З життя
Та здавалося б, неможлива ситуація трапилась у нашій родині.
В українській культурі події можуть розвиватися в такому напрямку:
Я ніколи не думала, що настільки дивна ситуація може статися в нашій родині. Ми з чоловіком одружені вже десять років, у нас є діти – двійня восьми років. До цих подій ми жили у двокімнатній квартирі в Києві і довго збирали на розширення житлової площі.
Сталося диво – чоловік отримав нагоду добре заробити у своїй професійній сфері і, завдяки надзвичайним зусиллям, ми змогли придбати чотирикімнатну квартиру.
Більше року ми робили там ремонт – все своїми силами, економили гроші, намагалися втілити всі свої бажання і мрії. Мої батьки допомагали нам чим могли, але свекруха сказала, що їй це зовсім не цікаво, і ми не стали наполягати.
Нарешті, пів року тому ми переїхали до нової оселі, і важко словами описати наш захват. Через декілька місяців після переїзду свекруха заговорила про святкування новосілля. Спочатку ми відмовлялися, але вирішили, що все ж варто зібрати родичів.
На свято приїхала сестра чоловіка, яка п’ять років тому вийшла заміж і переїхала в село. Вона з заздрістю оглянула нашу квартиру, холодно похвалила ремонт і поцікавилася, що буде з нашою старою двокімнатною квартирою.
– А з тією двушкою що збираєтесь робити? Продаватимете?
– Поки що ні, нехай залишається, у нас же діти ростуть, їм знадобиться. А поки будемо здавати – просто сказав чоловік.
На цьому питання сестра не піднімала, але через кілька днів після новосілля з’явилася свекруха і завела досить цікаву тему:
– Твоїй сестрі тяжко жити в її домі, незручно, майже немає умов для дітей – скаржилася свекруха – Треба їй переїхати в вашу квартиру стару.
– Чому незручно? – здивувалася я – Наскільки мені відомо, у них все облаштовано вдома, і про яке навчання можна говорити, якщо старшій дочці тільки три роки, а молодшій всього рік. До чого тут наша квартира?
– А ти не втручайся! Живеш, як пані, у величезній квартирі і мовчи – раптом осадила мене свекруха.
Ми з чоловіком плавно зсунулися зі стільців, зазвичай свекруха не дозволяла собі так з нами спілкуватися.
– Мам, що ти таке кажеш? – першим опанував себе чоловік – Чому ти так розмовляєш?
– А що такого? Не подобається? Сидите тут на грошах, зовсім від своїх ремонтів з глузду з’їхали. Сестра плаче, що живе в сараї, а тобі хоч би що? Сидиш тут зі своєю кралею в теплі та сухості, а як твоїй сестричці не пече чи зачіпає.
– А чому це мене повинно стосуватися? Вона доросла жінка! Заміжня, наскільки я бачив її дім, він далеко не сарай, що відбувається? – обурився чоловік – Ми плануємо квартиру здавати, вона що, хоче у нас її знімати за гроші? Або купить її?
– Та ви що, настільки з нами незв’язані, ви повинні безкоштовно віддати! І благати, щоб вона прийняла подарунок – заявила свекруха – Жаднюги, в кого ти такий виріс!
– ВОН! – почувся рик мого чоловіка
Сильно ображена на нас, свекруха пішла, я довго заспокоювала чоловіка, і з часом ця сварка почала забуватися.
Через тиждень нам подзвонили друзі, їхні родичі приїхали до нашого міста на роботу і потрібно зняти квартиру. Ми домовилися зустрітися і обговорити деталі на днях, а перед цим вирішили поїхати в стару квартиру і добре там прибрати перед заселенням орендарів. Нашому здивуванню не було меж, коли ключ не підійшов до замка.
Було видно, що замок недавно змінили, і ніжно кажучи, був жах нашого розчарування. Чоловік став стукати у двері, але ніхто не відкривав. На гучний шум вийшла сусідка:
– О, привіт, хлопці, що це ви до сестри приїхали? А то вона тут замки змінила, речі привезла.
