З життя
You’re a True Gem!
Youre a real treasure, you know that?
Again? Emma, who on earth did you have that child for? For yourself or for us? I get home from the office, Im starving, I just want a quiet dinner with you, and instead Im forced to babysit someone elses kid!
The boy isnt exactly a stranger, Emma shivered, exhaling. Honestly, Im not thrilled about it either. But Lucy asked me to get my nails done, and you cant bring a toddler into the salon.
Ian ripped off his jacket, flinging it onto the chair. I should be feeding my nephew, but its far easier in home clothes. The chance of getting splattered with baby purée is a hundred percent.
I get it, love, but a manicure cant wait, can it? Are you the only one she can rely on? Why does our family feel like a nursery?
Theres Mom, but she cant be on call every day, Emma snapped, pulling a packet of instant noodles from the cupboard.
You think you can do it all, dont you? Ian interrupted. Do it for everyone except yourself and me.
He furrowed his brow, then sighed, his features softening. Your wife isnt an enemy, just inexhaustible.
Emma, if you dont cut her off, shell keep hovering over you. And youll be to blame, because the one who drives the car decides where it goes.
Emma pretended to be lost in the kitchen, but inside she knew Ian was right. She didnt want to be a second mother to her nephew, yet she didnt want to clash with family.
It had started innocently.
Emma, Im coming down with a cold and Ive got baby Charlie in my arms. I need to hit the pharmacy, but I cant leave him alone. I cant make it on my own, please help.
So Emma leapt into action without a second thought, forgetting about her own errands. Her sister was ill, possibly seriously, and needed rescuing.
Soon rescuing became a habit.
Need to pick up a phone from the repair shop? Lucys calling. Out of groceries? Emmas on it again. Package at the collection point? Emma darts over like a personal courier.
Emma could afford such feats because she worked remotely with a flexible schedule, but it didnt mean it was easy. A fifteenminute drive to Lucys flat, plus the roundtrip, the queue, the waiting all in all, at least an hour of her day vanished.
Now Emma worked mostly evenings and occasionally nights, when the flat was silent. Her husband, of course, wasnt thrilled, and neither was she. She tried to talk to her sister.
Lucy, how are things with Parker? He doesnt help at all? Emma asked cautiously, handing over another parcel from the online market.
He does help, sort of, Lucy replied. Hes tired after work, but if I need a breather while Im showering, he watches the little one. The rest falls on me.
Lucy looked after her own husband, but never thought of Emmas load.
Moms around, isnt she? Emma pressed.
Dont mention her! Lucy rolled her eyes. Ive had enough of that nagging motherinlaw. When she shows up, my head aches til nightfall. Shes not a woman, shes a fountain of unwanted advice. Id rather starve than ask her for anything.
Is there anyone else? Emma asked, desperate. Oxana has a baby about the same age as yours. Maybe we could trade off one watches, the other runs errands. Or Christina, who doesnt work at all.
I hate pulling strangers into this, Lucy confessed. They dont owe us anything.
Pulling on our own is convenient, Emma sighed.
After that, Emma decided she would say no to her sister. Even before Ian gave any input, she knew something was wrong.
The opportunity came the next day. Lucy called, saying shed booked a nail appointment.
Emma, come over and look after Charlie for an hour.
The tone had shifted from a request to a command. Emmas blood boiled. Why should she scrap her plans just so Lucy could get her nails done?
No, Lucy, I cant today. Sorry.
What do you mean cant?
I cant solve all your problems. I have a life of my own.
I understand, but what am I to do? I have no one else. Ive already booked, I cant let anyone down. Youll never forgive me if I bail.
Lucy, you didnt even ask me before booking. Im not a babysitter or a motherhen. Sort it out yourself.
Fine, Lucy said, hurt. You think its easy because you have no children.
She knew the nephew was becoming like a son to her, but Emma stayed silent. She was never confrontational; even this refusal felt like a heroic act.
Lucy didnt give up and called their mother.
How can you, Emma? their mother scolded. Your own sister has a child, and you turn her away! Who will help her if not us?
When she asked me to pick up medicine, I went because it was important. Now she calls every day about trivial things. She even booked a salon appointment! Does she really need it that urgently?
She just wants to look nice, like any woman. Try to see it from her side.
Emma raised an eyebrow. No one could see her predicament.
Mom, if youre so wise, help her.
I? her mother gasped. I can barely get around! Youre young, its easier for you.
Young, childless, still at home I hear that all the time. Im tired of it. That day Emma finally stood her ground and refused to help.
In retaliation, mother and Lucy gave her the silent treatment for a week, acting as if she didnt exist. Others might have taken it calmly, but Emma felt shed lost her place and wondered how to mend things.
A week later Lucy called again, asking Emma to watch the baby while she did a manicure. Emma agreed, even though she loathed herself for it. She was choosing between exile from the family and endurance.
Youre soft one minute, hard the next, Ian said after hearing it. Be careful, or shell never back off.
Emma sighed, nodded, and that night she mulled over how to refuse without creating a scene.
The next afternoon the phone rang, predictably.
Emma, Im at my wits end. Charlie has a fever, hes been screaming since morning, and Im running round like a hamster. No time for a bathroom break. Come over, well manage together.
I cant, Im at work. We have strict monitoring now the software tracks every minute, even lunch breaks. Its like an office on a screen.
Silence fell. Lucy was clearly hunting for a weak spot.
Please, just once, last time! Ask someone to cover for you or take a day off.
Emma had no choice. She pretended to concede.
Fine, Ill figure something out.
She hung up and texted Parker, asking for his mothers number. He didnt refuse, and Emmas motherinlaw agreed to pop over to Lucys flat.
Emma knew exactly when the mother would arrive because the messages kept coming.
Are you completely bonkers? Lucy wrote back. Why did you bring her onto me?
You needed help. I called her, thats all, Emma replied, as if nothing had happened. I cant be there myself, you know that.
Lucy read it, didnt reply. Emma felt a tiny surge of triumph her small victory. Lucy would whine, mother would probably be annoyed again, but now her sister would have to learn to fend for herself or find real help.
“YOU MISSED IT, MARINA! THE PLANE’S GONE! AND WITH IT YOUR JOB AND YOUR BONUS! YOU’RE FIRED!” — HER BOSS YELLED DOWN THE PHONE, AS MARINA STOOD IN THE MIDDLE OF A TRAFFIC JAM, STARING AT THE OVERTURNED CAR SHE’D JUST PULLED SOMEONE ELSE’S CHILD FROM. SHE’D LOST HER CAREER, BUT FOUND HERSELF.
“YOU DIDN’T MAKE IT, KATHERINE! THE FLIGHT’S GONE! AND WITH IT, YOUR POSITION AND YOUR BONUS! YOU’RE FINISHED!” Her boss...
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“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…
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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,...