

She pretended she believed him.

After that talk, James seemed determined to be the perfect boyfriend, compensating for the cancelled wedding by paying attention to every detail always asking what she fancied in the shops, washing up without being asked but he was glum. Not absent-minded, but actually downcast; sighing at night as he stared at the ceiling, brushing off Emilys concerns with Im just tired, thats all.

Emily tried not to say much. Later, later, later, her inner voice whispered.

A couple of weeks later, they were invited to James parents in Oxfordshire. Emily was reluctant she just didnt feel like going. And lately James hadnt even so much as mentioned the wedding his parents were bound to ask and shed be left in a tight spot.

But in the end, they had to go.

Of course, the subject came up over a shepherds pie.

So, when are you two going to let us celebrate? his mother piped up as his father disappeared into the lounge to watch football. Ive already picked out a lovely venue, seats for twenty. When are we booking it?

James looked just as miserable as Emily. Book what? Nothing was happening.

Mum, I said weve put it off, he mumbled.

Put it off? Why on earth? Skint, are you? James, youre meant to plan ahead for these things, you know.

Later, the men were crowded around an old wireless in bits on the kitchen table, talking nonsense about the wiring. Emily went to tidy up in the bathroom.

Immaculate as a hospital, and not a stray bit of makeup about only shower gel and shampoo on the shelf. James mum kept her things in her bedroom, which always bemused Emily. She could never understand the bother of carrying everything back and forth.

Emily dried her face with the hand towel and then heard voices those old walls carried every sound if you listened. James had gone back through to the kitchen and was talking with his mum. Emily heard

James, are you thinking of breaking up with Emily?

Emily froze, cloth in hand. What? She pressed her ear to the cold tiles.

Mum, Ive told you. Weve postponed things, not broken up.

Postponed thats just an excuse! hissed Mrs. Wilkinson. I can see youre unhappy. Why drag things out with her? Shes not wifey material, James. A wife should listen to her husband, and she Well, whats the point if youd be getting divorced within a year?

I love her, Mum, James said softly.

Emilys heart fluttered despite herself.

But his mothers next words made her forget any fondness.

You love her, do you? Shes crafty, that girl. I warned you! Shes turned you against us, James. Youve stopped helping your sister, you dont come round to the house Shes changing you, and not for the better.

Emily stayed glued to the spot, forehead pressed to the cool wall. Turned James against them? When exactly? Shed always tried to be nothing but polite to his parents, even when Mr. Wilkinson had torn into her about her new haircut. That had stung, but shed said nothing.

Not once had she ever tried to pull James away from his family; quite the opposite she always encouraged him. She knew how much family meant to him.

The truth hit her: postponing the wedding wasnt about money at all. It was his mum, lying through her teeth, doing her best to stop it!

Emily hurried back.

Ah, Emilys back! We were just saying, dont let it drag out for too long, dear. I dont hold with these modern ideas young people, the lot but I do think life without a marriage certificate isnt right.

How sweet of her.

Of course, Mrs. Wilkinson, Emily replied with a polite smile. We wont wait too long. Once weve saved a bit, well have our special day, right James?

Yes, Em, just think of us as already married, James chimed in.

That night, driving home in the drizzle, James tried to put his arm around her. Emily kept edging away. She didnt know how to open the conversation. Was there even any point? If James hadnt left her at his mothers insistence, then maybe he truly loved her But the wedding was off.

You went odd when your mum was talking, Emily said quietly, watching the streetlights whip by.

Did I? No, just she gets pushy about the wedding and

Dont lie. She isnt pushing for a wedding. She doesnt want us to get married at all. She said Ive turned you against them and she wants us to split up.

Jamess grip tightened on the steering wheel.

So you heard? Look, Em, its just Mum worried shell lose her precious boy to someone else. Its normal. Shell get over it.

Emily wasnt hurt by his mothers words possessive mothers werent anything new. What upset her was James himself. He didnt stand up for her. He just gave in to avoid an argument.

The wedding question hung in the air. James wandered about, face like thunder, and whenever Emily mentioned the future, he just replied, Maybe at some point

And then one afternoon, Jamess phone was left unlocked on the sofa.

Ill just check the time, Emily told herself. I wont read any messages. Ill just take a quick peek

The latest notification was from his sister, Angela. Angela was only two years younger than Emily, but youd never know it no job, never went to uni, still lived with Mum and Dad, living off them.

