З життя
Listen, we’ve got guests coming over soon, and you’ll need to make yourself scarce.
It was one of those peculiar situationsguests were arriving soon, and they had to leave. “Listen, people are coming over, and youll need to go somewhere. You understand, dont you? Having you here would ruin the celebration.”
“But where will we go, son? We dont know anyone here,” Mum asked.
“Well, how should I know? The neighbour back in the village used to invite you, didnt she? Go there.”
Victor and Margaret already regretted a thousand times that theyd listened to their son and sold their house.
Life had been hard there, but it was theirs. They were the masters of their own home. And here?
They barely dared step out of their room, terrified of provoking their daughter-in-law, Catherine. Everything about them annoyed herthe shuffling of their slippers, the way they sipped tea, the way they ate.
The only person in the flat who cared for them was their grandson, Jamie.
A handsome young man, but he adored his grandparents to madness. If his mother raised her voice in his presence, hed snap back immediately.
Their son, Edwardwhether out of fear or indifferencenever stood up for them.
Jamie even had supper with them. But he was rarely home, busy with his apprenticeship, staying in a dorm near work. He only visited on weekends.
The elderly couple lived for his visits, each one a holiday. And now, New Years Eve was upon them. Jamie arrived early that morning just to wish them well.
He brought them giftsthick woollen socks and gloves. He knew they were always cold. Plain gloves for Granddad, embroidered ones for Granny.
Margaret pressed them to her face and wept.
“Granny, whats wrong? Dont you like them?”
“Oh, darling, theyre perfect. The most precious thing Ive ever had.”
She hugged him, and Jamie kissed her palms, just as hed done since childhood. Her hands always smelled of somethingbaked apples, dough, but most of all, warmth and love.
“Right, you two, hold on without me for three days. Im off with my mates, then Ill be back.”
“Go on, love,” Granny said. “Well manage.”
Jamie packed his bag, said his goodbyes, and left. The old couple retreated to their room.
An hour later, Catherines voice screeched through the walls. Guests were coming, and the old folk couldnt stay. Disgraceful, really. Where would they even put everyone?
Edward mumbled something about not knowing where to send them, but Catherine wouldnt hear it.
The old couple sat like mice, too afraid to even make tea. Victor pulled out a hidden pack of biscuits and shared them with Margaret.
They sat by the window, chewing in silence. A tear trembled in Margarets eye. How bitter it wasto live long enough to become unwanted.
Darkness fell outside. Edward came in.
“Listen, people are coming over, and youll need to go somewhere. You understand, dont you?”
“But where, son? We dont know anyone here,” Mum asked.
“How should I know? The neighbour back in the village used to invite you. Go there.”
“Where can we even go? The buses have stopped, and we dont even know where the station is. And who knows if shes still alive?”
“Dunno. Catherine says youve got an hour to pack.”
Edward left. Victor and Margaret looked at each other, swallowing back tears. They gathered their thingsJamies gifts would come in handy.
They dressed warmly and stepped outside. The streets were dark, strangers rushing past in the cold.
Margaret took Victors arm, and they wandered toward the park. On the way, they stopped at a café for tea and sandwichesthey hadnt eaten all day.
They lingered there, dreading the return to the cold. Snow fell, the frost tightening its grip. In the park, a small gazebo offered shelter. They huddled together inside.
Margaret studied her gloves. Victor watched her and said, “At least our grandson has a kind heart, unlike his parents.”
“Yes. We promised him wed manage, and here we are,” she whispered.
Time crawled. Snowflakes drifted. Lights flickered in distant windows. Thena dog appeared at their feet.
A spaniel, wagging its tail, paws on Margarets knees. She smiled and stroked its head.
“Hello there, little friend. Are you lost?”
A womans voice called from the darkness. “Lord! Where are you? Time to go home!”
The dog barked.
“Lord! Over here!”
A young woman approached. “Oh, youve found my dog! Whats happened?”
She looked at the old couple, realising theyd been there a while.
“Sorry, buthow long have you been sitting here?”
“A while, love. Your dogs lovely.”
“But why arent you going home? Its freezing, and New Years almost here.”
Silence.
“Oh. Youve nowhere to go, have you?”
They shook their heads.
Lord nuzzled Margarets hand, tail wagging.
“Right. Were continuing this conversation indoors. Im freezing, and so are you. Come with me.”
“But, dear, why trouble yourself?”
“No arguments. Its just me and Lord at homewed love the company. Come on, or well miss the countdown.”
