З життя
Лена підозрює, що знову зникли продукти після візиту особливої гості
― Бодя, чи не приходила до нас знову твоя Ксенія? ― запитала Олена в чоловіка, заглянувши в напівпорожній холодильник. ― Зазвичай після її візиту вся їжа зникає.
― Так, приходила, ― відповів Богдан. ― Знову скаржилася, що в них немає грошей. Ну, я ж не міг відправити її з порожніми руками, все ж таки сестра.
― Ти, мабуть, ще й грошей їй дав?
― Дав кілька тисяч гривень. Ксенія казала, що в Артема знову проблеми на роботі, і їм навіть нічим платити за квартиру, ― трохи зніяковів Богдан.
― Не дивно… Не розумію, чому вона в 20 років заміж вийшла? Чому твоя мама її не відмовила?
― Ну ти ж знаєш Ксеню. Якщо щось вирішить, зупинити її неможливо. Нехай звикне до самостійного життя швидше.
Олена лише тяжко зітхнула. Самостійність ― це добре, та поки що Ксеня живе за рахунок родичів.
* * *
Артем теж був зовсім молодим хлопцем, який щойно почав заробляти гроші. І він не поспішав радувати дружину подарунками та обновками. Сама Ксенія поки що не хотіла працювати і була впевнена, що Артем має забезпечувати її повністю.
Мати Ксенії і Богдана, Тамара Валентинівна, теж підтримувала дочку. Вона бачила, що молодій сім’ї не вистачає грошей, і завжди допомагала Ксенії фінансово. І просила, щоб Богдан теж долучався.
― Вона молода дівчина, їй потрібно добре виглядати, ― казала Тамара Валентинівна. ― Ксенія поки роботу до душі не знайшла, та й Артем виявився не щедрим. Тож, Богдане, це наш з тобою обов’язок ― допомагати.
І Богдан допомагав як міг. А от Олену це швидко втомило. Вона не розуміла, чому частина зарплати чоловіка має йти на Ксенію. Олена з Богданом самі жили на орендованій квартирі, у всьому економили, щоб швидше накопичити на іпотеку, а тут ще й сестра.
* * *
Якось Олена прийшла додому і побачила свекруху та Ксеню в гостях. Вони з Богданом про щось таємно шепотіли, і, побачивши Олену, одразу замовкли. Було зрозуміло, що розмова серйозна. Олена запитала:
― Можна дізнатися, що ви задумали? Мені здається, що ви знову плануєте фінансову допомогу від нашої родини.
― Ні, дарма так думаєш, ― засміялася Тамара Валентинівна. ― У нас свої справи, сімейні, тебе вони не стосуються.
Олена недовірливо хмикнула та пішла на кухню готувати вечерю. Через п’ять хвилин Ксеня теж туди забігла, безцеремонно відкрила холодильник і занепокоєно промовила:
― Чому тут так порожньо? Олено, ти була в магазині?
― Так, була, ― трохи роздратовано відповіла Олена. ― Зарплата в мене через два дні, тому купувала тільки необхідне. Але якщо хочеш їсти, можу підігріти суп.
― Ні, таке я не хочу. Я в їжі на собі не економлю ― і піцу замовляю, і суші, і з Артемом у кафе виходжу.
― Невже зарплатні Артема вистачає на такі свята? Ти ж часто скаржишся, що у вас немає грошей.
― А я тоді у мами гроші прошу і в Богдана. Це нормально, коли всі в родині допомагають один одному.
Незабаром Тамара Валентинівна і Ксеня пішли. І Олена одразу запитала у чоловіка, навіщо вони приходили.
― Мама збирається продавати дачу і хотіла попросити мене про одну послугу. Щоб усі гроші від продажу віддати Ксені. Вона молода, а для гарного старту життя потрібні гроші.
― І як це розуміти? ― здивувалась Олена. ― Тебе не ображає, що всі гроші дістануться сестрі? Я, як твоя дружина, проти, щоб все віддали Ксені. І я не думаю, що ці гроші підуть їй на користь.
― Олено, краще не втручайся в це, ― сердито сказав Богдан. ― Дача належить моїй мамі, і нехай вона вирішує, кому її віддати.
