You Just Don’t Realise What True Happiness Is — Half a million? — Karina reread the notification on her phone three times before the numbers made sense. — You took out a loan for half a million pounds? Dmitry was sitting on the sofa, glued to his smartphone, not even looking up. — Oh, that… Yeah, just a small thing. For Mum’s renovations. You know her plumbing’s a disaster, parquet’s warped, wallpaper peeling… — Wait. — Karina sank onto the edge of the armchair, her legs refusing to hold her. — You got a loan. For half a million. And gave it all to your mum. Without saying a word to me? Finally, Dmitry tore himself away from the screen. His face was sincerely perplexed, as if his wife was asking something completely obvious. — Karina, it’s Mum. She lives on her own, tiny pension. Who else would help her? — And talking to me about it? — Karina started shouting, unable to stop. — Asking my opinion? At least telling me? — You would’ve argued, — Dmitry shrugged. — And Mum needed it urgently. Four years. Four years she’d tolerated this woman who called every evening to ask what Dima ate for dinner. Who arrived unannounced and criticised the cleanliness of their flat. Who, at every family dinner, seated the guests so Karina ended up at the furthest corner of the table. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, — Dmitry continued, calm as ever. — We’ll manage. We’ll pay it off, it’s not that much. It’s family. The tears came hot and angry. Karina wiped them away with the back of her hand, mascara smudging across her cheeks. — Family? Am I family? Or am I just an add-on? Remember when your mum decided it was time to change our car and you sold ours without asking? When she threw my things out of the spare room because she ‘couldn’t sleep among someone else’s rubbish’? When, on my birthday, you two went off to buy her a new fridge? — All minor stuff, — Dmitry dismissed. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karina looked at this man — tall, soft features, dimples she’d once found adorable. Now she saw a thirty-year-old child who couldn’t cut the apron strings. — We’ll manage, — he repeated, like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karina stood up silently and walked to the bedroom. The two big holdalls — the ones she’d arrived with when she moved in — lay on the top shelf. She pulled them down, flung them on the bed, and started opening cupboards. Dmitry appeared in the doorway twenty minutes later, just as one bag was completely full. — What are you doing? Karina, this is stupid. You can’t be serious? She didn’t answer. Folded jumpers, jeans, underwear with care. Took down the jewellery box — gifts from her parents and friends, nothing from him. — Where will you go? To your mother? She’s in Manchester! She zipped up the second bag. Checked her handbag — passport, card, keys to her mum’s flat, just in case. — Karina, say something! You can’t just leave me. I love you! She gave him a long look. Then picked up her bags and left the flat. …The next morning, Karina stood in line at the registry office holding her completed divorce papers. It was drizzling outside, grey clouds hung low, but inside she felt calm. The decision was made. The first call came at half past two in the morning. Karina sprang up on her friend Lena’s sofa, confused about her surroundings. — We need to talk, — Dmitry panted, his words jumbled. — I understand now, I’ll change. Give me a chance. She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karina, I can’t live without you. You’re the meaning of my life. By morning there were forty-three messages. Each one lengthy, tearful confessions, promises, threats. “If you don’t come back, I don’t know what I’ll do.” “Mum says you’re just being difficult.” “I’ll always wait for you.” A week later, he started turning up at her office. Karina went out for lunch — there he was, by the sandwich stall. Walking to the tube after work — he was standing across the road. — Just passing by — Dmitry smiled, when Karina demanded an explanation. — Just wanted to see you. One evening, there was a knock at Lena’s flat. Karina opened the door expecting a pizza delivery. Dmitry stood on the doorstep with a bouquet of red roses. — One chance, — he whispered. — Nothing more. Karina silently closed the door. He stood outside for two hours until the neighbours threatened to call the police. She learned to live with it — like living with chronic pain. Not reading his messages, never answering unknown numbers, never glancing round in the street. She got a remote job, moved to a suburb where Dmitry could never just ‘happen by’. The divorce was finalised in three months. Karina left the court clutching the official papers, crying on the steps — not from grief, but