The message was blunt:

So Im not getting any money, then. Youre under the thumb again. Well, live with her if some bird means more than your own family.

Emily read it again. Under the thumb.

Suddenly, she remembered

Before the wedding was called off, Angela had rung up James yet again to ask for money. Emily had blurted: James, shes twenty-seven, lives at home, and needs you to fund her fun? Maybe she should try working? Were not a bottomless pit!

Normally she wouldnt have meddled, but their money was meant to be joint she worked just as hard as James, and she wasnt keen to bankroll his sister. James reluctantly agreed Youre right, Em. Its about time.

Now it was clear who was poisoning the well against her.

She copied Angelas message, sent it to herself for proof, then put Jamess phone back where it was.

James came in shaking the rain off his coat.

Picked up some bread, and your favourite chocolate with the hazelnuts. I was thinking, maybe we could

James, Emily interrupted.

Who were you expecting? Someone else? he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

But she kept her expression serious.

Whats that Angelas been messaging you about? she asked softly.

James, sensing danger, went straight on the defensive.

Were you on my phone? Em, thats out of order

Classic shifting of blame. Trying to dodge the question.

It doesnt matter how I saw it, James. I want you to explain. Now.

James hesitated, emotions flickering across his face from denial to guilt.

Oh, Em, dont pay any attention. Shes just upset, you know what shes like.

Upset about what? The fact I suggested she should stand on her own two feet?

He shrugged. Shes always thought she could count on her big brother for the odd handout. Habits are hard to break, especially with free money. Itll blow over, dont worry.

And shes the one whos told your parents Im the problem?

Well yeah, he admitted, I tried to explain, but Mum immediately blamed you said you were bossing me about and Id turned my back on the family for your sake. But thats not how I feel

But you cancelled the wedding Fine. I get it now. Shes poisoned your family against me. I cant deal with them but what about you? Do you even want to marry me, or are you just too afraid to tell your mum no?

Of course I want to marry you! I just cant right now Maybe later when things calm down

So there it was.

You know, James, I realise something I dont want to marry someone who isnt sure of his feelings, or who jumps at every word from his sister. Maybe its for the best we cancelled the wedding.

Sometimes lifes hardest truths come out not in what people say, but in what they leave unsaid. Its better to wait for someone brave enough to stand with you, than to chase after love that wont stand up for itself.

