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At Forty-One, a Child?!” He Yelled at Nastya. “Women Your Age Are Grandmothers Already—Don’t Be Foolish with These Children’s Books!
“At forty-one, you want a baby?!” James shouted at Emily. “Most women your age are grandmothers! Emily, dont be ridiculous!”
“Fine, I get ityou think this is foolish. But have you even considered the child?” James continued, his voice sharp. “I dont want to be hobbling around with a walking stick at her wedding! And what if something happens to us while shes still young? Sort this out now, or Ill leave you!”
Emily and James had been married for twenty years. Shed married him straight out of university, barely more than a girl herself. All this time, shed believed him to be her rock, her closest ally. Never had she imagined hed turn against her like this.
Recently, their family had erupted into a bitter rowthe reason being Emilys unexpected late pregnancy. James was adamantly opposed.
“Emily, have you lost your mind? Deciding to play mother in your dotage? Weve got three wonderful boysOlivers already at university, and Noah and Ethan are finishing secondary school. Arent they enough? What will the boys think? That weve gone senile?”
“James, Ive always dreamed of a daughter,” Emily insisted. “If fates given us this child, why shouldnt she come into the world?”
“And what if its another boy? Will we keep going for a fifth?” James snapped.
“Im certain its a girl.”
Even the boys didnt support her. When Noah and Ethan heard about the new addition, they flatly refused to share their room. Oliver, the eldest, voiced his concerns too.
“Mum, arent you scared at your age? What if something happens to you?”
“Itll be fine,” Emily reassured him. “Im not that old!”
This wasnt the first time James had reacted this way. When shed been expecting the twins, hed been just as reluctant. Back then, Oliver had been three, money was tight, and theyd lived with James parents. Emily had clashed constantly with her mother-in-law.
But when the doctor announced twins, everything changed. James mother gave them money for a house deposit, and James became more attentive. Noah and Ethan, surprisingly, were quiet babies, letting Emily rest. Oliver adored having playmates, often keeping his brothers occupied.
This time, Emily hoped things would magically fall into place again.
By the third week, though, trouble started. She felt sick at work. For over a decade, shed worked as a nail technician, accustomed to the strong smells of polishes and oils. Now, the sight of bright bottles made her nauseous. Medicine didnt help. She was forced to quit.
Too weak to wash dishes, let alone clean, Emily spent her days in bed. Groceries became a luxury, and James and the boys werent pleased.
With her income gone, money grew tight. James, a paramedic, started working double shifts. Oliver switched to evening classes, working days at an electronics shop.
Emily saw the disapproval in their eyes. Even her parents warned herher age made pregnancy dangerous. Neighbours whispered when she left the flat. She felt utterly alone.
Then came the scan.
The doctor frowned at the screen, murmuring numbers to the nurse. Emily lay motionless, afraid even to breathe. Finally, she blurted out, “Doctor, is it a girl or a boy?”
“Female. But theres an issue.”
Emilys stomach dropped. “Whats wrong?”
“Try not to panic, but I must tell you. The baby has a neural tube defecta serious condition. By 23 weeks, it should be closed. Yours is still open. The child may be disabled.”
Emily burst into tears. “Cant you help her? Are there treatments?”
The doctor looked away.
Dazed, Emily wandered the hospital corridors, barely registering her surroundings. Back in the car, she sobbed uncontrollably.
At home, James was heating dinner. The boys were out. Now was the time.
“I had the scan today,” Emily said hoarsely. “Its a girl. But theres a problemher neural tube hasnt closed.”
James stiffened. “What did Dr. Harris say?”
“Nothing. He suggested termination. I refused. I cant do it, James! Shes still our daughter!”
“Youre insane!” James exploded. “Do you understand what this means? That child could be disabledif she even survives. Tomorrow, Im getting you that referral myself.”
“I wont go.”
“Then dont expect my support! I wont watch you sufferor that child!”
James stormed off, yanking a duffel bag from the wardrobe.
“James, what are you doing?” Emily cried. “Youre leaving? Abandoning us? Shes your daughter too!”
“I wont indulge this madness!” He stuffed clothes into the bag. “Think about the boys! Have you ever seen a child like that? My mum had a baby after meborn with a heart defect. He lived six months. I still remember the horror. She never wanted kids again. Well, neither do I. And Im taking the boys.”
He slammed the door behind him.
James mother, Margaret, was stunned to see him on her doorstep with a bag.
“Whats happened? A row with Emily?”
“More than that. Shes keeping a disabled childagainst my wishes. Im filing for divorce.”
“James, the mother and child are one. Its her choice. Calm downlet me make you tea.”
As he slumped into a chair, James asked quietly, “Mum would you have had Ian if youd known?”
“Of course! I hoped till the end hed pull through. And since when do scans never lie? Has that hospital never misdiagnosed anyone?”
James remembered their neighbour, ClaireDr. Harris had said her baby had a heart defect. The boy was born perfectly healthy.
In the morning, James went back to the clinic. The ultrasound room was locked.