relief. Those first months of freedom were terrifyingly empty. Karina was used to checking every decision, even when someone else always made the final call. Now she could buy any yogurt she pleased, without wondering if Elena Victoria would approve. She could watch any film, no one to say, “No respectable woman watches that.” She could breathe. Signed up for English classes — a long-held dream Dmitry considered “a waste”. Started yoga at sunrise, when the city’s just waking up. Took a weekend trip to Cambridge alone, wandered the streets and ate scones. After six months, the calls stopped. The messages too. Karina waited for trouble another month, then another, before letting herself relax. She joined a marketing agency — lively office, young team, vibrant projects. Life was beginning. …She met Andrew at a company party, dragged there by her workmate, Mary. — This is our lead programmer — Mary introduced the tall man in glasses. — Andrew, meet Karina from Marketing. He shook her hand — firm but gentle. Smiled — simply, no attempt to impress. — You hid from karaoke too? — he nodded at the stage where the finance director mangled “Don’t Stop Believin’.” — I’m saving my nerves, — Karina smiled. They talked all night — about books, travel, life’s strangeness. Andrew listened more than he spoke. Asked questions, waited for answers, never interrupted. Never told her how to live. When he learned she was divorced, he just nodded and changed the subject. …Six months later, they moved in together, choosing a bright, small flat in the city centre, high ceilings, view of a quiet courtyard. — Are you sure you like the flat? — Karina asked as they inspected it for the lease. — Should we see more? — Do you like it? — Andrew turned to her. — Yes. Very much. — Then let’s take it. Little things — being able to have an opinion that mattered — were worth more than any grand declarations of love. He proposed on the rooftop as the sun set, painting the sky gold and rose. Produced a small box, opened it — inside, a diamond ring sparkled. — I’m no good at speeches, — Andrew admitted. — But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you can put up with my snoring and my rubbish coffee. Karina laughed through her tears and nodded… …That May night started off ordinary. Andrew was stuck at work — urgent deadline, code bug. Karina was making pasta, humming to the radio, when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent, demanding. She looked through the peephole — and recoiled. Dmitry stood in the hallway. Pale, dark circles, crumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silence — and now he was here. — Karina, open up! — he hammered at the door. — I know you’re in there! We need to talk! She grabbed her phone, dialled Andrew. Engaged. — We love each other! — Dmitry shouted through the door. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s wrong! The door shuddered — he threw his weight against it. Karina braced her back to the wood, feet on the floor. — Go away! — she yelled. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice hit a shriek. — You were mine, you’ll always be mine! Two years I’ve waited for you to see sense! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — Nothing’s over! — another shove, she barely held the door. — I’ve changed! Mum says you just don’t realise your own happiness! Open the door, let’s talk! She watched his distorted, obsessed face through the peephole — not the man she’d once shared a bed with. Karina picked up her phone and dialled 999. — Dima! One press and the police will be here. Leave. Now. Dmitry froze. Silent for a few seconds. Then turned sharply and stomped down the stairs. The building door crashed below. Karina slid to the floor, ears ringing. Only half an hour later could she call Andrew. She filed a police report the next day. The officer — grey-haired, moustached — took her statement, listened, nodded. — We’ll sort it. Have a word. Whatever he said to Dmitry, Karina never knew. But after that, her ex-husband vanished. No calls, no texts, no accidental meetings. …They married in June, a small countryside restaurant — twenty guests, just close friends. No fuss, no groom’s family demanding traditions. Karina stood opposite Andrew in a simple white dress, her hands in his. Birch trees rustled outside, the country air thick with flowers and fresh-cut grass. — Do you… — the celebrant began. — I do, — Karina interrupted, and the guests laughed. Andrew slipped a slim gold ring onto her finger. Inside, three words engraved: “Forever with you.” Karina looked up at the man who would be her husband. Not a mummy’s boy, not an obsessed stalker. Just a man who knew how to listen, respect, and love. Ahead was a life where her voice finally mattered…

