Who Slept in My Bed and Creased the Sheets… A Story My Husband’s Mistress Was Barely Older Than Our Daughter – Chubby Cheeks, Innocent Eyes, a Nose Piercing (He Forbade Our Daughter When She Wanted One). It Was Impossible to Be Angry at Her – I Looked at Her Bare Blue Legs and Cropped Jacket and Wanted to Say, “If You Plan to Have Kids With That Idiot, Buy a Winter Coat and Put Tights On Under Your Jeans.” Of Course, I Said Nothing. I Handed Her the Keys, Grabbed My Bags, and Headed to the Bus Stop. “Excuse Me, Mrs. Johnson, What’s That Thing Under the Kitchen Counter?” She Called After Me. “Is It For Storing Dishes?” Unable to Hold Back, I Shot Over My Shoulder: “I Usually Hide My Husband’s Mistresses’ Bodies There, But You Can Use It For Plates.” Without Waiting for Her Reaction or Looking at Her Shocked Face, I Walked Down the Stairs, Pleased With Myself. Well, That’s It – Twenty Years of Marriage Down the Drain. It Was our Daughter Who First Discovered Her Dad’s Mistress. She Skipped School, Came Home Expecting Nobody, and Found the Young Nymph Drinking Cocoa From Her Favorite Mug – Wearing Nothing But a Few Shreds, With Dad Splashing in the Shower. Smart Girl as She Is, She Immediately Called Me: “Mum, I Think Dad Has a Mistress and She’s Wearing My Slippers and Drinking From My Mug!” Just Like a Fairy Tale, I Thought – My Daughter Was Upset, But More Because Someone Touched Her Things Than Because of Her Dad’s Betrayal. Who Slept in My Bed and Creased the Sheets… Unlike My Daughter, I Didn’t Take It So Badly. Sure, My Ego Was Bruised – The Girl Was Young and Gorgeous, While I Was Carrying Extra Weight and Cellulite and All The Signs of a Forty-Something. Still, I Felt Relief – No More Night Calls, Weird Work Schedules, Coffee Shop Receipts Where My Husband Never Took Me… He’d Never Been Caught Red-Handed, Always Covering His Tracks And Making Me Feel Like The Guilty One For Suspecting Him. “It Was the First Time,” He Lied. “Like a Comet Fell Out of Nowhere.” That ‘Comet’ Was a Hotel Worker Where He Stayed on Business – She Was Just Twenty, and Apart From a Pretty Face, She Wasn’t Much Else. Not Even Brains – As She Chased Him all the Way to London, Renting a Grubby Room on Savings. So They Met at Our Flat – Easy for Showers and Laundry. No Wonder I Kept Finding the Washing Machine on the ‘Quick Wash’ Setting Instead of ‘Mixed Fabrics’! The Apartment Belonged to My Husband, Inherited From His Father Before Our Wedding, and With Divorce Imminent, My Daughter and I Had to Move Out to My Nan’s Flat on the City’s Edge. My Daughter Complained – How Would She Get to School? “Why Not Stay With Us?” He Suggested – Earning Himself Another Round of Insults. At Least Our Daughter Could Tell Him What She Really Thought Now. The Early Days Were Tough – New Bus Routes, New Shops, Over an Hour to Work and School. But We Settled In – I Changed Jobs, My Daughter Started College, Closer Than School. No Time to Be