They hesitated, then rose. Their feet were numb despite the socks.
They walked slowly, Lord darting around them. The womanEmilylearned their story along the way.
Margaret confessed, shamefaced. Emily was horrified.
Her own parents were goneshed give anything to have them back.
The flat was warm, smelling of baking. They drank tea first, thawing out, then set the table.
A Christmas tree glowed in the corner. Cosy. Like home.
Margaret helped Emily prepare supper. Victor played with Lord.
At midnight, they toasted. The old couple were gratefulEmily, too, glad not to be alone.
In the morning, she wouldnt let them leave. “Stay a week at least.”
Time would tell. It felt right, like family.
Jamie returned, went straight to his grandparents roomempty. The bed untouched.
“Mum. Where are they?”
“How should I know? They left.”
“When?”
“New Years Eve. We asked them to step outhaving old folk around is embarrassing.”
“*Youre* the embarrassment,” Jamie spat. “Not them.”
He stormed out, searching the streets, asking strangers. Despair gnawed at him.
Thena woman walking a dog. And on her handshis grandmothers gloves.
“Where did you get those?”
“Why?”
“I gave gloves just like those to my gran. Now she and Granddad are missing.”
“Youre Jamie?”
“Yes. How do you know me?”
“Im Emily. Come with me.”
She led him home, explaining everything on the way.
The door opened. The smell of pancakes filled the air.
“I love that smell,” Jamie said.
“Look who we found,” Emily called.
Jamie stepped inside. His grandmother rushed to him, weeping. His grandfather appeared. They sat together, eating, talking.
Jamie apologised for his parents.
They debated what to do. Emily insistedtheyd stay with her. Jamie brought their things. Soon, he was visiting constantly.
Once, the flat had been just Emily and Lord. Now, it was always fullwarm smells, laughter, Lord choosing whose bed to steal at night.
As for Emily and Jamiewell, thats another story.
Kindness is a powerful thing.
Sometimes, all it takes is a smile. A simple question.
A small act of goodness.
It always comes back.
“Oh, You Drive Me Mad!… I Eat Wrong, I Dress Wrong, I Do Everything Wrong!”—Pavel’s Voice Broke Into a Shout. “You Can’t Do Anything Right!… Can’t Even Earn a Decent Living… And You’re No Help Around the House, Ever!”—Marina Sobbed, “…And There Are No Children…” She Whispered. Belka, the Ten-Year-Old Ginger-and-White Cat, Watched Silently from Atop the Cupboard as Another Family “Tragedy” Unfolded. She Knew, Even Felt, That Mum and Dad Loved Each Other Dearly—So Why Say Such Hurtful Things? Mum Ran Off Crying, Dad Chain-Smoked by the Window, and Belka Thought to Herself: “What This Home Needs Is Happiness, And Happiness Means Kids… Somehow, We Need to Find Children…” Belka Herself Couldn’t Have Kittens—She’d Been Neutered Long Ago. As for Mum, The Doctors Said It Was Possible, But Something Never Quite Worked Out… The Next Morning, After Mum and Dad Left for Work, Belka Squeezed Out the Window and Went to See Her Neighbour, Whiskers, for Advice. “Why On Earth Would You Want Kids?” Sniffed Whiskers. “Ours Always Come Over—Hide From Them If You Can! They Smear My Muzzle With Lipstick Or Squeeze Me ‘Til I Can’t Breathe!” Belka Sighed, “We Need Proper Children… But Where On Earth Do We Get Them?” “Well… That Stray Molly on the Street Just Had Five… Take Your Pick…” Whiskers Shrugged. On Her Own Daring, Belka Tiptoed Balcony to Balcony Down to the Street, Squeezed Through The Bars of a Basement Window, and Called Out, “Molly, Could You Come Here for Just a Moment?” From Deep Within the Cellar Came the Desperate Squeaking of Kittens. Belka Cautiously Approached. Underneath the Heater, Five Blind, Mismatched Kittens Searched The Air, Wailing Hungrily. Molly Hadn’t Been There for At Least Three Days. The Babies Were Starving… Feeling She Might Cry, Belka Carefully Carried Each Kitten to the Entrance of Her Building. Lying Beside the Screeching, Hungry Bunch, She Waited Anxiously for Mum and Dad to Come Home. When Pavel and Marina Returned from Work, They Were Astonished—There Was Belka, Never Before Out Alone, Being Nursed by Five Noisy Kittens. “How on Earth Did This Happen?” Pavel Stammered. “It’s a Miracle…” Whispered Marina. They Scooped Up Belka and the Kittens and Rushed Inside. As Pavel Watched Their Purring Cat in a Box Full of Babies, He Asked, “So… What Are We Going To Do With Them?” “I’ll Hand-Feed Them… When They’re Grown, We’ll Find Them Homes… I’ll Call My Friends,” Whispered Marina. Three Months Later, Still Stunned By The Miracle, Marina Sat Stroking Her Feline Clan, Repeating to Herself, “This Can’t Be Real… This Can’t Happen…” And Soon After, She and Pavel Wept for Joy, Laughing and Embracing, “I’m So Glad We Finished Building This House!” “Yes! Perfect for a Child to Play Outside!” “And the Kittens Can All Run Around!” “There’s Room for Everyone!” “I Love You!” “Oh, I Love You Even More!” Wise Old Belka Wiped Away a Tear—Life Was Finally Coming Together…
Im so fed up with you! Nothing I do is right for you! The way I eat, what I wearits...