Богдан не продовжував далі цю розмову і вийшов в іншу кімнату. Він вважав, що мама чинить правильно, і дуже гордився своєю великодушністю, нічого не шкодуючи для Ксені.
* * *
Швидко дачу продали. Олені було заздалегідь зрозуміло, що Ксеня не збирається використовувати гроші розумно. Ресторани, модний одяг, дорога техніка ― все пішло на красиве життя.
А коли гроші скінчилися, Ксеня знову прийшла до мами і почала висловлювати:
― Мамо, мені знову немає за що жити! І я, між іншим, хочу отримати права і купити автомобіль! В тебе більше нічого продати? Деяким батьки квартири купують, забезпечують… Мамо, чому ми такі бідні?
Від цього заявлення Тамара Валентинівна була вражена. Навіть і вона не очікувала, що донька так швидко промотає гроші. Обміркувавши трохи, вона сказала:
― Що з тобою, Ксеня, у нас більше нічого немає. Я думала, ти ці гроші розумно витратиш або почнеш накопичувати. І взагалі, час влаштуватися на роботу. Ти ж навчалася на бухгалтера ― спробуй влаштуватися на якусь фірму.
― Я не збираюся працювати бухгалтером! Я не хочу весь день дивитися в комп’ютер і псувати зір! Мене має забезпечувати чоловік, ну, і ти теж. Мені всього двадцять років! Народили мене, от і все ― крутися як хочеш? Ну, дякую!
― Та зачекай ти, ― спробувала заспокоїти Тамара Валентинівна. ― Зараз щось придумаємо. А що, якщо у Богдана позичити гроші? Скажемо, що потрібно на важливу справу. Вони ж з Оленою на іпотеку збирають, у них точно щось є.
― Ти думаєш, вони багато дадуть? Оця Оленка така скупа, навіть продуктів шкодує. Добре, що хоча б Богдан завжди радий мені допомогти.
― Значить, ідемо до них! ― рішуче заявила Тамара Валентинівна. ― Ти не хвилюйся, мені вони не зможуть відмовити.
Через годину Ксеня з матір’ю були на порозі орендованої квартири Богдана. Побачивши родичок чоловіка, Олена відразу запідозрила неладне ― явно, що вони прийшли не з подарунками, а з якимись проханнями.
― Сину, у нас до тебе дуже важлива справа! ― тривожно сказала Тамара Валентинівна, щойно увійшовши в квартиру. ― Тільки на тебе ми можемо розраховувати.
Олена напружилася. «Ну все, будуть просити гроші!» ― промайнуло в голові. Інший варіант розвитку подій важко було уявити.
― І що у вас сталося?
― Ксеня хоче купити машину, а гроші від продажу дачі у неї вже закінчилися, ― з винуватою усмішкою сказала мама. ― От ми й вирішили, що ви повинні нам допомогти.
Олена не повірила своїм вухам і перепитала:
― Що? Цих грошей вже немає? Ви ж отримали за неї хорошу суму, куди вона могла подітися? Ксеню, тобі потрібно якось обдуманіше підходити до покупок!
― А ти мені не вказуй! ― випалила Ксеня. ― Я ― статусна дівчина, не якась простачка в одязі з ринку! Так, я хочу ходити по ресторанах, салонах краси, користуватися хорошими речами. І я не збираюся всю молодість сидіти в бідності!
― А працювати ти не пробувала? ― піддражнила Олена. ― Кажуть, це допомагає, щоб не просити гроші у родичів.
Богдан злякався, що зараз почнеться скандал, і спробував заспокоїти всіх:
― Зачекайте, давайте спочатку обговоримо все. Грошей на машину у нас, звичайно, немає. Але принаймні невеликою сумою ми зможемо допомогти.
― Оце молодець, сину! ― засіяла Тамара Валентинівна. ― Я так і знала, що ти будеш на нашому боці.
― А мене ви не хочете запитати? ― обурилась Олена. ― Вибачте, але я не збираюся спонсорувати Ксеню, у неї на це є чоловік. От нехай вони з Артемом і думають, як їм купити машину. Коротше, я не дам грошей, і крапка!