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 10 minViews 1

You simply dont know whats good for you

Fifty thousand pounds? Caroline stared at the notification on her phone and read it three times before the numbers made sense. You took out a loan for fifty thousand pounds?

David sat on the sofa, engrossed in his own mobile, not even glancing up.

Oh, that. Yes, its nothing, just for Mums renovations. You know, her pipes are leaking, the floorboards have warped, the wallpapers gone mouldy

Wait. Caroline sank onto the edge of the armchair; her legs wouldnt hold her. You arranged a loan. For fifty thousand. And handed everything over to your mother. Without even telling me?

David finally looked up, his face baffled, as though his wife were asking something painfully obvious.

Its my mum, Caroline. She lives alone, her pensions tiny. Who else is going to help her?

And what about discussing it with me? Caroline shouted, unable to stop. Asking my opinion? Warning me at least?

Youd just have argued, David shrugged. But Mum needed it straight away.

Four years shed endured this woman: the phone calls every evening to check Davids supper; the unannounced visits, always criticising the state of their flat; the family dinners arranged so Caroline was stuck at the far end of the table.

Dont make a mountain out of a molehill, David continued, just as calmly. Well manage, well pay it off quickly, its a small amount, really. Its family.

Hot, furious tears spilled. Caroline wiped them away with the back of her hand, smudging her mascara.

