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Svetlana’s Declaration: ‘Natalya Stepanivna, I Won’t Live With Your Son—Pass That On,’ She Said
“Natalie, tell your son I wont be living with him anymore,” said Emily, her voice steady.
“Who else will have you, with a child in tow?” her mother-in-law scoffed. “I dont see a queue of princes waiting at the gate.”
Emily packed her daughter Lilys things methodicallywarm clothes first, shoes next. She had already stuffed her own bag with the bare essentials. The rest could wait.
She wasnt crying anymore. One sleepless night had been enough to make her decision: she and Daniel had to separate.
She heard him come home late, stumbling through the hall. He peeked into their bedroom, then pushed open Lilys door. Emily pretended to sleep.
In the morning, before work, Daniel hesitated outside the nursery, shifting his weight, but didnt dare enter. Hed talk to her later, he thought.
But there would be no conversation. Within half an hour, Emily called a taxi and left with two-year-old Lily for her parents house.
After last night, she never wanted to see Daniel again.
She had grown used to his Friday night binges. But yesterday was Wednesday. Worse still, shed asked him to come home early to watch Lily while she met a friendSophie had promised to help her find remote work.
Seeing his state, Emily couldnt leave Lily with him. She called Sophie to cancel.
“Who are you calling? What meeting?” Daniel had snapped, his breath sour.
“Sophie. We were supposed to meet, but I cant leave Lily with you like this.”
“Why not?”
“Look at yourself. Go sleep it offyou have work tomorrow.” She turned toward the kitchen.
“Stop!” He grabbed her arm. “Whats wrong with how I am? Had a drink with the lads, its Steves birthday. Big deal, *princess*. I decide when I come home. Got it?”
She yanked free. “Youre hurting me! Have you lost your mind?”
He staggered, nearly fell. Then his fist struck her nose.
Emily clutched her face. Daniel, seemingly shocked by his own actions, let go and stammered something. She didnt wait to hear it.
“Big deal, *princess*!” he shouted again, slamming the door behind him.
*Princess*his mothers nickname for her. Natalie had never approved.
“Twenty-one and still leaching off her parents! Studying! At her age, I already had one child and another on the way,” shed sneered. “House, husband, responsibilities*she* just swans about. Youll suffer with her, Danny.”
Emilys parents had warned her too.
“Wheres the rush? Daniel isnt the last man on earth! Live together if you must, but thinkcan you really spend your life with him? Look at his family. *Then* decide.”
She had decided. And realized her mistake within six months. She couldve left, but pride kept her. Then she fell pregnant.
Lilys birth changed nothing. To Daniel, housework and childcare were *her* domain.
“Other women manage. Do you just nap all day?” hed say.
“Lilys teething. I ordered groceries. Cant you make pasta? Or hold her while I cook?”
The rose-tinted glasses had shattered long ago. Her mothers warnings echoed louder.
Shed nearly left a few times. Daniel always promised to change. Shed believed himuntil last night.
Now, she wouldnt stay with a man who raised his hand to her. And she wouldnt let Lily grow up thinking that was normal.
Her parents saw the taxi pull up.
“Rob, lookEmilys here. With bags. Help her with the suitcase,” her mother said.
Inside, Emily removed her sunglasses. Her left eye was swollen, a bruise blooming beneath it.
“Daniel did this?” her mother gasped.
Emily nodded.
“Ill sort him out,” her father growled, reaching for his coat.
“No, Dad,” Emily stopped him. “Ill punish him my way. Just help me get our things from his flatLilys cot too.”
Her father and uncle fetched their belongings, then took Emily to A&E.
“If you report him, the hospital record wont be enough. Youll need a forensic exam,” her uncle explained.
“Well book it tomorrow,” her father said.
Daniel came home with flowers and a teddy. The flat was empty.
He called Emilyher phone was off. Then her mother answered his call.
“Yes, Emily and Lily are here. Dont come roundmy husbands fists are itching. Shell file for divorce herself.”
Daniel kept trying. Even lurked outside her parents house. But Emily ignored his calls, only taking Lily to the garden.
A week later, divorce papers arrived. Then Natalie appeared at the gate.
“I wont speak to her,” Emily said.
“You should,” her mother insisted. “Close this properly.”
Natalie wasted no time. “Divorcing over a slap? You provoked him! Men drinkwait till they sober up.”
“He *hit* me.”
“Then you pushed him to it. Abandon your marriage? Leave your child fatherless?”
“Natalie, I wont live with your son. Tell him that.”
“Wholl want you with a child? No princes lining up here.”
“Ill manage.”
“Then dont expect his flat or maintenance,” Natalie sneered.
“I dont want his flat. But Ill claim child supportand the court will side with me.”
They did. The medical evidence sped up the divorce. Daniel was ordered to pay maintenanceplus £400 monthly for Emily until Lily turned three.
Five years later, Lily stood in her school uniform, clutching a bouquet. Her grandparents and mother watched proudly.
“Will Daddy come?” Lily asked.
“Hell be here,” Emily said, waving at a tall man pushing through the crowd.
But it wasnt Daniel. Three years ago, Emily had married James, a colleague. Now, they were expecting another child.
Daniel remained alone. There had been women, but whenever things turned serious, someone always mentioned why his first wife left.
Small towns have long memories. And his nickname*Punch-Drunk Dan*stuck.
Maybe one day, a woman would overlook it. But for now, the boomerang had returned. Some call it karmafew argue when it strikes.
“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...
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