Богдан кинув розгублений погляд на матір і спробував умовити дружину:
― Олено, що ти таке кажеш? Це наші спільні гроші, і я теж маю право ними розпоряджатися. Тим більше мама ж просить позичити гроші, а не подарувати. З часом поверне.
― Звичайно, поверну! Або ти думаєш, що я обманщиця? От допоможу трохи Ксенії і відразу все вам поверну.
Олена дійсно відчула себе незручно, ніби не довіряла Тамарі Валентинівні. Але ще гірше було б назавжди попрощатися зі своїми грошима, які зароблялися тяжкою працею.
― Ні, навряд чи ми зможемо вам допомогти, ― вже не так впевнено сказала вона. ― Розумієте, ми збираємо на іпотеку, а це набагато важливіше за машину.
― Гаразд, мамо, пішли звідси, ― роздратовано випалила Ксенія. ― Бачиш, які це люди? Вони дбають лише про себе, а наші проблеми їх не стосуються.
Ксеня різко направилася до виходу, всією своєю поведінкою виказуючи образу. Слідом поспішила й Тамара Валентинівна. Але вона не збиралась здаватися просто так і невдоволено сказала сину:
― Богдане, ми з тобою ще поговоримо! Тобі не здається, що твоя дружина вже тобою командує?
Щойно за матір’ю зачинились двері, Богдан одразу звинуватив Олену:
― Слухай, ну як тобі не соромно? Що учора мама про мене подумає? Що ми не можемо допомогти їй у важкій ситуації? Що гроші для нас важливіші за стосунки з родиною?
― А хіба це складна ситуація? ― обурилась Олена. ― Невже нам із тобою хтось допомагав? Я впевнена, що нам на іпотеку твої родичі й копійки б не дали. Досить, я більше не хочу слухати казки про твою вічно обділену сестру Ксеню.
Через кілька днів Олена та Богдан помирилися. Тільки Олена навіть не здогадувалася, що чоловік вирішив на обман. Він взяв гроші, призначені для іпотеки, і відніс їх мамі.
Коли Тамара Валентинівна побачила сина з заповітним конвертом у руках, одразу ж похвалила його:
― Молодець, сину! Я так і знала, що тебе правильно виховала! І ти не хвилюйся, спочатку ти допоможеш Ксенії, а потім вона тобі. А Олені поки нічого не говори. Ви молоді, ще накопите.
* * *
Якось Олена гортала соцмережі й побачила там нові фотографії Ксенії. На них Ксенія сиділа за кермом невеликої симпатичної машини і просто сяяла від щастя. Олені це здалося дивним, і вона запитала у чоловіка:
― Богдане, а ти знав, що Ксенія все ж купила машину? Невже Артем зумів знайти гроші? Таки хватка у твоєї сестрички, завжди добивається свого.
― Так, я знаю про машину, ― сказав Богдан, не дивлячись на дружину. ― Ми всі скинулися і змогли зробити Ксенії такий подарунок.
― Що значить «ми скинулися»? Ти також давав гроші? Чому мені нічого не сказав?
Богдан мовчав, і Олена все зрозуміла. Вона підбігла до комоду, в якому зберігались запаси, і з жахом побачила, що грошей немає.
― Що ти накоїв? ― загорілася Олена на чоловіка. ― Ти знущаєшся? Ти віддав сестрі всі наші заощадження? Я просто не можу в це повірити! Богдане, ну скажи, як ти міг так вчинити?
Цього разу завжди спокійний чоловік несподівано розлютився і різко підвищив голос:
― Це не твоя справа! Я ― голова сім’ї, і я так вирішив. Нам ще довго збирати на іпотеку, а машина Ксенії потрібна зараз. І якщо ти так погано ставишся до моїх рідних, я ще подумаю, потрібна мені така жена!
― Ах, ось як?! Ні, Богдане, це я подумаю, чи потрібен мені такий чоловік. Точніше, я вже зрозуміла, що ти мені більше не чоловік! Я зараз же їду до мами, а ти не забувай повернути мені половину наших заощаджень!