Family? What about meam I not family? Or just an accessory? Remember how your mother decided we needed a new car, and you sold ours without even asking me? When she threw my things out of the guest room, because she couldnt sleep surrounded by strangers clutter? How you spent my birthday picking out her new fridge with her?

Its all small stuff, David waved it away, Youre just tired, you need a break.

Caroline looked at the man shed once found so sweettall, gentle-featured, with dimples she used to adore. Now she saw only a thirty-year-old child unable to cut the apron strings.

Well be fine, he repeated, like a spell. Love conquers all.

Caroline got up in silence and walked to the bedroom. Her two big sports bags sat on top of the wardrobethe same ones shed brought with her years ago. She pulled them down, tossed them on the bed, and began opening cupboard after cupboard.

David appeared at the door twenty minutes later, when the first bag was crammed full.

What are you doing? Caroline, dont be silly. Youre not serious?

She didnt reply. She folded jumpers, jeans, underwear neatly. Lifted down a jewellery boxgifts from parents and friends. Nothing from him.

Where will you go? To your mum? Shes in Manchester!

She zipped the second bag. Checked her handbagpassport, bank card, keys for her mothers flat, which shed kept just in case.

Caroline, say something! You cant just leave me. I love you!

She looked at him for a long moment. Then picked up her bags and walked out.

the next morning, Caroline was standing in the queue at the registry office, clutching her completed application for divorce. Outside, the rain drizzled, grey clouds hanging low over the roofs, but inside she was oddly calm. The decision was made.

The first call came at half-past two in the morning. Caroline sat up on Lenas sofa, struggling to remember where she was.

We need to talk, David panted down the line, rambling. I understand now, Ill change. Please, give me a chance.

She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again.

Caroline, I cant do this without you. You are the meaning of my life.

By morning, she had forty-three messages. Each one long, tearful, full of promises and threats.

If you dont come back, I dont know what Ill do.
Mum says youre just being difficult.
Ill wait for you forever.

A week later, he started turning up outside her office. Caroline would step out for lunch and see him by the kebab van across the street. Leave for the Underground after work and spot him on the opposite pavement.

Just happened to be passing, David would smile when she demanded an explanation. Just wanted to see you.

One evening, the doorbell rang at Lenas flat. Expecting the pizza delivery, Caroline didnt check the peephole.

David was there, clutching a bouquet of red roses.

One chance, he whispered. Thats all I ask.

She closed the door wordlessly. He stood on the doorstep for two hours, until the neighbours threatened to call the police.

She learned to live with itthe way people adapt to chronic pain. Not reading the messages, not answering unknown numbers, not looking over her shoulder in the street. She changed jobs, found a remote role in another firm, moved out to a suburb where David would never go by chance.

The divorce came through after three months. Caroline walked out of the courthouse holding the official certificate and burst into tears on the stepsnot from sorrow, but relief.

Those first months of freedom were daunting in their emptiness. Caroline was so used to checking every decision with someone elseeven if that someone went ahead regardless. Now she could buy any yoghurt she liked at the shop, without worrying if Mrs Harding approved. Choose to watch any film, no longer hearing, decent women wouldnt watch that. She could breathe.

She enrolled in English classesa long-held dream, never realised because David said it was a waste of money. Started early morning yoga classes, before the city woke. Spent a weekend in Bath by herself, no plans, just walked the streets and tried every local fudge.

Six months later, the calls stopped. The messages too. Caroline waited for the catch, another month, then anotherfinally, she relaxed. She landed a job in a marketing agencybright offices, a young team, interesting work. Life was coming together.

She met Andrew at a work partyher colleague Martha dragged her along.

This is our star developer, Martha said, introducing a tall guy in thin-rimmed glasses. Andrew, meet Caroline from Marketing.

He shook her handfirm but gentle. His smile was simple, with no hint of show.

Did you escape the karaoke as well? he nodded at the CFO, mangling Bohemian Rhapsody on the stage.

Had to spare my nerves, Caroline smiled.

They talked for hoursbooks, travel, how odd life was. Andrew listened more than he spoke, asked questions and waited for answers. He never tried to instruct or explain how she ought to live. When he learned she was divorced, he simply nodded and changed the subject.

Six months later, they moved in together, choosing a flat in the centresmall, sunny, high ceilings, a view over a quiet courtyard.

Are you sure you like this one? Caroline asked as they viewed it before signing. We could look at a few more

What about you? Andrew turned to her.

I really do.

Then lets take it.

Small thingsthe right to an opinion that is actually consideredmeant more than all those grand declarations of love.

He proposed on the rooftop of their building, as the sun set and the sky glowed pink and gold. Produced a small box, opened ita diamond ring inside.