Sad – Life’s Practicalities and Exams Kept Us Busy, and Once Things Settled, There Was No Room Left for Regret. That Girl, His Mistress, Rang Me Occasionally – Asked What Setting to Bake Pies, Where to Put Dishwasher Tablets. Once She Even Stopped By, Bringing Forgotten Photos Needed For Prom. My Ex Couldn’t (Or Wouldn’t) Come, I Was Ill, and My Daughter Refused Point Blank to Return to the Old Flat – Bad for Her Mental Health. “Nice Place You’ve Got,” She Said Nervously, Looking at Faded Wallpaper and Dated Lamps. I Just Smiled – Yes, Nice Enough, What Can I Say? It Was Modern and Comfortable Over There – I’d Worked Twenty Years for It. Let Them Enjoy It. But That Visit Came Back to Bite Me – One Evening, About a Year Later, The Door Lock Clicked. “For You?” I Asked My Daughter. She Just Stared. On the Threshold Stood That Girl – Red-Eyed, Mascara Trails Down Her Cheeks, Sporting a Gym Bag. “What’s Happened With Steve?” I Asked. “Something Has! I Caught Him With the Secretary! Thought I’d Surprise Him Since He Was Working Late, and…” She Broke Down, Sobbed Like a Child, Face Buried in Palms. “What Do You Want From Me?” I Asked, Eyeing the Bulging Gym Bag. “Can I Stay Here Tonight? I’ve Got No Money. I’ll Take the Train to Mum’s Tomorrow.” “How Will You Get There With No Money?” “I Thought You’d Lend Me Some…” I Didn’t Know Whether to Laugh or Cry. My Daughter Decided For Me: “Get Out!” She Snapped, Adding a Few Choice Words She’d Never Used Before. I Gave Her a Disapproving Look. “Come In, Love,” I Said. “It’s Night – I’m Not Putting You Out On The Street.” Things Got Worse. My Daughter Was So Furious She Announced: It’s Either Me Or Her. I Shrugged – Your Choice, You’re an Adult. Go to Your Dad If You Want. “As If! I’ll Go Stay With Natalie!” I Ordered Her a Taxi For the Night; Then Spent The Evening Comforting The Hapless Mistress With Tea and Calming Drops. Money? I Lent Her, What Else Could I Do – But Not To Stay With Me. Even Drove Her To The Station. She Kept Thanking Me, Apologizing, Swearing She’d Start Over – Get an Education, Avoid Married Men. “Mum Always Said I Was Hopeless. Turns Out She Was Right.” Putting Her on the Train and Waving Goodbye Was A Step Too Far. My Daughter and I Made Up Quickly, Though She Still Couldn’t Understand How I Let That Homewrecker Stay In Our House. I Hugged Her Hairy Head, Smiled and Said: “You’ll Understand When You’re Older.” My Ex-Husband Called a Week Later. He’d Seen the Light, Dumped the Mistress, Ready for a Happy Reunion. “Run Out of Clean Shirts?” I Asked. “Well, Yes,” He Sighed. “She Never Learned To Do Laundry – I’ve Worn Grubby Ones for a Year Now.” Of Course, I Didn’t Take Him Back. Didn’t Gloat, Didn’t Suffer. But I Had To Admit – Something Had Lifted From Me After That Night; My Heart Felt Lighter, I Smiled More. Got a Dog, Walked It in the Evenings. Met a Nice Neighbor – So What If He’s Ten Years Older, I’m No Spring Chicken. And Life Moved On.

