З життя
I Can’t Believe It! My Best Friend Is Actually Alex’s Father – I’ve Been Raising His Son for Over Four Years Without Knowing!
“I cant believe it! My best friend turns out to be Alexs father? Ive spent over four years raising a son who isnt even mine!”
Emma and James had been sweethearts since secondary school. After graduation, James got into a prestigious aviation university in another city. Emma didnt make the cut, but they called each other every day without fail.
When James started his flight training, Emma grew insanely jealous of the glamorous flight attendants. She rushed to his city to patch things up, and they had a perfect nightwhispering sweet nothings, promises of forever. But the next morning, she spotted a message from one of his flight crew: “Whens your next shift? Flying with you is so much easier.”
Of course, jealousy won. Emma stormed out in tears.
Then James was offered a lucrative overseas contractcareer gold. He agonised over how to tell Emma hed be gone for a year. But three weeks later, she dropped the bombshell: she was pregnant.
James proposed. They had a lavish weddinghalf the town showed up. The overseas job? Scrapped. His wife refused to go.
After the wedding, James moved them to London. When their son was born, they took out a massive mortgage with his mums help. James worked himself ragged to keep up with payments.
“If Id taken that overseas job, I wouldnt be chained to this desk! Id be climbing the career ladder by now!”
“Oh, sure, Jamie!” Emma snapped. “While Im stuck with the baby, youd be off gallivanting with air hostesses?”
“God, your jealousy is exhausting! If Im with you, Im with *you*. End of story!”
The fighting never stopped. After every flight, Emma would ambush him at the door, rifling through his phone for evidence. Three years in, James quit flying to become an instructor, driving a cab on weekends just to keep the peace.
He gave up his dreams to be the perfect husband and father.
Then he missed a mortgage payment. Rummaging for the paperwork while Emma was out, he found more than he bargained fora paternity test.
“What the hell is this?”
Results: Child Alex James Thompson. Alleged Father Andrew Michael Barnes. Probability of Paternity: 99%.
“I cant believe it. My best friend is Alexs dad? Four years of nappies and bedtime storiesfor a child who isnt even mine?”
James was numb. How could he face Emma?
“Hi, love!” Emma kissed him, but he didnt react. “Alex, dinner, then the playground,” he said flatly.
“Darling, whats wrong?” Emma laughed nervously. “Did I offend you while I was out?”
“Dinner. Then Alex and I are going out.”
She stared, baffled. “Jamie, did something happen at work? Another trip? Talk to me!”
“Not in the mood.” He walked away.
Emma followed, demanding answers. “You cant just shut me out! Im your *wife*! Explain yourself!”
“Wife? You kept this from me for *years*! I gave up everything for you! When was the last time I saw my mates? Or my mum?”
Emma paled. *Does he know? How?*
Two months passed. James couldnt bear to speak to her. But how could Andrewhis *best mate*have hidden this?
Andrew had always fancied Emma. Hed even married someone else months before their wedding, resigned to never having her. Yet at every party, he danced with Emma, not his wife.
Jamess mum once remarked, “Emma, you and Andrew wouldve made a lovely couple.”
Emma had laughed it off. “Dont be silly! Im married to your son! We have a baby!”
“But youre always with Andrew. Why never James?”
“Hes always working. Andrew helps me.”
“Emma, I love my son. I wont let anyone deceive him.”
“Youre imagining things!”
But Jamess mum had noticedAlex had Andrews birthmark. As he grew, the resemblance was undeniable. Shed secretly done the test, swabbing Andrews glass and Alexs cheek at a family dinner.
One night, she confronted Emma in tears. “Youve ruined my sons life! Does Andrew even know he has a child?”
Emma begged. “It was one stupid night! James and I were fighting, I was drunkI never thought Please dont destroy us!”
Jamess mum left heartbroken but kept quiet.
Emma hid the test results, praying hed never find them.
One evening, she decided to confess. But when she got home, James was goneonly a new remote-control car left on Alexs bed.
“Mummy, wheres Daddy?”
“Work trip, sweetheart.” She fled to the balcony, sobbing.
She called James, voice trembling. “Please, lets talk!”
“Dont. Ill always love Alex. Ill support him. But I cant live with you. You betrayed me. If not for him, Id erase you from my life.”
He hung up.
When James picked Alex up for the weekend, Emma begged for a chance to explain.
“Remember that fight over the flight attendant? I went clubbing with friends. Andrew was there. I dont even remember ending up at his flat. I wanted to tell you, but I was terrified. Andrew said to forget it. When I found out I was pregnant, I thought it was yours. Your mum showed me the test when Alex was six months old. I hid it. Andrew envied youthis was his revenge! Please, forgive me!”
“No. Never.”
James went back to flying. He filed for divorce, sent Alex gifts from every country, and paid child support. Andrew moved abroad, never knowing he had a son.
One reckless night ruined everythingtrust, love, friendships. James lost his best friend and his wife.
Emma lived comfortablyposh London flat, nice car, great job, Jamess monthly cheques. Alex went to the best school. She had everything. Except love.
She tried endlessly to win James back, but hed moved onthough new relationships were hard. Hed been burned too badly. Eventually, he soared to the career heights hed always dreamed of.
Lifes funny like that. Sowas Emma right to hide the truth? What would *you* have done?
“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...