Im hopeless at speeches, Andrew confessed, but I want to wake up beside you every day. If you dont mind the snoring and my weak spot for dreadful coffee.

Caroline laughed through tears and nodded

That May evening was perfectly ordinary. Andrew was held up at worksomething urgent with the code, a looming deadline. Caroline was making pasta, humming along to the radio when the doorbell rangsharp, insistent.

She glanced through the peepholeand recoiled.

David stood in the hallway. Pale, sleepless, shirt creased. Two years. Two years of silence, and here he was.

Caroline, open up! His fist hammered the door. I know youre there! We need to talk!

She grabbed her phone and called Andrew. Busy.

We love each other! David yelled through the door. You cant be with someone else! Thats not right!

The door shook under the force of his shoulder. Caroline braced her back against the panel, feet on the floor.

Go away! she shouted. Ill call the police!

Youre my wife! his voice nearly screamed. You were mine and you will be! Ive waited two years for you to come to your senses! Two years!

Were divorced! Its over!

Its not over! he shoved again, barely held back by the door. Ive changed! Mum says you just dont know whats good for you! Let me in, lets talk!

In the peephole, his face was twisted, obsessed. No trace of the man shed once shared a bed with.

Caroline dialled three numbers.

David! One more click and the police will be here. Leave, now.

He froze. Several seconds passed in silence, then he turned abruptly and stomped down the stairs. The main door slammed below.

Caroline slid down to the floor, heart pounding, head swimming. Only after half an hour did she manage to call Andrew.

The police took her statement the next day. The local constablea kindly older man with a moustachewrote everything down, nodded.

Well sort it out. Ill have a word.

What he said to David, Caroline never knew. But after that, her ex vanishedno calls, no messages, no chance encounters anywhere near home.

They held the wedding in early June, a tiny country restauranttwenty friends, no fuss. No relatives from the grooms side demanding tradition.

Caroline stood opposite Andrew in a simple white dress, her hands wrapped around his warm ones. Outside, the birch trees rustled, the air scented with flowers and cut grass.

Do you agree the celebrant began.

I do, she interrupted. The guests laughed.

Andrew slipped a slim, gold ring onto her finger. Inside, it was engraved: Always with you.

Caroline looked up into the eyes of the man who would be her husband. Not a mummys boy, not a tormentorjust a man who knew how to listen, to respect, to love. Ahead of them lay a life in which her opinion mattered.