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 7 minViews 1

Who slept on my bed and crumpled the sheets A Reminiscence.

My husbands mistress was only a little older than our daughterround, childish cheeks, innocent eyes, and a nose piercing (when our own daughter wanted one, David was furious and would never allow it). It was impossible to feel any real anger toward someone so young. I looked at her blue-tinged bare legs and the short jacket and almost said something sarcastic: If youre planning to bear children for that fool, buy a proper parka and wear tights under your jeans. But, of course, I said nothing. I simply handed Lucy the keys, scooped up the last two bags of my belongings, and walked out towards the bus stop.

Mrs. Lane, what’s that thing under the kitchen counter? the girl called after me. Is it for storing the dishes?

I couldnt help myself and tossed back, I usually kept the bodies of Davids mistresses there, but youre welcome to wash the plates instead.

Without waiting for a reply, nor seeing Lucys frightened face, I descended the steps, rather satisfied with myself. Well thenthat was the end of it. Twenty years of life thrown away, just like that.

It was our daughter, Grace, who discovered Davids affair first. Shed skipped classes one day and came home, convinced the house would be empty, only to find the young nymph sipping hot chocolate from her favourite mug. Considering the girl was scantily clad and David could be heard in the shower, Grace quickly put two and two together, rang me up, and announced:

Mum, I think Dads got a girlfriend, and shes wearing my slippers and drinking out of my cup!

Just like in a fairy tale, I thought, recalling the way Grace was most annoyed not by her fathers betrayal, but by a stranger touching her things. Who slept on my bed and left it wrinkled

Unlike Grace, I found the whole situation rather uncomplicated. My pride smarted, of coursethe girl was so young and beautiful, whilst Id long since acquired the extra pounds and cellulite every forty-year-old dreads. Yet, I mostly felt relief; years of late-night calls, his erratic work hours, the receipts from cafés David never took me to And somehow, hed always manage to slip away, leaving me feeling guilty for even suspecting him.