Олена почала лихоманливо збирати речі. Вона була дуже ображена на чоловіка, але все ж сподівалась, що він її зупинить і перепросить. Але Богдан спокійно сидів перед телевізором, наче нічого й не сталося.
― Значить, це все? Богдане, я справді йду, ― тихо сказала Олена, стоячи перед вхідними дверима.
― Іди. Якщо не зміниш свою поведінку, можеш і не повертатися, ― крижаним голосом промовив Богдан.
Олена поїхала до мами і через місяць подала на розлучення. Складно жити з людиною, яка зовсім тебе не поважає. До речі, про свої заощадження Олена не забула ― під загрозою суду вона змусила Богдана повернути їй належні гроші. І потім гірко сміялася, розповідаючи цю історію подругам: треба ж було ― розійтися через чужу нахабність!
Dandelion Jam A gentle and snowy winter has passed, and with spring’s arrival in our small English town, Taissa finds herself yearning for green leaves and colourful blooms. From her third-floor window, she gazes out at the awakening city where lorries rumble, the market buzzes, and people shed their winter wear for brighter coats. Birds sing before alarms; spring brings new energy, and soon, summer will be even better. Taissa, long settled in her five-storey block, now lives with her granddaughter, Vera, a lively Year Four pupil whose parents—both doctors—left for a work contract in Africa, entrusting their daughter to her grandmother. “Gran, we’re giving you Vera to look after, just for a while,” her daughter had said. “She’ll be happier with you than traipsing across the world.” Taissa, now retired, was delighted for the companionship. Each day is filled with routine: shopping, chatting with her neighbours on the chilly bench outside—the ever-watchful Mrs Simmons from downstairs, always mysterious about her age, and the cheerful, well-read Mrs Valentine. Together, they swap news, share stories, and complain about health, their bench a hub of local gossip. Life continues: Taissa spoils Vera with treats for her good grades, welcomes her home from school, listens to her tales, and beams with pride at Vera’s dedication to dance lessons. One bright afternoon, as Taissa awaits Vera’s return, she’s joined by Mr Edward, a widower from next door, who talks about the daffodils and coltsfoot carpeting the lawns like tiny suns. Spring’s beauty is in full bloom, and with Vera’s lively mischief, their days are warm and busy. Edward and Taissa begin to meet regularly—reading the papers, walking in the park, discussing recipes, and sharing snippets of their lives. Edward’s own story is bittersweet: he raised his daughter, Anne, alone after losing his wife, and despite his efforts, Anne’s grown distant, raising a son on her own in another city. Unexpectedly, Anne arrives with austere intentions: she insists her father sell his beloved flat and move in with her for “company’s sake”. Edward resists, unwilling to leave his home and his quiet, independent life. Anne, noting his friendship with Taissa, confronts Taissa with suspicion, accusing her of ulterior motives regarding Edward’s property. The harsh words sting, but Anne soon leaves in anger, severing ties with her father. Taissa, embarrassed by the scene, grows distant from Edward—until one day, he waits for her outside, dandelions in hand, apologising for his daughter’s behaviour. He gifts her a wreath of dandelions and offers a jar of his homemade dandelion jam, extolling its health benefits and inviting her to try it in a salad. Together, they share tea with dandelion jam and laughter, and in the quiet evening, stroll to the park with a fresh issue of their favourite magazine. Sitting beneath their old lime tree, their conversation flows, and all worries melt away. For Taissa and Edward, the springtime brings sweet new beginnings—and the simple joys of dandelion jam. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and supporting my stories. Wishing you happiness in life!
Dandelion Jam The snow finally melted away; this year, the frost hadnt been harshjust a gentle, snowy winter. Yet, as...
After I Told My Wife That Her Daughter Isn’t My Responsibility, the Truth About Our Family Was Revealed
After telling my wife that her daughter wasnt my responsibility, the truth about our family came out For a long...
My Husband Refuses to Give Our Flat to Our Daughter: Should We Let Her Move In or Split the Proceeds Equally Between All Our Children?
The flat in question was left to my husband by his aunta modest place tucked right in the heart of...
She Didn’t Want To – But She Did: How Vasilisa’s Desperate Gamble Led to Love and Redemption in a Quiet English Village
Didnt Want To, But Did Lucy never really learned how to smoke, but she was convinced it helped settle her...