– До якої сестри – в один голос запитали ми з чоловіком
– Ну дівчина сказала, що ваша сестра, та й ми її пару разів бачили, коли вона вам в гості приїжджала. Ой, скільки годин – заметушилася сусідка – Побіжу я.
Чоловік зателефонував сестрі, трель пролунала за зачиненими дверима.
– Відчиняй – чоловік ще раз постукав у двері
За зачиненими дверима почулося шарудіння і невдоволені звуки, які супроводжували поворот ключів.
– Що приперлися? – зустріла нас золовка, не відкриваючи двері до кінця.
– Не зрозумів, – чоловік був абсолютно розгублений – Що ти тут робиш? Звідки у тебе ключі? Це жарт?
– В сенсі? Ти ж мені сам квартиру подарував! Так, мама сказала – золовка стояла в нерозумінні і кліпала очима.
– Так! – втрутилася я – Досить сусідів веселити, давайте пройдемо всередину.
Всередині квартири на нас чекав ще один неприємний сюрприз, багато наших речей зникли, і було дуже брудно. На кухні пахло скислими продуктами, вся квартира була просякнута запахом, як із сміттєвого відра.
– І скільки ти тут живеш – поцікавилася я – І де твій чоловік і діти? Що сталося з квартирою? Говори, бо я поліцію викличу, повір мені, твій брат точно проти не буде – кивнула я на червоного від злості чоловіка.
Виявилося, що золовка, втомившись від тягот шлюбу і проживання в домі, вирішила втекти до міста. А так як грошей на житло немає, а з мамою жити не хочеться, вона вирішила попросити у нас квартиру. Свекруха обіцяла вирішити проблему і потім принесла ключі.
Загалом мама чоловіка вкрала у нас ключі від квартири і принесла своїй дочці, ніби подарунок від нас. А золовка була тільки рада поїхати від чоловіка і його родини, розповівши йому, що поїхала доглядати за матір’ю. Від загальної брехні між рідними у нас з чоловіком просто волосся дибки ставало.
Квартиру з диким скандалом повернули собі, довелося викликати недешеву клінінгову службу. Золовка серйозно посварилася з чоловіком, ходять чутки про можливе розлучення. На цьому фоні свекруха оголосила, що мій чоловік їй тепер не син і що зі жмотами спілкуватися не буде.
Найбільше в цій історії мене дратує той факт, що, за словами свекрухи і золовки, головними лиходіями в цій історії є ми, вони не бачать своєї провини абсолютно ні в чому.
Я відчувала, як всередині мене зростає гнів. Як вони сміють звинувачувати нас? Ми старалися для них, а вони нас зрадили! Я стиснула кулаки, щоб стримати емоції. Ні, я не дам собі зірватися.
Чоловік також ледве стримувався. Я бачила, як у нього смикалася жилка на скроні. Він дивився на матір і сестру таким поглядом, що у мене мурашки бігли по шкірі. Але він мовчав. Чекав, поки вони заговорять першими.
Нарешті свекруха підняла погляд. Її губи з’явилися у фальшивій усмішці:
– Ну що ви так на нас дивитеся?
Золовка тут же підтримала матір:
– Та ладно вам! Ми ж сім’я! Не можна так злитися один на одного!
Я вже відкрила рота для різкої відповіді, але чоловік мене випередив. Він прошепотів крізь зуби:
– Сім’я? Ви для нас більше не сім’я після того, що натворили. Ідіть звідси і більше ніколи не смійте з’являтися в нашому домі.
Свекруха приклала руку до грудей, ніби він її вдарив. Золовка почала просити:
– Ні, будь ласка! Давайте поговоримо!
Але чоловік випростався на повний зріст і строго вказав їм на двері.
– Вибирайтеся звідси! І щоб я вас тут більше не бачив.