This is the first time, David lied with brazen ease. It was a sort of eclipse, like a comet falling from the sky.

His comet turned out to be a hotel staffer hed met on a business trip. She was twenty, all looks and no sense, judging by the fact she followed him back to London and rented a filthy room on her saved money. Hence their rendezvous in our flatthere she could clean up and do laundry. No wonder the washing machine constantly ran on the quick cycle, never mixed fabrics as I liked!

The flat, of course, belonged to David; hed gotten it from his father before we married. And so, when I decided to file for divorce, Grace and I packed up for my own place on the outskirts of London, left to me by my grandmother. Grace grumbled endlesslyhow would she ever manage the long trip to school?

Come stay with us, then, David offered. That earned him another string of insults. At least Grace wasnt shy about telling him exactly what she thought.

The first weeks were toughnew commutes, unfamiliar shops, an hour to school and work. But soon enough we settled in. I found another job, Grace entered college, and her new journey took half as long. There was little time for sorrow: daily chores and exams kept us both busy, and once those troubles faded, sadness felt pointless.

Lucy called a few times, asking which setting to bake pies or which compartment to use for the dishwasher tablets. Once she even came by, needing some forgotten photos for graduation. David couldntor wouldntvisit himself, I was down with a cold, and Grace outright refused to go near the old flat, fearing permanent psychological scarring. She had her computer science exam coming up, after all.

Its quite homely here, Lucy said, glancing over the faded wallpapers and outdated lamps.

I just smiledyes, homely indeed. Meanwhile, over there, it was modern and stylish, thanks to twenty years of my hard work. Well, let them enjoy it.

It was this visit that later returned to haunt meabout a year after the memorable day, one evening as we sat together, the front door lock clicked.

Is that for you? I asked Grace.

She looked startled.

At the door stood Lucy, tear-stained, streaks of black mascara and glittery eye shadow down her cheeks, clutching a sports bag.

Has something happened with David? I asked, alarmed.

Yes! she whimpered, nose running. I caught him with his secretary! I thought Id surprise him, since he was working late and

She burst into tears again, sobbing like a child and burying her face in her hands.

Well, what do you want from me? I asked, guessing what the bulging sports bag implied.

Could I stay the night? Ive got no money. Tomorrow, Ill go back to my mums by train.

And with what money will you travel?

I hoped you could lend me some.

I wasnt sure whether to laugh or cry.

Grace made up her own mind.

Just get out! she snapped, adding some rather colourful language shed never used in front of me before.

I looked at her disapprovingly.

Come in, Lucy, I said. Its late. I cant have you wandering the streets.

And then things got worse.

Grace was so appalled she declaredeither her or me. I just shruggedher choice, she was of age. Go stay with your dad if you want.

No chance! Ill go to Annies!

So, a taxi was called for Grace to spend the night at her friends. Meanwhile, I sat, brewing tea and doling out valerian for Davids unfortunate ex, who, after a year in London, hadnt any friends or job, just a fresh tongue piercing. Of course, I gave Lucy the farewhat else could I do, I couldnt keep her with me. I even escorted her to the station, lest she get lost.

Lucy thanked me profusely, begged forgiveness, and promised to make something new of herselfuniversity, and no more married men.

Mum always said I was hopeless. Turns out she was right.

I certainly didnt wave her off at the trainnot necessary. Grace and I patched things up quickly, though she still struggled to understand how I could welcome the other woman into our home. I stroked her soft hair, smiled, and said,

Youll understand when youre older.

David rang a week later. Hed seen the light, ditched Lucy, and was ready to build our happiness again.

Run out of clean shirts, have you? I asked, wryly.

Well, yes, sighed my former husband. Anyway, she couldnt manage the washingbeen wearing greasy clothes all year.

Of course, I never went back. And I didnt gloat. But I had to admitmy spirits had changed after all that: I felt lighter; I smiled more. I got a dog, started taking evening walks, met a charming neighbour. So what if he was ten years my senior? I wasnt a girl anymore myself. And so, life carried on, in its own unhurried way.