You Simply Don’t Understand Your Own Happiness — Half a million? — Karen stared at the phone notification, rereading it three times before the numbers made sense. — You took out a loan for half a million pounds? David was on the sofa, fixated on his smartphone, not even looking up. — Oh, that… Yeah, it’s nothing really, just for Mum’s house repairs. You know her pipes are leaking, floors warped, wallpaper peeling… — Hold on. — Karen sank onto the edge of the armchair, legs refusing to hold her. — You got a loan. For half a million. And gave all of it to your mother. Without saying a word to me? David finally looked up. His face showed only genuine confusion, as if his wife was asking something entirely obvious. — Karen, it’s my mum. She lives alone, her pension’s tiny. Who else is going to help her? — And you couldn’t discuss it with me? — Karen yelled, unable to stop herself. — Ask my opinion? At least warn me? — You would’ve argued, — David shrugged. — And Mum needed it urgently. Four years. Four years she’d put up with the woman who called every evening to check what David had for dinner. Who’d arrive unannounced and critique their cleaning, who’d orchestrate family dinners so Karen ended up at the far end of the table. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, — David kept his calm tone. — We’ll be fine. Pay it off fast, it’s not much. It’s family. Hot, angry tears streamed down. Karen wiped them with the back of her hand, smearing mascara. — Family? Am I family? Or just an add-on? Remember when your mum decided it was time for a new car and you sold ours without asking me? Or when she cleared my things out of the guest room because she “couldn’t sleep surrounded by strangers’ junk”? Or how on my birthday, you left with her to buy her a fridge? — It’s nothing, — David waved her off. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karen looked at this man—tall, gentle features, dimples she once thought cute. Now she saw only a thirty-year-old boy who couldn’t cut the cord. — We’ll get through this, — he repeated like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karen rose without a word and went to the bedroom. Two large duffel bags sat in the closet—the same ones she’d moved in with. She dragged them out, tossed them on the bed, and began opening cupboards. David appeared at the door twenty minutes later, just as one bag was stuffed full. — What are you doing? Karen, this is ridiculous. You’re not serious? She didn’t answer, quietly folding jumpers, jeans, underwear. Took down the jewellery box—gifts from her parents and friends, she wouldn’t take anything from him. — Where will you go? To your mum? She’s up in Manchester! Zipping the second bag. Checking her purse—passport, bank card, the keys to her mum’s flat she’d always kept “just in case.” — Karen, say something! You can’t just leave me. I love you! She looked him in the eye, sharp and long. Then picked up her bags and walked out. …Next morning, Karen stood in line at the registry office, clutching her completed divorce papers. Rain drizzled outside, grey clouds low over rooftops, but inside she felt a strange calm. The decision was made. The first call came at half past two in the morning. Karen jumped awake on the sofa at her friend Leah’s, not immediately sure where she was. — We need to talk, — David’s rapid breathing, scattered words. — I get it now, I’ll change. Please, give me a chance. She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karen, I can’t live without you. You are my whole life. By morning, there were forty-three messages. Each one long, tearful, full of promises and 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, David began appearing outside her office. Karen would leave for lunch and there he’d be, hovering by the coffee kiosk. She’d head to the Tube—there he was, across the street. — Just passing by, — he insisted when Karen demanded an explanation. — I wanted to see you. One evening, there was a knock at Leah’s door. Karen opened it, not checking the peephole—she was expecting the pizza delivery. David stood on the doorstep, clutching a bouquet of red roses. — Just one chance, — he whispered. — I ask for nothing more. Karen quietly closed the door. He stayed outside for two hours, until the neighbours threatened to call the police. She learned to live with it—the way you learn to live with chronic pain. Don’t read the texts, don’t answer unknown calls, don’t look back in the street. Switched to remote work at a new firm, moved to a suburb where David would never “happen” to be. The divorce was finalised three months later. Karen left court with the official papers clutched tight and cried on the steps—not for grief, but relief. The first months of freedom were frighteningly empty. Karen had gotten used to checking every decision with someone, even if they’d always do as they wished. Now she could buy any yoghurt in the shop, without wondering if Mrs Davies would