Свекруха запричитала, благаючи нас передумати. Але ми зберігали крижане мовчання. Тоді вони неохоче попрямували до виходу.
Я зачинила за ними двері з такою силою, що вона ледь не вилетіла з петель. Хай знають – нам не потрібна їхня фальшива “сім’я”. Ми впораємося і без них.
Ми з чоловіком переглянулися. Напруженість останніх днів нарешті минула. Я зітхнула з полегшенням і притулилась до його плеча.
– Ну от і все, – тихо промовив він, обіймаючи мене. – Більше вони нас не потурбують.
Я кивнула, насолоджуючись теплом його обіймів. Як же добре, що все це позаду.
У наступні дні ми остаточно прийшли до тями після пережитого стресу. Я з насолодою займалася домом і дітьми, а чоловік занурився в роботу.
Через кілька днів пролунав дзвінок у двері нашої нової квартири. За порогом стояли свекруха і золовка з кислими обличчями.
– Ми прийшли вибачитися, – почала свекруха. – Напевно, ми даремно так себе повели. Це був неправильно – вселятися без дозволу. Вибачте нас!
Чоловік похмуро подивився на них:
– І що, думаєте, цього достатньо? Ви поводилися як варвари, а тепер розраховуєте на вибачення?
Золовка винувато опустила очі:
– Ми щиро каємося! Більше такого ніколи не повториться, чесне слово.
Я вирішила підтримати їх:
– Рідний, не можна вічно тримати образу. Давай пробачимо їх заради родинних уз.
Чоловік нарешті пом’якшав:
– Але щоб більше ніяких самоуправств! Інакше ми перестанемо спілкуватися взагалі, запам’ятайте це!
Ми вирішили все-таки здавати звільнену двокімнатну квартиру. Свекруха і золовка навіть запропонували допомогти з ремонтом і прибиранням, щоб загладити свою провину.
– Давайте ми все тут вимиймо, пофарбуємо, – запропонувала свекруха. – Так більше шансів швидко здати.
Ми погодилися. Вчотирьох ми швидко привели квартиру в порядок. На щастя, орендарі знайшлися швидко – молода симпатична пара.
– Доброго дня, а ця квартира здається? – з порога усміхнулася дівчина. – Ми якраз шукаємо, де жити! Дуже подобається тут все!
Вони виявилися дуже приємними і порядними людьми. Ми з радістю уклали з ними договір оренди.
Тепер у нас з’явився стабільний додатковий дохід від здачі квартири. Але ми з чоловіком вирішили, що частину цих грошей все ж будемо віддавати свекрусі.
– Мамо, візьми ці гроші, – якось сказав чоловік. – Це тобі, на витрати. Нехай це стане нашим спільним внеском у сім’ю.
– Ой, дякую, рідні! – розчулилася свекруха.
Ми були раді налагодити мир у сім’ї і підтримати рідну людину. Головне, щоб такі конфлікти більше не повторювалися.
З тих пір пройшло вже кілька років. Квартиранти не раз змінювались, але ми підтримували теплі стосунки і зі свекрухою, і з золовкою.
Через пару років наше життя знову ускладнилася. У свекрухи стався інсульт, і вона виявилася прикутою до ліжка. Їй потребувався постійний догляд.
Ми з чоловіком вирішили забрати її до себе в свою велику квартиру. Довелося терміново робити в ній перепланування, щоб облаштувати для свекрусі окрему спальню.
Найняти доглядальницю на повний день було не по гаманцю, тому я взяла на себе основну турботу про свекруха. Було нелегко поєднувати це з роботою і вихованням дітей, але заради її здоров’я я йшла на жертви.
На жаль, характер свекрухи зіпсувався через хворобу. Вона стала вередливою, багато прискіпувалась і до мене, і до чоловіка.
Ми старалися бути терпеливими, піклувалися про неї, незважаючи на грубості з її боку. Але одного дня терпіння мого чоловіка лопнуло.