You’re Just Jealous “Mum, are you serious right now? The Savoy Grill? You know that’s at least a hundred quid per person for dinner.” James tossed his house keys onto the console with such force that they clattered against the wall. Anna glanced up from the stove, where she was stirring a thick sauce, and immediately noticed the pallor of her husband’s clenched knuckles gripping his phone. He listened to his mother for a few more minutes, then swore under his breath and abruptly hung up. “What’s happened?” Anna asked gently. Instead of replying, James collapsed heavily at the kitchen table, staring gloomily at his plate of potatoes. Anna turned off the burner, dried her hands on a tea towel, and sat across from him. “James…” “She’s lost the plot, Anna. Absolutely lost it now. Gone completely bonkers in her old age.” He looked up, and Anna’s heart tightened at the simultaneous anger and helplessness in his eyes. “Remember I told you about that bloke—Leonard—from the ballroom class?” Anna nodded. His mother had vaguely mentioned a new friend a month ago—some charming fellow from the local community centre who waltzed her around the dance floor and made her blush like a schoolgirl. It had seemed sweet: a 58-year-old widow, five years alone, finally meeting a kind gentleman at dance class. “Well.” James pushed his plate away. “She’s taken him to the Savoy. Three times in two weeks. Bought him a suit—four hundred quid. Last weekend, they spent two nights in Bath. Guess who paid for the boutique hotel and Roman Baths tour?” “Your mum.” “Bingo.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “She’s spent her savings—the stuff she’s put aside for emergencies, for the extension, all of it—on some man she’s known a month and a half. It’s a shambles.” Anna paused, choosing her words carefully. She knew her mother-in-law as open-hearted, dreamy, trusting—a hopeless romantic even after five decades of life. “James, listen…” She took his hand gently. “She’s a grown woman. It’s her money. Her choice. Let her be. She won’t hear you right now anyway.” “She’s making mistake after mistake!” “Yes. But it’s her right to make them. And honestly, love, you’re winding yourself up.” He shrugged but didn’t pull away. “I just hate watching her—” “I know. But you can’t live her life for her.” Anna squeezed his wrist. “She has to make her own mistakes. Even if we don’t like it. She’s not lost her wits.” He nodded moodily. *** Two months slipped by. Talk of Leonard faded—James’s mother called less often, was vague on the details, as though hiding something. Anna assumed the romance had fizzled out and stopped worrying. But then, on a Sunday evening, the doorbell rang and there was his mum, flushed with excitement. “Darlings! Oh, darlings!” She swept through the doorway, trailing her sweet perfume. “He proposed! Look! Look!” A modest ring sparkled on her finger, tiny gemstone and all. Cheap, but she gazed at it like it was a Cartier diamond. “We’re getting married! Next month! He’s just… Oh, I never thought, at my age…” She laughed, giddy and girlish. “To feel this again!” James hugged her, and Anna saw his shoulders finally relax. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they’d thought. Perhaps Leonard truly loved her after all. “Congratulations, Mum.” James smiled, stepping back. “Oh—and I’ve signed the flat over to him! Now we’re a proper family!” his mother beamed. Time seemed to freeze. Anna inhaled sharply. James recoiled, as though struck. “What did you say?” “The flat, dear!” She waved her hand as though it was nothing. “To show him I trust him, of course. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Trust.” Silence so heavy, Anna could hear the clock ticking. “Mrs. Walker,” Anna said at last, steady and slow, “You’ve handed your flat over to a man you’ve known three months? Before the wedding?” “And so what?” She sniffed, chin high. “I trust him. He’s not what you think. I know you think badly of him. You all do!” “We don’t—” Anna tried, but— “No! You don’t understand! This is proof of my love,” she folded her arms, “What do you two know about real feelings? About trust?” James finally unclenched his jaw. “Mum—” “NO!” She stamped her foot, suddenly more adolescent than grown woman. “I don’t want to hear another word! You’re just jealous! Jealous of my happiness! Want to ruin everything!” She stormed out, banging the door so hard the windows shivered. *** The wedding was low-key—local registry, a second-hand dress, a clutch of supermarket roses. But his mum glowed as if she were getting married at Westminster Abbey. Leonard—heavyset, balding, with an oily grin—played the perfect gent, hand-kissing, chair-pulling, pouring bubbly. The ideal groom. Anna watched him over the rim of her glass. Something didn’t fit. His eyes. Cold, calculating, even when he looked at her. Practised tenderness. Rehearsed concern. She said nothing. What was the point? *** For the first few months, his mum called weekly—bubbling over with happiness, listing restaurants and shows Leonard treated her to. “He’s so thoughtful! Brought me roses, just because!” James listened, nodded, hung up. He’d sit, silent, for a long time afterwards. Anna waited. A year whisked by. And then—the doorbell. Anna opened it and barely recognised the woman standing there. Ten years older in just one, deep lines, hollow eyes, stooped shoulders, clutching a battered suitcase, the very one she’d once taken on a weekend to Bath. “He threw me out.” His mum’s voice was barely a whisper. “Filed for divorce. Kicked me out. The flat… it’s his now. By law.” Anna wordlessly stepped aside to let her in. The kettle boiled quickly. His mum sat in the armchair, clutching her tea, crying quietly, hopelessly. “I loved him so much. Gave him everything. And he just…” Anna comforted her in silence, rubbing her back, waiting for the tears to wear out. James came home an hour later. He froze in the doorway at the sight of his mother. “Son…” She stood, reaching for him. “I’ve got nowhere to go. You’ll let me stay? I just need a room. Children ought to look after their parents, it’s—” “Stop.” James raised his hand. “Stop, Mum.” “I’ve got no money. It’s all gone. Every penny. My pension’s tiny, you know that.” “I warned you.” “What?” “I warned you.” James sank to the sofa, as though crushed under a heavy weight. “I said: Don’t rush. I said: Get to know him. I said: Don’t sign the flat over. Do you remember what you said to me?” His mum lowered her gaze. “That we didn’t understand real love. That we were jealous of your happiness. I remember, Mum. I remember it all!” “James—” Anna tried, but he shook his head. “No. Let her hear this.” He faced his mum. “You’re an adult. You made your choices. Ignored everyone who tried to help. Now you want us to clean up the mess?” “But I’m your mother!” “That’s why I’m angry!” He shot up, voice breaking. “I’m tired! Tired of watching you throw your life away and expecting me to bail you out every time!” His mum shrank, defeated. “He tricked me, son. I really loved him, I swear…” “So much you gave your home away to a stranger. Brilliant, Mum. Brilliant. Did you forget Dad bought that flat with his own hands?” “I’m sorry…” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I know I was blind. But please…please, just give me one more chance. I’ll never—” “Grown-ups live with the consequences of their choices.” James spoke quietly, wearily. “You wanted independence—now you have it. You’ll have to sort yourself out. Find somewhere to stay. Find a job.” His mum left, sobbing on the landing. Anna spent the night by James’s side, holding his hand in silence. He didn’t cry—just stared at the ceiling, sighing now and then. “Did I do the right thing?” he asked near dawn, when the sky paled. “Yes.” Anna stroked his cheek. “Harsh. Painful. But right.” In the morning, James called his mum. He rented her a bedsit on the outskirts, paid six months up front. It was the last help he gave. “From now on, it’s on you, Mum. We’ll help with legal stuff if you want to fight it, but that’s it.” Anna listened in quiet reflection. Sometimes the harshest lesson is the only lesson that works. His mother had finally been forced to learn the cost of blind faith. And somehow, that realisation brought a sense of both sadness and calm. She couldn’t help feeling, though, that this wasn’t the end—and that, somehow, one day things would be alright. Just maybe, they would.