approve. She could watch any film, and wouldn’t hear “normal women don’t watch that.” She could breathe. She signed up for English courses—her long-time dream, which David had dismissed as “foolish expense.” Began attending early morning yoga before sunrise, when the city was just waking up. Took a solo trip to Brighton for the weekend, wandering the streets and eating doughnuts. Six months later, the calls stopped. The texts too. Karen waited for the catch another month, then another, and finally understood she could relax. She landed a job at a marketing agency—bright office, young team, exciting projects. Life was moving on. …She met Andrew at a work event her colleague Maddy insisted she attend. — This is our lead developer, — Maddy introduced a tall guy in thin-rimmed glasses. — Andrew, this is Karen from marketing. He shook her hand—firmly, but gently. Smiled—just a plain, genuine smile. — Escaping from the karaoke too, I see? — he nodded toward the stage, where the Finance Director was butchering “Wonderwall.” — Saving my nerves, — Karen nodded. They talked most of the night—about books, travel, the oddities of life. Andrew listened more than he spoke. Asked questions, actually waited for answers, never interrupted. Never tried to lecture or explain how she should live. When he found out she was divorced, he just nodded and changed the subject. …Half a year later, they moved in together, picking a flat in the city centre. Small, light-filled, high ceilings, overlooking a quiet courtyard. — Are you sure you like this flat? — Karen asked, as they viewed it before signing. — Maybe we should see some more? — Do you like it? — Andrew turned to her. — Yes. Very much. — Then let’s take it. Small things—the right to have an opinion, and be heard—meant more than any declarations of love. He proposed on the roof of their building, as the sun sank below the skyline, painting the sky pink and gold. He pulled out a tiny box, opened it—inside shimmered a diamond ring. — I’m not much for speeches, — Andrew admitted. — But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you don’t mind my snoring and my addiction to terrible coffee. Karen laughed through tears and nodded. …That May evening began like any other. Andrew was late at work—a looming deadline, an urgent bug. Karen was making pasta, humming along to the radio, when a sharp, insistent knock came at the door. She glanced through the peephole—and jumped back. It was David. Pale, dark circles under his eyes, crumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silence—and now he was here. — Karen, open up! — his fist hammered the door. — I know you’re there! We need to talk! She grabbed her phone, dialled Andrew. The line was busy. — We love each other! — David shouted through the door. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s wrong! The door shuddered—he was throwing his weight against it. Karen pressed her back tight against the door, feet braced. — Get away, — she yelled. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice climbed to a shrill pitch. — You were mine and you’ll always be mine! I waited two years for you to come to your senses! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — Nothing’s over! — he shoved again, and she barely held the door. — I’ve changed! Mum says you just don’t understand your own happiness! Open up, let’s talk! Through the peephole, his face was twisted, possessed. Nothing like the man she’d once shared a bed with. Karen dialled 999. — David! One click and the police will be here. Leave. Now. David froze. A few seconds passed. Then he spun around and strode to the stairs. Downstairs, the front door banged. Karen slid to the floor against the wall, dizzy. After half an hour, she managed to stand and call Andrew. The police took her statement the next day. The officer, an older bloke with a mustache, took notes, nodded. — We’ll deal with it. We’ll have a word. Whatever he said to David, Karen never found out. But after that, her ex never appeared again. No calls, no messages, no accidental run-ins. …She and Andrew held their wedding in early June—a small country restaurant, twenty guests, just close friends. No fuss, no groom’s relatives demanding old traditions. Karen stood across from Andrew in a simple white dress, holding his warm hands. Outside, birch trees rustled, the air scented with flowers and freshly cut grass. — Do you take… — began the celebrant. — I do, — Karen cut in, making the guests laugh. Andrew slid the ring on her finger—thin gold, engraved inside: “Always with you.” Karen 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 lay a life where her voice mattered…
You just dont understand your own happiness Fifty thousand pounds? Emma scanned the notification flashing on her phone three times...
The Stillness of New Year’s Eve
New Years Quietude November hung over me like a damp blanketgrey, wet, hopelessly dismal, just as ever. The days dragged...