– Та що ти можеш знати, дурепа! – крикнула свекруха мені при черговій суперечці.
– Досить! – не витримав чоловік. – Мамо, так далі тривати не може. Вибачся негайно перед дружиною!
Свекруха лише ображено відвернулася. Але з тих пір стала стримувати свої випади при мені. Я ж продовжувала терпляче про неї піклуватися.
Коли погіршення здоров’я свекрухи стало загрозливим, ми покликали її дочку – нашу золовку. Вона приїхала, щоб попрощатися з матір’ю.
Біля ліжка вмираючої ми втрьох – я, чоловік і золовка – трималися за руки. Свекруха дякувала нас за турботу про неї всі ці роки. Ми всі плакали, прощаючись з нею.
Після смерті свекрухи сестра чоловіка стала претендувати на частину спадщини. У неї самої не було свого житла, тільки орендоване, і з роботою було туго. А тут на руках двоє маленьких дітей…
Ми з чоловіком довго не могли вирішити, що вчинити. Віддати свою частину спадщини чи продати всю квартиру свекрухи і розділити виручені гроші?
Зрештою, мій чоловік прийшов до мене і оголосив:
– Знаєш, я довго думав про це. І вирішив віддати сестрі свою половину квартири. Нехай у неї буде хоча б дах над головою для дітей.
Я здивувалася такому повороту. Але потім подумала і погодилася з чоловіком. Сім’я важливіше за якісь там гроші.
Ми оформили все офіційно, і тепер золовка з дітьми отримала в власність простору двокімнатну квартиру. Як вона була щаслива! Діти раділи своїм кімнатам, а сестра мого чоловіка щиро нас дякувала.
Через місяць вона зробила в квартирі невеликий ремонт і стала здавати другу кімнату, щоб був додатковий дохід. Ми всією сім’єю їздили допомагати з прибиранням, малярними роботами. А потім відзначали новосілля.
Хоч нам з чоловіком довелося пожертвувати частиною майна, але ми нітрохи не пошкодували про це. Тепле почуття, яким нас обдарувала вдячна сестра, дорого коштує.
To See With Her Own Eyes After a devastating tragedy in which Ksenia lost her husband and six-year-old daughter in a car accident, she struggled to recover. She spent nearly six months in a clinic, refusing to see anyone, with only her patient mother by her side. One day, her mother gently told her: “Ksenia, your husband’s business may be on the brink of collapse—Yegor is barely managing. He called me and asked that I tell you. Thankfully, Yegor is an honest man, but…” These words finally sparked something in Ksenia. “Yes, Mum, I need to keep busy; my Denis would have been glad to see me continue his work. Thankfully, I understand the business—he must have sensed it, bringing me into the office.” Ksenia returned to work and managed to save the struggling family business. Yet, despite her professional success, she missed her late daughter terribly. “My dear, I want to suggest you consider adopting a little girl from an orphanage—someone who has it even harder than you. You can help her, and someday, you’ll understand that this is your salvation.” After careful thought, Ksenia realised her mother was right. Soon she visited the orphanage, knowing she could never replace her own child but hoping to help another. Arisha had been almost completely blind since birth. Her parents, both well-educated and from respectable families, abandoned her when they learned of her diagnosis, unwilling to shoulder the responsibility. Even the most upstanding can succumb to cowardice and betrayal. Thus Arisha came to the nursery, where she was named Arina. She grew up hardly able to see, perceiving only faint shadows. At the orphanage, she learned to read, adored fairy tales, and believed that one day a kind fairy godmother would come for her. On the eve of her seventh birthday, her fairy arrived—a beautiful, striking, wealthy, but deeply unhappy woman. Arina couldn’t see her clearly but sensed her kindness. When Ksenia came to the orphanage, the director was surprised that anyone would ask for