The Unwanted Child “How would you like to name your baby girl?” The elderly doctor smiled with professional courtesy at his young patient. “We haven’t decided on a name yet,” interjected Natalie, sitting on the chair beside the bed. “It’s a big decision—Dasha needs time to think.” “I don’t want to name her at all,” the young mother suddenly replied. “I’m not going to keep her. I’m going to sign her away.” “How can you even say that?” the older woman jumped up, shooting a furious glare at the girl before turning to the doctor. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Of course we’ll take the baby home.” “I’ll come back later—you should rest.” The doctor was clearly uninterested in witnessing the family drama. As the door closed behind him, Dasha’s mother unleashed a torrent of rebukes. “How dare you say such a thing? What will everyone think of us? We’ve already had to move to this city just to keep things quiet—this baby belongs in our family.” “And whose fault is that?” Dasha looked her stepmother square in the eye. “If you’d listened to me back then, none of this would have happened. I’d have finished school and moved on. If you want this baby so much, you take her.” She turned to face the wall, ending the conversation. Natalie tried a few more minutes to change her mind, but a nurse poked her head in and told her to leave; the patient needed rest. Dasha was left alone, muffling her sobs in the pillow, wishing it would all be over. A timid knock at the door made her wipe her tears. She took a deep breath and said, “Come in.” She expected a nurse, or maybe her father, but the woman who entered was a complete stranger. “Can I help you?” Dasha struggled to maintain her mask of calm. “I overheard… completely by accident! The doctors were chatting just outside my room.” The woman hesitated, clearly reluctant to ask her question. “Yes, I want to give up my baby. That’s what you want to know?” “I saw how your mother—” “She’s not my mother,” Dasha cut in sharply. “Just a stepmother, and a self-important one at that. My real mum works abroad.” “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you,” the woman faltered. “It’s just… I have three kids myself and I can’t understand your reasons. I grew up in care and I’m so scared for your little girl… she hasn’t done anything wrong.” “Little ones like her get adopted quickly, or so I’ve heard,” Dasha shrugged. “I can’t make myself even hold her, let alone more. If Natalie hadn’t interfered, I wouldn’t be here.” “But you’re old enough to make your own decisions now, over fifteen, right?” “It’s such a disgrace!” Dasha mimicked her stepmother’s voice. “How will we ever show our faces in town?” “I don’t understand…” “I’ll tell you,” Dasha smirked. “Maybe then you’ll stop judging me.” ******************************************************** Dasha’s final year of school was an utter disaster. Not only had her beloved Pasha been called up for service, but a new boy arrived in their class—a posh Londoner, banished to their small town by his influential father as punishment for too many ‘adventures’. He pestered all the girls, not after a relationship but a ticked box for his list. That’s why his father had sent him away in the first place—he was damaging the family’s reputation. Makar showered them with expensive gifts, took them to clubs and fancy restaurants. One by one, the girls gave in, each thinking she’d become the ‘prince’s fiancée.’ Dasha held her ground. She was in love—no one but Pasha existed for her. Soon enough, it seemed Makar realised she was off-limits and moved on. Or so she thought. She was wrong. At a friend’s birthday party in December, the entire class gathered, Makar among them. But he wasn’t there to wish the birthday girl. In the thick of the party, Dasha took a call in the hallway. When she returned, Makar was sitting at her place. She thought nothing of it—until she began to feel ill… In the morning, Dasha barely managed to open her eyes. Next to her lay Makar, grinning smugly. “Well, you finally gave in,” he said, as if nothing had happened. “Think of it as compensation. I always knew your precious Pasha was a fool.” Getting home was a struggle for Dasha. Her whole world was spinning. Passersby shot her looks of disdain. She rang the bell—her stepmother would be home. “Where have you been?” Natalie snapped. “You didn’t come home, ignored your phone, and just look at the state you’re in! If your father saw you like this—” “Call a doctor, and the police,” Dasha interrupted. “I want to file a report. Let them arrest him.” Natalie stiffened. Putting two and two together, she came to her own conclusion. “Who?” “Makar, obviously—I couldn’t imagine anyone else being so brazen. Call them, or I will.” “Wait.” Natalie calculated rapidly; she always looked for personal advantage. “He’ll just wriggle out of it. We’ll do something else—I’ll contact his father. He can pay us off.” “Are you mad?” Dasha was aghast. “I want justice, not hush money! I’ll go to the police myself.” “You’re going nowhere!” Natalie grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room. Dasha was too weak to resist. “You’ll be blamed, the whole village will gossip. I’ll sort everything.” Dasha had lost her phone somewhere, or maybe left it at her friend’s. The door was locked. Her head reeled—all she wanted was to lie down… A few days later, Dasha went to her grandmother’s, a hundred kilometres away. The old woman knew nothing—Dasha just pretended everything was normal. A month later, Dasha’s whole world collapsed—she was pregnant from that night. Natalie was overjoyed. This baby would mean financial security! Granddad would pay up handsomely to make the problem go away. Just say nothing until after five months… No one ever asked Dasha what she wanted. When she suggested having the baby adopted, Natalie exploded in a furious tantrum and refused to let her out of her sight. Granddad was not happy, but produced the cash, and promised more. ********************************************** “So now you see,” Dasha finished. “I’ve been through hell because of this baby. Pasha dumped me—he didn’t believe a word. Friends abandoned me. I had to move, didn’t even finish school!” “I’m sorry—I was judging you without knowing the facts,” murmured the woman. “But the little girl still isn’t to blame.” “Dasha, we need to talk!” Natalie appeared, dragging her husband along. “If you don’t mind, this is a family matter.” The stranger gave Dasha a sympathetic look and left, closing the door tightly. “I won’t let you spoil my plans. If you leave the baby here, don’t bother coming back home. Where will you go? Your precious gran is gone, her flat’s your uncle’s now. Will you beg on the streets?” “No, she’ll come with me.” An elegantly dressed woman swept into the room. Dasha’s eyes lit up with hope. “Mum! You came!” “Of course I did. I couldn’t leave you alone,” said Albina, wrapping her daughter in a hug. “If you’d told me everything earlier, I’d have taken you home ages ago. I wanted you to finish school here, thought it’d be easier.” “I thought you didn’t want me,” Dasha sobbed, suddenly a child again. “Someone told me you didn’t want to see me. Presents came back unopened, you never answered… I thought you couldn’t forgive me. But never mind,” Albina said cheerfully, wiping Dasha’s tears. “We’ll go home together and start fresh…” ********************************************************************* Dasha left. Natalie, hoping for a comfortable life, took the baby. But when the influential grandfather found out, he came and claimed his granddaughter. Makar, reluctantly, had to acknowledge the child. Dasha, though, is happy at last—living with the one person she can truly trust to always be there for her.