You Just Don’t Know How Lucky You Are — Half a million? — Karina read the notification on her phone three times before the numbers made sense. — You took out a loan for half a million pounds? Dimitri sat on the sofa, glued to his smartphone, not even glancing up. — Oh, that… Yes, just a small thing, for Mum’s house renovations. You know, her pipes are leaking, the flooring’s ruined, the wallpaper’s going mildewy… — Hold on. — Karina sank into the nearest armchair, her legs too weak to stand. — You took out a loan. For half a million. And gave it all to your mother? Without saying a word to me? Dimitri finally looked up, baffled, as if his wife was asking about something perfectly normal. — Karina, it’s my mum. She lives alone, her pension’s tiny. Who else would help her? — What about discussing it with me? — Karina was shouting now, unable to stop. — Asking my opinion? At least warning me? — You’d have started arguing, — Dimitri shrugged. — And Mum needed the money urgently. Four years. Four years she’d put up with that woman who called every evening to check what Dima had eaten for dinner. Who turned up without warning and commented on the state of the flat. Who always sat Karina at the far end of the table during family meals. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, — Dimitri said in his usual calm tone. — We’ll manage. We can pay it off quickly, it’s no big deal. It’s family. Hot, angry tears burst forth. Karina wiped them away, smearing mascara across her cheeks. — Family? Am I “family”? Or just an accessory? Remember when your mum decided it was time we switched cars and you sold ours without asking? When she threw my things out of the spare room because she “couldn’t sleep surrounded by someone else’s junk”? When on my birthday, you and she went fridge shopping for her? — All details, — Dimitri waved off. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karina looked at the man she married—tall, soft-featured, those dimples she once found charming. Now, all she saw was a thirty-something child, unable to cut the apron strings. — We’ll get through it, — he repeated like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karina stood up and walked to the bedroom. Two large duffle bags sat on the top shelf—the ones she’d brought when she first moved in. She hauled them down, opened the wardrobe and started packing. Twenty minutes later, Dimitri appeared, just as the first bag was stuffed full. — What are you doing? Karina, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not serious, are you? She didn’t answer. Folded jumpers, jeans, underwear. Reached for her jewellery box—gifts from parents and friends, nothing from him. — Where will you go? Back to your mum? She’s in Manchester! She zipped the second bag. Checked her handbag—passport, card, keys to her mum’s flat, kept just in case. — Karina, say something! You can’t just leave. I love you! She gave him a long look. Then picked up her bags and walked out. …Next morning, Karina stood at the register office holding the divorce application, feeling a strange calm inside, despite the grey drizzle outside. The decision was made. The first call came at 2.30am. Karina, startled on Lena’s sofa, confused about where she was. — We need to talk, — Dimitri was ragged, incoherent. — I understand now, I’ll change. Give me another chance. She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karina, I can’t live without you. You are my reason to go on. By morning, forty-three messages had arrived—tearful confessions, promises, threats. “If you don’t come back, I don’t know what I’ll do.” “Mum says you’re just being difficult.” “I’ll wait for you forever.” A week later, he began showing up at her work. Karina went for lunch and found him by the sandwich shop. Headed for the Tube, spotted him across the street. — Just passing by, — he’d smile when she demanded an explanation. — Wanted to see you. One evening, the doorbell rang at Lena’s flat. Expecting the pizza delivery, Karina opened the door. Dimitri stood there—bouquet of red roses. — Just one chance, — he whispered. — That’s all I’m asking. Karina shut the door. He stood outside for two hours before neighbours threatened to call the police. Eventually, she learned to live with it—as one does with chronic pain. Ignoring messages, screening calls from unknown numbers, not looking over her shoulder. She switched jobs for remote work, moved to a sleepy suburb where Dimitri was unlikely to show up. The divorce was finalised three months later. Karina walked out of court, paper in hand, tears streaming—not of grief, but relief. At first, freedom was terrifyingly empty. She’d always checked her choices with someone, even if that someone always decided anyway. Now, she could buy any yoghurt in the shop, without worrying if Elena Victoria approved. Watch any film she liked, without being told “proper women don’t watch that”. She could breathe. She signed up for English lessons—a long-held dream, which Dimitri dismissed as “a waste of money”. Started attending sunrise yoga. Took a solo weekend trip to Cornwall, wandering the streets and eating clotted cream fudge. After six months, the calls and messages stopped. Karina waited another month, then realised she could finally relax. Landed a job at a marketing agency—bright office, young team, exciting projects. Life was looking up. …She met Andrew at a work do her colleague, Mary, convinced her to attend. — This is our lead programmer, — Mary introduced her to a tall man in wire-rimmed glasses. — Andrew, meet Karina from marketing. He shook her hand—firm but gentle. Smiled, simple and sincere. — You ducked out of karaoke too? — he nodded at the stage, where finance was butchering “Wonderwall”. — Got to preserve my nerves, — Karina grinned. They talked all evening—books, travel, life’s quirks. Andrew listened more than he spoke. He asked questions and waited for the answers—never lectured or explained how she should live. When he discovered she was divorced, he simply nodded and changed the subject. …Six months later, they moved in together, picking a cosy, light-filled flat in a quiet London square. — Are you sure you like this one? — Karina checked, viewing the place. — Do you? — Andrew replied. — I love it. — Then it’s settled. Those small things—the right to her own opinion, respected—mattered far more than grand declarations of love. He proposed on the building’s rooftop at sunset, the sky awash in gold and pink. Produced a tiny box—inside, a diamond ring. — I’m rubbish at speeches, — Andrew admitted. — But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you’re willing to put up with my snoring and my love of bad coffee. Karina laughed through tears and nodded… …One May evening, as usual, Andrew stayed late at work—deadline panic, a final bug in the code. Karina was making pasta, humming with the radio, when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent, demanding. She looked through the peephole—and recoiled. Dimitri stood on the landing. Pale, hollow-eyed, rumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silence—and now, he was here. — Karina, open up! — his fist pounding the door. — I know you’re in there! We need to talk! Karina grabbed her phone and dialled Andrew. Engaged. — We still love each other! — Dimitri shouted from outside. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s wrong! The door shook—he threw his whole weight against it, trying to break in. Karina pressed her back to the door, bracing hard. — Go away! — she screamed. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice cracked. — You were mine, you’ll stay mine! Two years I waited for you to come to your senses! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — It’s not over! — he shoved the door again. — I’ve changed! Mum says you don’t appreciate your own happiness! Open up, let’s talk! Through the peephole, his face twisted—obsessed, unrecognisable. Karina dialled three digits. — Dima! One call; the police will be here. Leave. Now. Dimitri froze. Silent. Then turned and stormed off down the stairs. The main door slammed below. Karina slid to the floor, her heart pounding. Thirty minutes passed before she could ring Andrew. She filed a police report the next day. The local officer—a kindly, mustached man—took down details, listened, nodded. — We’ll handle it. He’ll get a warning. What he said to Dimitri, Karina never knew. But her ex-husband never showed up again. No calls. No texts. No “chance” encounters. The wedding took place in early June, at a small country pub—twenty friends, just those closest to them. No fuss, no groom’s side relatives laying down “traditions”. Karina stood opposite Andrew in a simple white dress, holding his warm hands. Outside, the birch trees rustled, carrying scents of flowers and fresh-cut grass. — Do you…? — the registrar began. — I do, — Karina interrupted, and everyone laughed. Andrew slipped the ring on—a thin gold band, engraved inside. Three words: “Forever with you”. Karina lifted her gaze to this man who would be her husband. Not a mummy’s boy, not a possessive stalker. Just a man who listened, respected, and loved. Ahead lay a life where her voice finally mattered…