a child with health issues. Ksenia avoided explaining, fearing misunderstanding, and gave the usual assurances that she had the resources and desire to help a disabled child. A caretaker led Arina out by the hand. Ksenia, upon seeing her, instantly knew—this was her child. She was angelic, with golden curls and huge blue eyes—pure, deep, and sightless. “And who is this?” Ksenia asked, unable to tear her eyes away. “Our Arisha—such a lovely, gentle soul,” the caretaker replied. “She’s mine. That’s certain,” Ksenia decided at once. Ksenia and Arina became devoted to each other, filling essential roles in each other’s lives. After Arina joined the family, Ksenia’s world changed and gained new purpose. Upon consulting doctors, she learned that an operation might restore Arina’s sight, though she’d need glasses. Clinging to hope, Ksenia arranged the operation before school started. Though Arina’s vision saw little improvement, another chance awaited when she was older. Time passed. Ksenia lavished love on her daughter, while her business flourished; though young and beautiful, she had no interest in men—her life revolved solely around Arina. Arina blossomed into a rare beauty and graduated from university. Grateful and unspoilt, she began working for her mother’s company. Ksenia guarded her daughter’s circle warily, fearing that some opportunist would prey on Arina’s naivety and covet her dowry—ample though it was—and always made it clear such schemes would never succeed. Then, Arina fell in love. Ksenia met Anton and, seeing nothing amiss, approved of their relationship. Before long, Anton proposed, and wedding preparations began. Six months after the wedding, Arina was scheduled for her final eye operation. Anton was affectionate and attentive, though occasionally Ksenia sensed something off, which she dismissed. The young couple visited the countryside restaurant where their wedding would be held to discuss décor. It was nearly empty that afternoon. Seated at a table, Anton placed his phone down, but then the alarm on his car went off, prompting him to step outside. While Arina waited, his phone rang persistently. At first, she hesitated to answer, but the ringing continued. She picked up and, before she could speak, heard the booming voice of Anton’s mother, Inna Sergeevna. “Son, I’ve figured out how we can rid ourselves of that blind girl quickly. My friend at the travel agency has two tickets held back for you. After the wedding, tell your little wife you want to see the mountains together. Go hiking, just the two of you, and arrange a little ‘accident’—she slips, she falls. Then go to the police and say your wife’s missing. Say you argued and she stormed off alone. Cry, act devastated, demand a search. When they find her, they’ll think she fell. Who’s going to investigate a foreign tourist’s accident? I know you can play the grieving husband—everyone will believe you, even her mother. If they restore her sight, it’ll be harder to get rid of her—don’t lose all that money, son. Think about it. I’ll hang up now.” Inna Sergeevna disconnected. Arina, shaking, dropped the phone as if it had burned her. “So Anton and his mother want me dead,” Arina thought in horror. A moment ago, she’d been a blissful bride-to-be. Now, the people she and her mother had come to trust were plotting her murder. Arina realised Anton hadn’t overheard the call and tried to keep her composure as he returned. “That’s odd—the alarm must’ve been a cat, but there’s no sign of damage,” Anton said, picking up his phone as it rang again. “Yes, Roman, I’ll be right there,” he said into the phone. Hanging up, he added, “Bad luck—Roman needs me urgently at the office.” “Go ahead,” Arina whispered, “I’ll wait for Mum and we’ll sort everything out.” “Right, I’ll head off. See