Excuse Me, Sir, Please Don’t Push—Oh, Is That Smell Coming From You? A Chance Encounter, a Perfectly Laid Bathroom Tile, and a Second Wind: How Rita’s Life Changed at 53 When a Homeless Stranger with Sapphire Eyes Built Her Happiness and Challenged Her Son’s Inheritance Plans
– Excuse me, sir, please dont push. Oh, goodness. Is that smell coming from you? – Sorry, the man muttered,...
Mother-in-Law Anna Peters was sitting in her kitchen, watching the milk quietly simmering on the stove. She had forgotten to stir it three times already, each time remembering too late: the milk would froth, spill over, and she would clean the stove irritably with a cloth. In those moments she felt it keenly: it wasn’t really about the milk. Ever since her second grandchild was born, everything in the family seemed to derail. Her daughter grew tired, thinner, and quieter. Her son-in-law came home late, ate in silence, sometimes heading straight to the bedroom. Anna saw this and thought: how can you just leave a woman to cope alone? She spoke up. At first gently, then more sharply. First to her daughter, then to her son-in-law. And then she noticed something strange: after she spoke, the house didn’t feel lighter, but heavier. Her daughter defended her husband, he grew gloomier, and Anna returned home with a sinking feeling that once again, she hadn’t done things right. That day she went to see their vicar, not for advice, but because there was nowhere else to go with this feeling. “I suppose I’m just not a good person,” she said, not meeting his gaze. “I always do things wrong.” The vicar was sitting at his desk, writing. He set his pen aside. “Why do you think that?” Anna shrugged. “I tried to help. Instead, I only seem to make everyone angry.” He looked at her attentively, but without judgment. “You’re not a bad person. You’re just exhausted. And very anxious.” She sighed. That rang true. “I’m so worried for my daughter,” she said. “She’s so different since the baby. And him…” She waved a hand. “It’s like he doesn’t even notice.” “Do you notice what he does?” the vicar asked. Anna thought for a moment. She remembered how, last week, he washed the dishes late at night when he thought no one saw. How on Sunday he took the pram out for a walk, even though he looked as if he’d rather collapse into bed. “He does help… I suppose,” she replied doubtfully. “But not the way he should.” “And what way is that?” the vicar asked gently. Anna wanted to reply at once, but realised she didn’t know. She could only think: more, better, more attentively. But what, exactly, was hard to explain. “I just want things to be easier for her,” she said. “Then say that,” the vicar replied quietly. “Not to him, but to yourself.” She looked at him. “What do you mean?” “I mean you’re not fighting for your daughter — you’re fighting her husband. And fighting means being tense. That exhausts everyone: you, and them.” Anna was silent for a long while. Then she asked, “So what should I do? Pretend everything’s fine?” “No,” he replied. “Just do what helps. Not words, but actions. And not against someone, but for someone.” On her way home, she thought over his words. Remembered how, when her daughter was a little girl, she would just sit beside her quietly if she cried — never lecturing. Why was it different now? The next day, she arrived unannounced. She brought soup. Her daughter was surprised; her son-in-law embarrassed. “I won’t stay long,” Anna said. “Just wanted to help.” She watched the children while her daughter slept. Left quietly, without a word about how hard things were, or what they ought to do. The next week, she came again. And again, the week after. She still noticed that her son-in-law was far from perfect. But she began to see other things: the way he gently picked up the baby, how at night he tucked a blanket around her daughter when he thought no one was looking. One day, in the kitchen, she couldn’t help herself and asked him, “Is it hard for you right now?” He looked startled, as if no one had ever asked before. “It’s hard,” he answered, after a pause. “Very.” And nothing more. But something sharp in the air between them was gone. Anna realised she’d been waiting for him to change. But it needed to start with her. She stopped discussing him with her daughter. When her daughter complained, she didn’t say “I told you so.” She just listened. Sometimes she took the children to give her daughter a break. Sometimes she called her son-in-law to ask how things were. It wasn’t easy. It was much easier to stay angry. But gradually, the house grew quieter. Not better, not perfect — just quieter. Free of endless tension. One day her daughter said, “Mum, thank you for being with us now, not against us.” Anna thought about those words for a long time. She understood something simple: reconciliation doesn’t come from someone admitting they’re wrong. It comes when someone is willing to stop fighting first. She still wanted her son-in-law to be more attentive. That wish hadn’t gone away. But alongside it lived something more important: for her family to have peace. And every time the old feeling — frustration, resentment, the urge to criticise — rose up, she asked herself: Do I want to be right, or do I want to make things easier for them? Almost always, the answer showed her what to do next.