No Magic at All New Year Was Hurtling Towards Lena Like a Runaway Train—and She Didn’t Even Have a Ticket Lena felt breathless at the speed of it all. She stood, figuratively, on the station platform, knowing she had no ticket, no luck, no New Year cheer, and probably never would. Why had she invited guests, anyway? Who wants to ring in the New Year with a failure? *** December 31st started with a mini disaster: after ten loyal years, Lena’s washing machine decided it was time for retirement—by flooding the bathroom. Finding a plumber on New Year’s Eve? A real quest. After spending hours and nerves, Lena succeeded and hoped her bad luck was over. But… That afternoon, her ginger cat, Basil (self-proclaimed foodie), ate all the sausage set aside for the potato salad, leaving Lena only sad peas and pickled cucumbers. But Basil wasn’t done yet. He decided to pursue a blue tit that landed on the open window… A huge potted plant crashed from the windowsill, taking the Christmas tree with it, snuffing out the string of fairy lights Lena loved so much. Pot shards and the baubles she’d kept since childhood mixed with soil. Lena nearly cried as she cleaned up the mess. Next came a shattered decanter, burnt chicken, and, finally, the last straw: just as her guests were about to arrive, Lena realised she’d forgotten to buy a cake. Panicked, she rang her sister. “Kate, disaster! I haven’t got a cake!” “Calm down!” Kate replied cheerfully. “I’m downstairs. Come out—we’ll sort it.” “You’re here already?” “Yes—outside.” Stepping out, Lena was greeted with a sight: next to Kate’s car stood her best friend, Mary, clutching a massive bag, and Aunt Gail with an enormous bowl of jelly. “Why such a massive trifle?” Lena gasped. “Just in case!” Aunt Gail declared, queen of unsolicited advice. “I know how you cook! We’ve got a whole night ahead! I trust you made the potato salad?” Lena shrugged uncertainly… While the girls dashed for a cake, Mary strung up streamers—quickly becoming Basil’s latest victim as he transformed himself into an alien creature. Kate’s husband, Ian, arrived straight from work and rescued Basil, who didn’t put up a fight until he saw Lena, charging toward her and leaving Ian’s hand scratched and bleeding. The ladies patched up Ian, who gallantly volunteered to “help” in the kitchen, mostly waxing lyrical about how “salad is a state of soul, not just a bunch of ingredients.” Which Kate and Lena found just fine. “Len, what’s this box?” Mary called. “It says ‘Happy New Year!’ And there’s a note: ‘To be opened tonight. Gran Val.’” Lena ran in. “Oh! I forgot! Kate! Gran left it before she went away, said we’re to open it on New Year’s, at about two in the morning. Promised a surprise!” “What could it be?” Kate examined it curiously. “Let’s check now!” Lena shook her head. “She’ll know somehow! What if there’s a lock or a trick? We have to do as Gran said. Wait.” The intrigue had everyone hooked—even Aunt Gail edged closer, eyeing the box. *** Later, they listened to the Prime Minister’s speech, popped champagne, ate cat-nibbled potato salad, laughed, debated—and finally… “Is it two o’clock?” Lena asked. “Perfect timing.” She raised the box. “A surprise from Gran Val!” The only man present was trusted with the unboxing. Ian did the honours and opened the lid. Inside, among cotton wool, lay not money, nor old photos, but dozens of tiny, neatly rolled notes, each tied with coloured ribbon and with a name sticker. “What’s this?” Ian asked, baffled. Lena picked out the first note with her name and read aloud: “Lena, darling granddaughter. Has something gone wrong again today? Washing machine broken? Cat ate your salad? Never mind! Any problem is just an excuse to order pizza and binge your favourite show. You can buy a cake in the morning. What matters is having people nearby to help eat the pizza. Love you to the moon and back. Your Gran Val.” For a moment, silence hung in the air—then laughter exploded. Lena laughed so hard that tears streamed down her cheeks. “How… how did she know?!” “That’s magic,” Aunt Gail whispered. “Me! My turn!” Kate reached for hers. She opened her note: “Kate, darling. Stop arguing with Ian over every little thing. Give him a cuddle—he’s a good one, even if he’s a bit of a philosopher. And if he starts again, just kiss him. It’s the best weapon against male logic. Love you both.” Ian blushed and kissed Kate to cheers from the crowd. Mary giggled as she opened hers: “Mary dear, look for love in the library or local supermarket, not in pubs. There are real people there, just like you—though they don’t wear trendy skinny jeans. And stop dying your hair purple. Natural suits you best!” “How does she know about my hair?” Mary gasped. “I only changed it two days ago!” Now Aunt Gail’s turn. She unfolded her note, as if uncovering a great secret. “Gail, my dear. You’re the wisest, always in the know. But here’s a secret even you don’t know: kindness and wise advice are good, but sometimes it’s best to stay quiet and just eat some cake. Hugs, my dear.” Aunt Gail sat red-faced, mumbled something, grabbed a slice of cake, and fell silent—the first time she’d gone an evening without giving any advice. The laughter and chatter lasted till dawn. The girls video-called Gran Val, who sat smiling in her armchair miles away. “My dears! I’m so glad the surprise worked. There’s no magic. I just know you well. And I love you all so much!” Next morning, cleaning up, Lena gathered the notes into a lovely jar and put it in pride of place. They weren’t just wishes, they were Gran’s recipe for happiness: don’t fear chaos, laugh off failures, value those around you, eat what you want (within reason), and remember the real gift is knowing someone out there loves and understands you—always.