Shameless Cheek: “So, Natasha, tell me honestly,” whined Nick, “what universal difference does it make, who we rent the house to? Friends, strangers—money’s the same!” Natasha finished hanging the laundry. He could help, instead of moaning. “Nicky, my dear,” she replied, “the difference is you can never squeeze money out of family.” “You’re talking about Jamie? That’s not fair—he’s my brother! He’ll pay, I guarantee it. Not even asking a discount! He’ll rent for the whole summer.” “It’s a house by the seaside. I’ll find tenants in five minutes.” “Why must it be strangers?” “With strangers: contract, deposit, no pay—they’re out. With family, it’s ‘Oh Natasha, you understand, we’ve got kids,’ or ‘we’ll pay later,’ or ‘we’ve broken your telly, but you wouldn’t charge us, right?’ Been there, seen that.” The house had come down from Natasha’s parents, who also rented it. She kept the rule: no family, no friends. She’d seen how mum and dad were ‘done’ by their own. “But how did it end?” “With family staying for free and not even apologising! Listen, Nick, the house is business—not a free holiday camp for your lot.” Jamie’s decided his wife and three kids need three months by the sea—nice when business is slow. Natasha was certain he didn’t intend to pay. “He’s not asking for charity!” Nick insisted. “He’ll pay.” They all promise at first. “We always have a queue of proper tenants, Nick. No friends, no family. Business is business.” Nick tried another tack: “Alright. You don’t trust Jamie. But you trust me?” Natasha paused. “Of course. So what?” “I’ll pay the rent myself if Jamie tries to stiff us.” Weak. “Genius. And pay me from our joint savings?” “Well… no, I’ll find a second job—nights, weekends—all the money to you. Not ours, just yours. Deal?” Natasha didn’t realise Nick cared this much. Maybe she should trust him… “You could talk the hind legs off a donkey. Fine—it’s your responsibility.” There was time until summer—Natasha tried to believe in Nick. June began, and so did the problems. Nick called Jamie every three days for the first month’s rent; always, always, excuses. “Yeah, all fine, Nick! Just waiting for one big client to pay me. End of the month, for sure.” June ended. No money. Natasha waited, stayed silent. Nick had asked her to trust him. But after yet more phone calls: “So? Has he paid?” “The big client’s not paid Jamie yet. As soon as he does…” Same excuse, month in, month out. “This is exactly what I told you. Family always has a reason not to pay.” “It’s just coincidence! Just wait…” “Till September? Till their three cases are packed and they sail off with a cheery wave and nothing paid?” “You’re not losing out, love; I’ll get a side job.” “You? Now?” Nick wilted. “Give him a couple more weeks. If not… I’ll pay you.” “You insisted!” A chill settled in the house. July. The heat was stifling. Natasha caught Nick browsing job adverts, never dialling. “Nick, it’s the thirtieth. Two-thirds of summer, zero rent.” “He’ll pay. He said he’d make it good.” “I’ve stopped believing. You vouched for him. Now it’s your turn to pay. Where’s your extra job?” Evidently, Nick didn’t fancy actually keeping his promise. “I’ll find something. Just nothing’s right. I mean, my back’s not up to heavy lifting, is it?” “Maybe tell your brother to shift bags then. You promised. Either get a job now, or I ring Jamie myself and tell him: pay half by Friday or we evict you—legally.” Nick paled. “No, don’t! What will family say, if you sue my brother?” Jamie won’t pay, Nick won’t work, and the court option horrifies him—so now it’s all Natasha’s fault. “You care so much about me, your husband! You’d rather I work two jobs than just let your wife ‘win’.” “You insisted!” “But I didn’t think Jamie’d shaft us!” “But I did,” said Natasha. “Seen it a dozen times. You didn’t listen.” “Alright! But you, Natasha—forcing me to work overtime proves you don’t love me. Money over my health! What if I have a heart attack?” “I’m not forcing you. Just asking you to keep YOUR word.” “Fine! I’ll get a job, I’ll pay Jamie’s rent. Happy now?” So Nick became an evening delivery driver and glowered at Natasha every night. “You… it’s all because of you.” “Because of me?” “Yeah!” “Maybe now you’ll understand what it means to be Mr Nice Guy at my expense.” Natasha hoped Jamie would have a change of heart—but then he rang her. “Natasha, I’ve got a problem—car’s acting up, had to spend your rent money on repairs… I’ll pay you… at some point…” Natasha hung up. Nick saw her face. “Alright, I was wrong to trust him. But you—you don’t let me make mistakes! Instead of support you just push me harder…” “So I should just smile and tell you: ‘Fine, Nick, your family can summer for free, I’ll live’? You insisted you’d pay if he didn’t!” “I did! But didn’t expect you to agree so easily that I should run myself ragged.” “And your brother—he thinks about you?” “He’s not bad, just—” “Marvellous. He gets a freebie and you the blame, and I’m the villain?” Nick was silent. A rocky road ahead for their marriage.

A Mother’s Heart Stan sat at his usual spot at the kitchen table, a deep bowl of his mum’s signature beetroot soup in front of him—rich, aromatic, with that familiar tang. Each spoonful was a journey: no London bistro, no Michelin-starred restaurant, no trendy eatery, not even the most extravagant French oysters or Japanese wagyu, could ever compare to this. In every bite, he tasted not just flavour but warmth, care, and the nostalgia of childhood. As he ate, his mother, Mary, joined him—cup of tea in hand, worry etched on her face. “When do you have to leave, Stan?” she asked, anxious. “Tomorrow morning,” he replied, smiling. “My car’s out, so I’ll go with a mate.” A heavy silence fell as Mary, pausing, gripped the edge of the table tightly. Her voice, barely above a whisper, voiced her worry: “With a mate? Please, Stan, don’t go with him. Order a taxi instead.” He tried to reassure her—his friend was a careful driver, good car, even a lucky number plate. But as she clung to his hand, her chill reaching into his warmth, he promised to call as soon as he arrived. That night, sleep evaded both. When morning came, Stan woke late—his phone dead, his mate gone, and over twenty missed calls from his mum. Rushing to her house, breathless, he found her pale, eyes red from crying, collapsed in relief as the news reported a terrible accident—one his friend had been in. Mary had recognised the car. In her mind, she had already lost her son. The ambulance came. They spent anxious hours in hospital together, Stan holding his mother’s trembling hand, guilt and love colliding in his chest. Mary finally confessed her lifelong fear of losing Stan—her independent, headstrong boy who always insisted on tying his own shoelaces, packing his own schoolbag, running ahead despite her warnings. He promised never to dismiss her intuition again, understanding—truly, for the first time—just how deep a mother’s love runs, even as children grow up and away. As they waited in the calm of the hospital ward, hands entwined, Mary gently asked about the girl Stan had been seeing—a new chapter in his life she wanted to share, not hinder. Stan spoke, relieved at last to share his hopes true and unfiltered, grateful for the love that waited for him, steady and unconditional, at home. And so, in his mother’s heart, he found the strongest shelter of all.