The Waiter Rushed Over to Take Away the Kitten, but a Six-Foot-Tall Gentleman Scooped Up the Crying Fluffy Baby and Placed Him on the Next Chair: “A Plate for My Feline Friend! And Your Finest Meat!” “Let’s wear something bold—almost like the young nymphs—and head to a swanky restaurant. Time to show ourselves off and size up the men…” So declared one of the three friends—a headteacher of a prestigious, exclusive private school, always armed with the cleverest words her profession demanded. These “nymphs” were all thirty-five—the perfect age, in their view, for short skirts and blouses that revealed rather than concealed. Deep necklines, flawless makeup, every piece of battle armor in place. The restaurant matched their expectations: posh, elite, and outrageously expensive, but well within their means. With a reserved table, they settled in, basking in admiring looks from men—and resentful glances from their companions. Of course, conversation turned to the main topic: men. Dreams, desires, and requirements. Each dreamed of her ideal—tall, fit, charming, and decidedly wealthy. The kind who’d carry you, indulge whims, spare you dull chores and chatter. And if noble-born, even better. “Just not like… those.” The friends glanced at a trio of cheerful, slightly pudgy men with thinning hair, surrounded by pints, chips, mountains of steak, and enthusiastic talk of football and fishing. Their laughter was loud, genuine, and utterly unrefined. “Dreadful.” “How gauche.” “Ugh.” The verdict was unanimous: uncouth, rough, clearly lacking sophistication and utterly unfit for such dazzling ladies. But then, something happened that changed the night’s tone in an instant. He arrived—stepping out of the latest model red Ferrari. “Lord Charles Saxon Coburg!” the waiter announced with grandeur. The friends perked up like pointer dogs catching a scent. Tall, athletic, with distinguished silver hair and a suit worth more than most homes. Diamond cufflinks and a blindingly white shirt completed the look. “Ahh…” “Oh wow…” “Mmm…” Necks craned, eyes grew bolder. “This is a real man,” one whispered, “A lord, a stunner, and a millionaire,” said the second. “I’ve always dreamed of the Bahamas—since childhood, actually.” The third stayed silent, but her gaze spoke volumes. Within ten minutes, the ladies were invited to the Lord’s table. They strode over grandly, casting condescending glances at other guests—especially at the football-and-steak trio. The Lord was charming, a master conversationalist, spinning tales of lineage, stately homes, and priceless art. Tension simmered between the friends—each knew only one would be invited to continue the night. Dinner was an icebreaker: lobsters, platters of seafood, and rare vintage wine. The ladies gazed dreamily at the Lord, imagining a future far beyond the dining room. Rosy-cheeked and glowing, they were at their best. The Lord shone too—cracking high-society jokes and sharing stories of the elite. At this point, it hardly mattered where he’d invite them next. Outside, the restaurant had a small garden. The irresistible aroma wafted out, and soon a tiny, skinny grey kitten tiptoed in—hungry, hopeful, and sitting right at the Lord’s feet. But the Lord’s face twisted in disgust. He callously pushed the kitten away with his shoe. The little one skidded several feet, bumping into the table leg beside the football pals. Silence blanketed the restaurant. “I despise filthy, mongrel creatures,” the Lord declared loudly. “At my estate, we have purebred hounds and the finest horses.” The waiter rushed to appease him: “We’ll sort it out right away, our apologies…” He headed for the football table but one of the men—a giant, nearly two meters tall, red-faced and fists clenched—was already up. His friends tried to restrain him. He silently lifted the kitten onto a chair. “A plate for my furry friend!” he thundered. “Your very best meat. Now.” The waiter paled and sprinted to the kitchen as applause rippled through the room. One of the “nymphs” stood and joined the titan, declaring: “Move over, and get a lady a whisky.” The Lord was speechless. Moments later, the other two friends joined them, bestowing the Lord with icy glares. Not all left together that night. In one group: a man, a woman, and a grey kitten. Time passed. Today the first friend is married to the giant—now the owner of a major investment firm. Her two friends wed his mates, both renowned solicitors. The three weddings were held the same day. Their lives are different now—nappies, cooking, housework. All have daughters born close together. But to enjoy the old favourite restaurant, they send their husbands off to football or fishing, call for a babysitter, and meet again—to talk about womanly matters, and men. As for Lord Charles Saxon Coburg—he was arrested a year later, exposed in a high-profile trial as a romance scammer who duped countless women. Real men, thankfully, are a different breed. I’m speaking of those three—chubby, balding, unpolished, and lacking airs, but truly noble-hearted. That’s just how it is. There’s no other way.