Mother-in-Law Margaret Williams sat in the kitchen, her eyes resting on the saucepan of milk gently simmering on the hob....
Excuse Me, Sir, Please Don’t Push—Oh, Is That Smell Coming From You? A Chance Encounter, a Perfectly Laid Bathroom Tile, and a Second Wind: How Rita’s Life Changed at 53 When a Homeless Stranger with Sapphire Eyes Built Her Happiness and Challenged Her Son’s Inheritance Plans
– Excuse me, sir, please dont push. Oh, goodness. Is that smell coming from you? – Sorry, the man muttered,...
“My Grandchildren Only See Fresh Fruit Once a Month, But She Buys Expensive Food for Her Cats!”: My Daughter-in-Law Accuses Me of Being Cold-Hearted for Putting My Pets First, but I Won’t Let Her Guilt Me into Supporting Their Growing Family
My grandchildren only see fresh fruit once a month, yet she spends a fortune on fancy cat food, my daughter-in-law...
Oxana, Are You Busy? – A Festive New Year’s Eve Tale of Family, Holiday Hustle, a Mishap in the Snow, and an Unexpected Encounter with a Doctor That Changed Everything
Annie, are you busy? her mum calls, poking her head through the door to her daughters room. Just a second,...
Vitaly Settles in with Coffee and His Laptop to Finish Work—Until an Unexpected Call from the Maternity Ward Changes Everything: A Stranger’s Baby, a Past Affair in Brighton, and the Decision That Will Change His Life Forever
Edward settled himself at his mahogany desk, laptop open and a steaming mug of tea beside him. He had a...
Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: “Why hasn’t your husband written or called?” “No word, Vera—not after nine days, not after forty,” Lyuda would joke, adjusting her work apron over her broad waist. “So he’s gone off the rails, or worse, then,” her neighbour nodded sympathetically. “Well, wait and see. Have the police said anything?” “Everyone’s silent, Vera—quiet as fish in that sea of his.” “Life, eh… fate.” That conversation weighed heavy on Lyudmila as she swept the autumn leaves from her doorstep in the dreary fall of 1988. Three years into her well-earned retirement, she’d had to take up work as a council cleaner to make ends meet. Life had always been simple—she and her husband, both dutiful workers, had raised a son, no scandal, no sorrow. Then Igor went on a seaside holiday and never returned. She’d phoned every hospital, every police station, even the morgue. Her son, stationed with the military, helped with inquiries—it was discovered Igor checked out of his hotel but never boarded the train home. Lyudmila wanted to go search for her husband, but her son insisted he’d handle it. Weeks passed, and she kept herself busy to stifle her fears. Then, as suddenly as he’d vanished, Igor reappeared—no suitcase, just the same navy suit and a weary silence. As she fussed to feed him and her son, the truth unravelled: Igor had been living with another woman by the sea, seeking “freedom.” The shock, the ache of betrayal—Lyudmila couldn’t bear it. Igor, shamed and lost, tried to return weeks later, but Lyudmila stood firm. It wasn’t just heartbreak—it was the pain of not knowing, of years shared and suddenly made strange. She swept her pathway, watching leaves collect and blow away, knowing sometimes those who hurt us most have already gone with the wind. (Original Title Adapted for English Culture: Igor Never Came Back from Holiday: The Disappearance, the Heartbreak, and the Road Swept Clean)
Yours hasnt written or rung you yet? No, Vera, not a word after nine days, not after forty either, Lydia...