— Get Yourself Home! We’ll Talk There! — Max Barked, Not Wanting to Entertain Bystanders with a Scene. “Oh, whatever,” snorted Varya. “Varya, don’t push your luck!” Max threatened. “We’ll talk at home!” “Oh, how frightening!” she tossed her braid over her shoulder and marched toward the house. Max waited until Varya was out of sight, then pulled out his phone and spoke into the microphone: “She’s on her way home! Make sure you welcome her—just like we discussed! And send her down to the cellar to cool her temper! I’ll be there soon.” He pocketed his phone and set off toward the shop, hoping to reward himself for ‘disciplining’ his wife, but a perfect stranger stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Sorry to accost you like this,” the man smiled apologetically. “You were just with a young lady—” “My wife. What about her?” Max frowned. “Oh, nothing!” the man’s smile turned nervous and placating. “Er, by any chance, is your wife called Barbara Melton?” “Barbara, yes. She was Melton before the wedding. Why?” “And is her middle name Sarah?” “Yes!” Max snapped, growing irritated. “How do you know my wife?” “Forgive me,” the man stammered, “but was she born in ’93?” Max quickly did the math and replied: “Yeah. What’s with all the questions—how do you know Varya?” He tensed. She’d moved to their small English village just three years ago, from who-knows-where. Varya once confided her parents had tried to force her into marriage, so she’d run off. Strange enough that someone in their village, where gossip ran faster than the post, suddenly seemed to know all about Varya. “Sorry, I’m not acquainted with her personally!” the man flushed. “Just, well, I’m a bit of a fan!” “A fan?” Max growled, “Fan of what, mate—d’you think you can steal my wife?” “No, no, you misunderstand!” the man waved his hands desperately. “A fan of her skills, you see!” “Varya hasn’t got any special talents,” Max muttered, confused. “To get a lifetime ban from Muay Thai at eighteen for being too brutal—now that takes skill!” the man exclaimed. “A shame she stopped after a few private tournaments. Watching her in the ring was a sight to behold!” Max, his hands shaking, fumbled for his phone. It clattered to the pavement, scattering into pieces. By the time he’d gathered it up, it refused to turn on. Max took off running for home—murmuring under his breath, “Dear God, let me be on time!” When Barbara—Varya—first arrived in their village, Max immediately noticed her. Who wouldn’t? Young, athletic, spirited, and fun. She’d taken a job as a PE teacher at the primary school. People assumed she was just a student on placement, but it turned out she was twenty-five and here for good. When the villagers learned she came alone—well, the gossip brewed. “She’s hiding something!” clucked the old guard. “No family, just turns up out of the blue? There’s a secret, I swear!” “Maybe she’s just had a bad experience with a bloke and came here to mend her wounds,” others suggested. Max was intrigued, but cautious. “Lord only knows what baggage she’s lugging. In time, we’ll see.” Teachers’ lounges in England are hotbeds of personal tales, and within six months, Varya revealed her story: “My parents run a business—a decent family. But when things went bust, Dad decided to marry me off to settle our debts. You should’ve seen the groom! I chose to run.” “So you’re completely alone?” a seasoned colleague shook her head. “People live everywhere,” Varya shrugged, “but I’d rather make my own way than marry someone I don’t love! And I refuse to be some item up for sale.” “You’ll find love here, I’m sure!” her colleagues encouraged. “Small villages can still have decent people!” When the details trickled through the grapevine, Max made up his mind. “She’ll be my wife! The local girls are greedy and bold, but she’s an outsider. And we’ll never have to deal with her family!” That’s what he told his own: his mum, dad, and older brother. “She’s young, healthy, and athletic—teaches PE for a reason! She’ll give us healthy kids and pull her weight at home! How much can there be to do at school?” “A perfect match!” his family agreed. “If she kicks up a fuss, she’ll learn the hard way—our way.” They assumed the wedding was a matter of course. Max was good-looking, had a position as deputy manager at the local produce depot. When directors visited, he was nothing more than a clerk, but always had ideas for