you.” Arina sat weeping at the table. The restaurant manager, Katya, came over, recognising her. “Arina, are you all right? Where did Anton dash off to—you were just discussing—?” “It’s okay, Katya. Mum’s on her way, just a misunderstanding. Anton was called into work.” “Shall I bring you some tea? You seem shaken.” Arina nodded. Ksenia knew her daughter was meeting Anton at the restaurant and was surprised by Arina’s call. “What could have happened? My poor girl sounded distraught,” she thought, driving over. Twenty minutes later, she joined Arina at the table. “Arina, I was worried sick driving here.” “Mum, Mummy—” Arina’s tears flowed. “They want to kill me.” “Who?” her mother asked, bewildered. “Anton and Inna Sergeevna. I heard it myself. She called, and he’d left his phone on the table when he went outside. She told him to take me to the mountains and push me off a cliff. She pushed him to hurry, so we wouldn’t have time for the operation.” “Darling, what are you saying? Are you sure? Are you okay?” “Mum, please believe me, I heard it myself. Inna Sergeevna never realised she was speaking to me instead of Anton. I hung up before she suspected. Anton was called in to work.” Ksenia was in shock. Had they been so wrong about Anton? What now? As they discussed their next move, Anton phoned Arina. “Well, Arisha, did your mum arrive? Have you sorted out the décor?” Ksenia took the phone. “Hello, Anton. Good thing we learned about your and your mother’s plans in time. Listen carefully—your trips, your plans in the mountains…” “What plans? What trips?” Anton either truly didn’t understand, or he was playing the part very well. “You know—the mountains, where Arina was meant to die in a tragic accident. You realise if your phone goes to the police, they can retrieve everything, even deleted messages. Understand?” There was a pause. “I understand, but it wasn’t me, it was my mother…” “Right. Not only a scoundrel, but a coward too. Goodbye, Anton.” The next day, Anton fled town, blaming his mother for ruining their scheme, grabbing her money, and disappearing, terrified that Ksenia and Arina would go to the police. Inna Sergeevna left as well, rushing to a friend in another city. Shocked by What She Saw With Her Own Eyes At the eye clinic, Arina underwent another operation. Ksenia remained by her side, the bandages still covering her daughter’s eyes. Dr. Dmitry Igorevich, a young surgeon, took great care of Arina—the surgeon who’d performed her operation—and gently supported his beautiful patient. Dmitry blushed when speaking to her, obviously taken. Ksenia watched protectively, yet he seemed sincere and smitten. When Arina’s bandages were finally removed, he brought her a huge bouquet of roses. Arina was overwhelmed when she could truly see for the first time—she wept, finally able to take in the beauty of the flowers and the handsome, tall blond man with grey eyes. “Oh, I’m so happy—I can finally see everything!” Arina sobbed as Dmitry rushed to console her. Arina needed glasses for life, but that hardly seemed a hardship now. Time passed. Arina and Dmitry’s wedding was beautiful. A year later, they had a lovely daughter with her father’s grey eyes. Arina is truly happy—with a caring, reliable husband who will never let harm come to her. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and for your support. Wishing you happiness in your own life!
Seeing it With My Own Eyes After that terrible tragedy losing her husband and six-year-old daughter in a car accident...
My Son Skipped My 70th Birthday Claiming He Was Busy at Work—That Evening I Saw Him on Social Media Celebrating His Mother-in-Law’s Birthday at a Restaurant
The phone rang at precisely midday, slicing through the strained anticipation in my kitchen. I grabbed the receiver, running a...