“Hes not in today,” a nurse explained. “The machines brokenagain. Third time this month. Were waiting for a technician.”
Doubt gnawed at him. An old colleague worked at a private cliniched take Emily there.
When Emily returned from the shops, James was waiting. “Get your coat. Were going private.”
The private scan was quick. The doctor studied the screen, then smiled.
“Everythings normal. No defects at all. Shes perfectly healthy. Would you like to hear her heartbeat?”
James wept. Emily asked about the first diagnosis.
“The tube is closed. Your daughters fine.”
Relief flooded them both. James held Emily tight.
In the coming weeks, every scan confirmed their daughters health.
When little Harriet was born, the family gatheredeven those whod urged termination.
“She looks just like you,” Margaret whispered, cradling her granddaughter. “Those blue eyes! Im so proud, James.”
James adored Harriet from the first moment, spending every free second with her.
“Fancy watching telly with me?” Emily teased.
“Later,” hed say, grinning. “Harriet and I have plans.”
Even the boys, whod sworn they wanted nothing to do with a baby, set up a rota for walks with their little sister. Emily trusted them completelyshe knew theyd take care of her.
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...
You Drive Me Up the Wall!… I Can’t Eat Right, Can’t Dress Right, Can’t Do Anything Right! — Pavel’s voice broke into a shout. — You can’t do anything!… Can’t even earn proper money!… We never get any help from you around the house!… — Marina burst into tears, — …And there are no children…, — she whispered. Belka — a white-and-ginger cat of about ten, perched atop the wardrobe, silently witnessed yet another “family tragedy”. She knew, she could sense, that Mum and Dad truly loved each other… But she didn’t understand why they said such cruel words that hurt everyone. Mum, sobbing, locked herself in the bedroom as Dad lit one cigarette after another. Belka, seeing her family falling apart, thought, “There must be happiness in this house… and happiness means children… we need to find some children…” Belka couldn’t have kittens herself — she’d been spayed years ago, and as for Mum… the doctors said she could, but something just wouldn’t work out… The next morning, after her humans left for work, Belka, for the very first time, slipped out the window to visit her neighbour Pawsy — for advice. — Why would you want kids? — scoffed Pawsy. — Ours come with children, and I have to hide from them… they smear lipstick on your face or squeeze you until you can’t breathe! Belka sighed: — We just need normal children… If only we could find some… — Hmmm… That street cat Molly’s had a litter… five of them… — mused Pawsy. — Take your pick… Taking her chances, Belka leapt balcony to balcony to the street. Shivering nervously, she squeezed through the railings of a basement window and called out: — Molly, could you come out for a minute, please… From deep within came desperate squeaks. Carefully crawling through, eyes darting in fear, Belka began to cry. Under the radiator, on the hard gravel, lay five tiny, sightless kittens, nudging the air and wailing for their mum. One sniff told her: Molly hadn’t been back for at least three days. The babies were starving. Fighting tears, Belka gently carried each kitten to the entrance. Trying to calm her hungry, squeaking brood, Belka lay down beside them, anxiously watching the end of the yard, waiting for Mum and Dad. Pavel, silent as he met Marina after work, brought them home. As they reached the doorway, they froze — there was their Belka, (who had never set paw on the street alone), and five multicoloured kittens clambering to nurse from her. — What on earth? — Pavel was stunned. — A miracle…, — echoed Marina, and together they scooped up the cat and kittens and rushed inside… Watching Belka purr happily in a box with her new babies, Pavel asked: — But what do we do with them? — I’ll feed them with a dropper… once they’re bigger, we’ll find them homes… I’ll call my friends…, — Marina whispered. Three months later, still stunned by the turn of events, Marina sat stroking her “cat pack” and murmured, over and over: — Things like this just don’t happen… this just doesn’t happen… Then, she and Pavel broke down in happy tears; he swept her into his arms, and they both laughed and chattered at once: — I’m glad I finished building the house! — Perfect for a child to get some fresh air! — And let the kittens run in the garden! — There’ll be room for everyone! — I love you! — And I love you even more! Wise Belka brushed away a tear — life, it seemed, was finally coming together…
How you get on my nerves! Nothing I do is right not even how I eat, not even what I...
I Called Out the Window: “Mum, Why Are You Up So Early? You’ll Catch Your Death!” — She Turned and Waved Her Shovel Cheerfully: “I’m Doing This for You Lazybones!” — And the Next Day, My Mum Was Gone… I Still Can’t Walk Past Our Garden Gate Without Tears Every Time I See That Pathway, My Heart Clenches Like Someone’s Gripped It in Their Fist. I Took That Photo on the Second of January… I Only Stopped When I Noticed Her Footprints in the Snow—Now That Photo Is All I Have Left of Those Days… We’d Spent New Year Together, Just as Always: Mum in Her Favourite Apron I Gave Her at School, the Smell of Fried Burgers, Family Jokes, Dad Arriving with an Enormous Tree, All of Us Decorating, Singing Old Christmas Songs, Laughing Until We Cried… On 2nd January, I Looked Out to See Mum Clearing a Perfect Pathway from the Gate to Our Door, Her Scarf Tied Up, Red-cheeked, Shovelling Snow So We Wouldn’t Have to Struggle Through the Drifts. “It’s for You, My Lazy Lot—Go Put the Kettle On,” She Called, Smiling. That Was the Last Time I Heard Her Voice So Cheerful. The Next Day She Was Gone, So Suddenly It Didn’t Seem Real. Only Her Little Footprints Remain—Marks in the Snow, and In My Heart.