rationalising supply and handling stock—so much so, he was promoted. People joked about initiative being punished, but he’d built the entire depot’s success. Workers moaned about his tough discipline—and his brother Nick, as head of security, was a tyrant—but thefts stopped. How could Barbara refuse such a solid man? She accepted his courtship, then his proposal, moved out from her tiny flat, and into Max’s family home. “There’s only one way to live—together, as a family!” his mother declared. “Everything’s shared, everything together! I don’t know what you’re used to, but this is our way.” “I fled my old family ways for a reason,” Barbara replied. “Now I’m here, I’ll learn our new ones.” Her humility was welcomed. “Except I don’t know how to do much,” she admitted shyly, “Back home, our staff handled everything.” “We’ll fix that soon enough!” her father-in-law chuckled warmly. “We’ll teach you!” “I’m willing to learn, but I can’t abide unfairness,” Barbara warned. “My dear,” her mother-in-law interjected, “sometimes fairness is relative! Family has centuries-old rules. Honour your husband and his kin, be respectful, and a gentle woman is a beautiful woman! The men handle the big problems.” “If that’s how it is,” Barbara shrugged, “but I hope you’re not into punishments like the old days?” “No whips, no stables!” her father-in-law laughed. But Varya sensed what was coming. Within a month, her freedoms vanished. Work or shopping only! “Where are you off to? There’s work at home—garden, chickens, ducks!” “Varya! We’re a family! I can’t do it all myself!” her mother-in-law lamented. Truth be told, the men were always at work, from dawn ‘til late. Father-in-law nattered from his chair, but most of the chores fell to his wife and Barbara. Barbara worked hard but insisted on respect in return. If someone got lazy, she spoke up. “Work? Then everyone does their bit. If not, I’m not playing.” Two and a half years passed, and she would not settle. She stood her ground, demanded fairness. “What a handful this Barbara is!” her mother-in-law would exclaim. “If you say one thing, she says five back!” “She doesn’t respect me!” added her father-in-law. “I asked for a cushion, she brushed me off, said she was busy!” “Max, this isn’t right,” Nick said. “She’s disrespectful! Who forgives that?” “I know she’s enjoying herself at our expense! She needs taming—a circus beast needs breaking! And what if we have kids? She’ll take charge, say she’s the mother, and we’ll have no place here!” “We need a plan,” Nick decided. “Take her to the high street, then send her home alone. We’ll be waiting and have a word—or two—with her. If she listens, great. If not, we’ll use force. If she acts up, we’ll lock her in the cellar, say she’s gone on holiday. A month down there will sort her out!” And so they prepared. Max took Barbara for a walk, the family readied themselves, stoked their righteous fury, and waited for Max’s call telling them she was on her way. But Max was too late. The gate was intact; the front door—gone as if it had never existed. In the hall, Nick sat howling, cradling a broken arm. Max grabbed his brother’s phone, dialed for an ambulance, held it to his ear: “Tell them the address!” Nick nodded, writhing in pain. Among smashed furniture, his father lay unconscious. Alive, mercifully. In the kitchen doorway, his mother sat on the floor, a splendid bruise blooming across her cheek, holding a giant rolling pin snapped in two. At the table, Barbara sipped her tea. “Darling?” she looked up at Max, “Have you come for your share?” “N-no,” muttered Max. “Then I don’t know what to offer you,” she pondered. “Maybe a little fairness in our family?” “You should have warned us!” Max exclaimed. “You nearly…” “I know my limits. Everyone got what they deserved. Came at me with something, got it back the same way. Snapped the rolling pin over my own knee! And as for your mother, she ran into the door herself—never laid a finger on her.” “How do we even live together now?” Max asked. “I think, very harmoniously!” Barbara smiled. “And above all, with justice! And don’t even think about divorce—I’m expecting. My child will have a father!” Gulping, Max replied, “Alright, love.” Once everyone had recovered—tempers and bones alike—the family’s rules got a little update. And, from that day forward, there was peace and quiet in their home. And nobody ever dared wrong another, ever again!