You Simply Don’t Understand Your Own Happiness — Half a million? — Karen stared at the phone notification, rereading it three times before the numbers made sense. — You took out a loan for half a million pounds? David was on the sofa, fixated on his smartphone, not even looking up. — Oh, that… Yeah, it’s nothing really, just for Mum’s house repairs. You know her pipes are leaking, floors warped, wallpaper peeling… — Hold on. — Karen sank onto the edge of the armchair, legs refusing to hold her. — You got a loan. For half a million. And gave all of it to your mother. Without saying a word to me? David finally looked up. His face showed only genuine confusion, as if his wife was asking something entirely obvious. — Karen, it’s my mum. She lives alone, her pension’s tiny. Who else is going to help her? — And you couldn’t discuss it with me? — Karen yelled, unable to stop herself. — Ask my opinion? At least warn me? — You would’ve argued, — David shrugged. — And Mum needed it urgently. Four years. Four years she’d put up with the woman who called every evening to check what David had for dinner. Who’d arrive unannounced and critique their cleaning, who’d orchestrate family dinners so Karen ended up at the far end of the table. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, — David kept his calm tone. — We’ll be fine. Pay it off fast, it’s not much. It’s family. Hot, angry tears streamed down. Karen wiped them with the back of her hand, smearing mascara. — Family? Am I family? Or just an add-on? Remember when your mum decided it was time for a new car and you sold ours without asking me? Or when she cleared my things out of the guest room because she “couldn’t sleep surrounded by strangers’ junk”? Or how on my birthday, you left with her to buy her a fridge? — It’s nothing, — David waved her off. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karen looked at this man—tall, gentle features, dimples she once thought cute. Now she saw only a thirty-year-old boy who couldn’t cut the cord. — We’ll get through this, — he repeated like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karen rose without a word and went to the bedroom. Two large duffel bags sat in the closet—the same ones she’d moved in with. She dragged them out, tossed them on the bed, and began opening cupboards. David appeared at the door twenty minutes later, just as one bag was stuffed full. — What are you doing? Karen, this is ridiculous. You’re not serious? She didn’t answer, quietly folding jumpers, jeans, underwear. Took down the jewellery box—gifts from her parents and friends, she wouldn’t take anything from him. — Where will you go? To your mum? She’s up in Manchester! Zipping the second bag. Checking her purse—passport, bank card, the keys to her mum’s flat she’d always kept “just in case.” — Karen, say something! You can’t just leave me. I love you! She looked him in the eye, sharp and long. Then picked up her bags and walked out. …Next morning, Karen stood in line at the registry office, clutching her completed divorce papers. Rain drizzled outside, grey clouds low over rooftops, but inside she felt a strange calm. The decision was made. The first call came at half past two in the morning. Karen jumped awake on the sofa at her friend Leah’s, not immediately sure where she was. — We need to talk, — David’s rapid breathing, scattered words. — I get it now, I’ll change. Please, give me a chance. She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karen, I can’t live without you. You are my whole life. By morning, there were forty-three messages. Each one long, tearful, full of promises and 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, David began appearing outside her office. Karen would leave for lunch and there he’d be, hovering by the coffee kiosk. She’d head to the Tube—there he was, across the street. — Just passing by, — he insisted when Karen demanded an explanation. — I wanted to see you. One evening, there was a knock at Leah’s door. Karen opened it, not checking the peephole—she was expecting the pizza delivery. David stood on the doorstep, clutching a bouquet of red roses. — Just one chance, — he whispered. — I ask for nothing more. Karen quietly closed the door. He stayed outside for two hours, until the neighbours threatened to call the police. She learned to live with it—the way you learn to live with chronic pain. Don’t read the texts, don’t answer unknown calls, don’t look back in the street. Switched to remote work at a new firm, moved to a suburb where David would never “happen” to be. The divorce was finalised three months later. Karen left court with the official papers clutched tight and cried on the steps—not for grief, but relief. The first months of freedom were frighteningly empty. Karen had gotten used to checking every decision with someone, even if they’d always do as they wished. Now she could buy any yoghurt in the shop, without wondering if Mrs Davies would approve. She could watch