Julia Steps Off the Bus With Heavy Bags and Heads Home – “I’m Back!” She Calls Out as Her Family Rushes to Greet Her Saying They Felt She Was Coming. That Night, While They Sit Around the Big Family Table, a Knock at the Door Brings Unexpected Guests. Julia Looks at the Visitors and Can’t Believe Her Eyes Julia Sat Silently and a Bit Sad, Gazing Out the Window as the Bus Carried Her Away from Her Beloved Village. On Her Lap Was a Large Checkered Bag Packed with Essentials—Plus a Bundle of Warm Pasties from Grandma, Filling the Bus with the Tempting Aroma of Fresh Baking. Unable to Resist, Julia Unzipped Her Bag, Pulled Out Two Golden, Crispy Pasties, and Offered One to a Young Man Nearby Who Had Kindly Given Up His Window Seat for Her. “Want one?” she asked. “Yes, please!” he replied eagerly, swallowing hard. “I’m Julia,” she introduced herself. “And I’m Stephen! Heading off to uni?” he asked. “Yep! There’s no college or uni close to home—only tractor school, and I’m definitely not a tractor driver!” “I’m off to uni too,” sighed Stephen. “But I like the countryside.” It was a four-hour journey to the city. By the time they arrived, the two had chatted and become friends, exchanging numbers before heading their separate ways. *** The hustle of entrance exams passed swiftly—both Julia and Stephen were accepted at their chosen universities and over the moon. Worries and exam nerves were behind them; the future was full of big plans and hope. One day Stephen called Julia: “Julia, fancy celebrating our exams at a café?” Julia was delighted, not least because she liked Stephen—he was easygoing, genuine, and comfortingly familiar, so different from the city types. They met in the city centre at a quirky café called “Hippo.” They watched sightseeing boats cut across the river as tour guides bellowed into megaphones. “I wonder why this café is called Hippo?” Julia mused. Stephen laughed. “Probably because if you keep eating the cakes here, you’ll turn into one!” “Sounds about right!” Julia snorted, munching her cake. Soon “Hippo” became their regular spot, and setting up dates was: “Let’s meet at our table.” That evening, they shared their first, unforgettable kiss—tender and passionate. Time passed; Julia grew closer to Stephen than anyone else, except her parents. One day Stephen suggested, “Julia, move in with me! Let’s marry in summer.” “Is this your proposal?” Julia teased. “Sort of!” “Then I’m supposed to ask, like in that old film, remember? ‘Aren’t you worried I’ll always be in your sight?’” “Flutter around as much as you like!” Stephen grinned, twirling Julia round in the street. Julia returned to the flat she shared with friends glowing with happiness. “You’re radiating joy! Spill!” Vera, her flatmate, asked. “Oh girls, I might move in with Stephen soon!” Julia sang. “Are we invited to the wedding?” Marina cheered. “The wedding’s for summer! We’ll just live together for now.” “Don’t rush it, Julia—lots can happen before summer!” Vera warned. Julia laughed it off. “Vera, you’re such an old soul! Everyone does this now.” “I’m not old—I just don’t trust these informal arrangements. My mum’s a solicitor—I know how they end…” Vera grumped. “Alright, Vera, don’t be mad—I was kidding,” Julia soothed. *** Julia brushed off Vera’s worries as nonsense—who needs a stamp in a passport when love is so rare and true? Yet, the conversation nagged at her, making her hesitate about moving in with Stephen. Eventually, he stopped asking. One December day, Julia and her friends wandered the festive city, shivering in the sparkling snow. Spotting “Hippo,” Julia chirped, “Let’s warm up inside—Stephen and I love it here!” “Look—Stephen’s already there!” Marina remarked glumly, nodding at the window. Julia saw Stephen laughing with a younger girl across “their” table… She turned away, quietly: “I think I’ll head home.” “We’re coming too!” Vera and Marina chorused. Back at the flat, her friends tried to reassure Julia, but the way Stephen looked at the girl stuck in her mind. Their table, their café—it felt like a betrayal. Julia stopped answering Stephen’s calls and asked her friends to turn him away at home. When he finally caught her at uni he asked, “Julia, what’s wrong? Are you seeing someone else?” Julia shot him a furious look. “You’re asking? Nice job flipping it! Let go, I’m late for my exam.” And with that, she slipped into the institute, leaving Stephen baffled. *** Julia finished her exams early and went home for Christmas, sure her family’s cosy house would help her get over the hurt and betrayal. And indeed, her spirits lifted stepping off the village bus, surrounded by diamond-sparkling snow and old trees twinkling in the winter sun. Her arms full of gifts for her family, she smiled at the familiar scene—the old Christmas tree outside was even decorated, just like when she was little. “Happy Christmas!” she called, stepping inside. “Julia, darling!” her family cried, rushing to hug her. “We knew you were coming!” It was a joyful day—though winter nights arrived early, Dad cheered, “Let’s light up the tree!” That evening, as they sat at their big family table, someone knocked at the door. “Probably neighbours dropping in,” Mum shrugged, heading to answer it. But she returned not alone—she was with Father Christmas and his helper. “Stephen?” Julia gasped, peering at Father Christmas and the helper—the same young woman she’d seen at the café. “How did you find me? What is all this?” Stephen burst out laughing, the girl too. “Your friends told me where to find you. Also, let me introduce you—this is my younger sister, Irene!” “My sister?” said Stephen. “Yes, sister!” Irene confirmed. “We do look alike, if you check!” Julia felt relief flood her—she scolded herself for assuming the worst instead of simply asking. Stephen then knelt. “Since your whole family’s here, with my own kin as witness, Julia, will you marry me?” He offered her a little box with a ring. “Yes—yes, of course!” Julia cried, hugging him. “This is the best Christmas ever!” “And there’ll be lots more wonderful Christmases together—just promise we’ll talk through misunderstandings from now on!” Stephen said. “I promise!” Julia beamed.