I remember shouting out the window, Mum, what are you doing out there so early? Youll freeze! She turned around,...
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW Anna Petrovna sat in the kitchen, watching the milk quietly simmer on the stove. Three times she’d forgotten to stir it, and each time she remembered too late: the froth would rise and spill over, and she’d wipe the stovetop in irritation. In those moments, she realized: it wasn’t about the milk. Ever since her second grandchild was born, it was as if everything in the family had gone off the rails. Her daughter grew weary, lost weight, and spoke less. Her son-in-law came home late, ate in silence, and sometimes retreated straight to the bedroom. Anna Petrovna noticed all this and thought: how could anyone leave a woman alone like this? She spoke up—first gently, then with more edge. At first to her daughter, then to her son-in-law. But she began to notice a strange thing: after her words, things in the house didn’t get lighter—they got heavier. Her daughter defended her husband, her son-in-law grew more withdrawn, and she herself went home with the feeling she’d once again done the wrong thing. That day, she went to the vicar not for advice, but because she simply had nowhere else to go with these feelings. ‘I suppose I’m just a bad person,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘I do everything wrong.’ The vicar was sitting at his desk, writing. He put down his pen. ‘Why do you think that?’ Anna Petrovna shrugged. ‘I wanted to help. But it seems all I do is make everyone angry.’ He looked at her kindly, without judgment. ‘You’re not a bad person. You’re tired. And very anxious.’ She sighed. That felt like the truth. ‘I’m scared for my daughter,’ she said. ‘She’s so different after giving birth. And him…’ she waved a hand. ‘It’s like he doesn’t even notice.’ ‘And do you notice what he does?’ asked the vicar. Anna Petrovna thought. She remembered last week, when he quietly washed the dishes late at night, thinking no one noticed. Or on Sunday, when he took the pram out for a walk, even though it was clear he just wanted to lie down and sleep. ‘He does things… I think,’ she said uncertainly. ‘But not the way he should.’ ‘And what is “the way he should”?’ asked the vicar calmly. Anna Petrovna wanted to answer right away, but suddenly realized she didn’t know. In her head: more, more often, more attentively. But specifically what, she couldn’t say. ‘I just want it to be easier for her,’ she said. ‘Then say that,’ the vicar responded gently. ‘But say it to yourself, not to him.’ She looked up at him. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean that right now, you aren’t fighting for your daughter—you’re fighting with her husband. And fighting means tension. Everyone gets tired of that. You. Them.’ Anna Petrovna was silent for a long time. Then she asked: ‘So what should I do? Pretend everything’s fine?’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just do what helps. Not words, but actions. And not against anyone, but for someone.’ On the way home, she thought about this. Remembered how, when her daughter was little, she didn’t lecture her but just sat beside her when she cried. Why was it different now? The next day she showed up without warning. Brought soup. Her daughter was surprised, her son-in-law awkward. ‘I won’t stay long,’ Anna Petrovna said. ‘Just came to help.’ She watched the children while her daughter slept. Left quietly, without saying a word about how hard things must be or how they ought to live. A week later, she came again. And a week after that. She still saw her son-in-law wasn’t perfect. But she began to notice other things too: how carefully he lifted the youngest, how he tucked a blanket around her daughter at night, thinking no one saw. One day, she couldn’t help herself and asked him in the kitchen: ‘Is it hard for you right now?’ He looked surprised, as if no one had ever asked him that. ‘It’s hard,’ he said after a pause. ‘Really hard.’ And that was it. But after that, something sharp disappeared from the air between them. Anna Petrovna realized: she’d been waiting for him to change. But what needed to change was herself. She stopped discussing him with her daughter. When her daughter complained, she didn’t say, ‘I told you so.’ Just listened. Sometimes she took the children so her daughter could rest. Sometimes she called her son-in-law to ask how he was. It wasn’t easy. It was much easier to get angry. But slowly, the house grew quieter. Not better, not perfect—just quieter. Without the constant strain. One day her daughter said: ‘Mum, thank you for being with us now, not against us.’ Anna Petrovna thought about those words for a long time. She realized something simple: peace isn’t when someone admits they’re wrong. It’s when someone is the first to stop fighting. She still wished her son-in-law was more attentive. That wish didn’t go away. But living alongside it was something more important: wanting peace in the family. And every time the old feelings came up—indignation, bitterness, the urge to say something sharp—she asked herself: Do I want to be right, or do I want life to be easier for them? The answer almost always told her what to do next.
MOTHER-IN-LAW Margaret Brown sat in her kitchen, watching as the milk quietly simmered on the hob. She’d forgotten to stir...