any film, and wouldn’t hear “normal women don’t watch that.” She could breathe. She signed up for English courses—her long-time dream, which David had dismissed as “foolish expense.” Began attending early morning yoga before sunrise, when the city was just waking up. Took a solo trip to Brighton for the weekend, wandering the streets and eating doughnuts. Six months later, the calls stopped. The texts too. Karen waited for the catch another month, then another, and finally understood she could relax. She landed a job at a marketing agency—bright office, young team, exciting projects. Life was moving on. …She met Andrew at a work event her colleague Maddy insisted she attend. — This is our lead developer, — Maddy introduced a tall guy in thin-rimmed glasses. — Andrew, this is Karen from marketing. He shook her hand—firmly, but gently. Smiled—just a plain, genuine smile. — Escaping from the karaoke too, I see? — he nodded toward the stage, where the Finance Director was butchering “Wonderwall.” — Saving my nerves, — Karen nodded. They talked most of the night—about books, travel, the oddities of life. Andrew listened more than he spoke. Asked questions, actually waited for answers, never interrupted. Never tried to lecture or explain how she should live. When he found out she was divorced, he just nodded and changed the subject. …Half a year later, they moved in together, picking a flat in the city centre. Small, light-filled, high ceilings, overlooking a quiet courtyard. — Are you sure you like this flat? — Karen asked, as they viewed it before signing. — Maybe we should see some more? — Do you like it? — Andrew turned to her. — Yes. Very much. — Then let’s take it. Small things—the right to have an opinion, and be heard—meant more than any declarations of love. He proposed on the roof of their building, as the sun sank below the skyline, painting the sky pink and gold. He pulled out a tiny box, opened it—inside shimmered a diamond ring. — I’m not much for speeches, — Andrew admitted. — But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you don’t mind my snoring and my addiction to terrible coffee. Karen laughed through tears and nodded. …That May evening began like any other. Andrew was late at work—a looming deadline, an urgent bug. Karen was making pasta, humming along to the radio, when a sharp, insistent knock came at the door. She glanced through the peephole—and jumped back. It was David. Pale, dark circles under his eyes, crumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silence—and now he was here. — Karen, open up! — his fist hammered the door. — I know you’re there! We need to talk! She grabbed her phone, dialled Andrew. The line was busy. — We love each other! — David shouted through the door. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s wrong! The door shuddered—he was throwing his weight against it. Karen pressed her back tight against the door, feet braced. — Get away, — she yelled. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice climbed to a shrill pitch. — You were mine and you’ll always be mine! I waited two years for you to come to your senses! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — Nothing’s over! — he shoved again, and she barely held the door. — I’ve changed! Mum says you just don’t understand your own happiness! Open up, let’s talk! Through the peephole, his face was twisted, possessed. Nothing like the man she’d once shared a bed with. Karen dialled 999. — David! One click and the police will be here. Leave. Now. David froze. A few seconds passed. Then he spun around and strode to the stairs. Downstairs, the front door banged. Karen slid to the floor against the wall, dizzy. After half an hour, she managed to stand and call Andrew. The police took her statement the next day. The officer, an older bloke with a mustache, took notes, nodded. — We’ll deal with it. We’ll have a word. Whatever he said to David, Karen never found out. But after that, her ex never appeared again. No calls, no messages, no accidental run-ins. …She and Andrew held their wedding in early June—a small country restaurant, twenty guests, just close friends. No fuss, no groom’s relatives demanding old traditions. Karen stood across from Andrew in a simple white dress, holding his warm hands. Outside, birch trees rustled, the air scented with flowers and freshly cut grass. — Do you take… — began the celebrant. — I do, — Karen cut in, making the guests laugh. Andrew slid the ring on her finger—thin gold, engraved inside: “Always with you.” Karen 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 lay a life where her voice mattered…
You just dont understand your own happiness Fifty thousand pounds? Emma scanned the notification flashing on her phone three times...
My Husband Invited His Ex-Wife Over for the Sake of the Children—So I Checked Into a Hotel to Celebrate on My Own
My husband invited his ex-wife over for the boys, so I spent the holiday in a hotel Where are you...