Aunt Rita I’m 47 years old. Just an ordinary woman—a bit of a wallflower, not attractive, not blessed with a great figure. Lonely. Never been married, never wanted to be, because I believe most men are all the same—interested only in stuffing their faces and lounging on the sofa. Not that anyone’s ever proposed or asked me out, for that matter. My elderly parents live up in Newcastle. I’m an only child—no brothers or sisters. I do have cousins, but I don’t keep in touch. Nor do I want to. I’ve lived and worked in London for 15 years, in a regular office job. Each day is work and home, work and home. I live in a standard block of flats in a typical residential neighbourhood. I’m bitter, cynical—I don’t love anyone. I don’t like children. At Christmas, I went to visit my parents in Newcastle, as I do once a year. When I got back, I decided to clean out my fridge, throwing away old frozen food—dumplings, burgers, things I’d bought and never liked. I bundled it all up in a box to toss it out. In the lift, there was a little boy, maybe seven; I’d seen him with his mum and a baby sibling before. I even thought, “Some people—she’s gone and had another one!” The boy stared at my box. When we got out, he quietly followed me to the bins and asked in a timid voice if he could have the food. I warned it was old, but let him take it—none of it was rotten, after all. As I turned to leave, I watched him gently pick up the packets, close them up, and clutch them to his chest. I asked where his mum was. He told me she and his sister were ill—couldn’t get out of bed. I went back home and started cooking dinner, but couldn’t get that boy out of my mind. I’m not usually inclined to help, but something nudged me. I grabbed what I had in the kitchen: sausage, cheese, milk, biscuits, potatoes, onions, even some meat from the freezer. I realised I hadn’t a clue what floor their flat was on, but knew it was above mine, so I worked my way up, floor by floor. I got lucky; after two flights, the boy opened the door. He hesitated, but let me in. The flat was poor but spotless. His mum lay curled up on the bed next to her youngest, a bowl of water and cloths on the table. High fever, trying to cool her daughter down. The medicine they had was long out-of-date. I felt her mum’s forehead—hot as a stove. She woke and stared at me in confusion, then suddenly sat up, asking where her son was. I explained I was a neighbour and quickly got the details before calling for a paramedic. While we waited, I gave her tea and sausage—she wolfed it down, must have been starving. Barely able to feed herself, yet still breastfeeding her baby. The ambulance came, checked them over, wrote out a long list of medicines and injections needed for the little girl. I went out, picked up everything from the pharmacy and groceries for them, plus—on a whim—a ridiculous neon yellow monkey toy. I’ve never bought a child a present before. Her name’s Anna, she’s 26. She grew up in Manchester’s outskirts. Her mum and gran were Londoners, but her mum married a local and moved up there to work in a factory. Anna’s dad died in an accident at work. Her mum was left alone, jobless, and quickly spiralled into trouble. By the time Anna was three, neighbours contacted her granny in London, who took her in. When Anna was 15, her gran told her the truth—her mother died of tuberculosis. The gran hardly spoke, was miserly, and chain-smoked. At 16, Anna took a job at the nearest shop, first as a shelf-stacker, then at the till. Her gran died a year later. At 18, Anna dated a boy who promised everything but disappeared as soon as she became pregnant. She kept working, saving up, knowing there was no one to help. When her son was a month old, she’d started leaving him on his own so she could clean stairways and make ends meet. As for her daughter—the shop owner she went back to, when her son was older, raped her repeatedly and threatened to have her fired so she could never work again. When he found out she was pregnant, he gave her £100 and told her never to come back. Anna told me all this that night—thanked me, said she’d repay me by cleaning or cooking. I stopped her, said goodnight, and left. I couldn’t sleep at all, thinking, “Why do I live like this? Why am I so cold? I don’t care for anyone, not even my own parents. I have all this money saved with no one to spend it on, and here’s a little family with nothing—not even enough to get well.” The next morning, the little boy, Anton, brought me a plate of homemade pancakes and dashed off. I stood there, plate in hand, feeling warmth coming from the food, spreading through me as if I were thawing out. Suddenly, I wanted everything at once: to cry, to laugh, to eat. Not far from our block is a small shopping centre. The owner of a children’s shop there, after some confusion over sizes, even offered to come with me to Anna’s flat. I don’t know if she wanted the business, having seen I’d buy a lot, or was just moved by my mission. An hour later, four huge bags of clothes for the kids stood in Anna’s hallway. I bought bedding, food, vitamins, even toys. I wanted to buy everything—I finally felt needed. It’s been 10 days now. They call me Aunt Rita. Anna is quite the crafty homemaker—my flat feels cosier already. I’ve started calling my parents. I even text ‘KINDNESS’ to children’s charity fundraisers. I can’t believe how I lived before. Every day after work I hurry home, because I know someone’s waiting. And this spring, we’re all heading up to Newcastle together—tickets have already been bought.
Aunt Rita I’m 47 years old. Just an ordinary woman, nothing remarkable about me. You could say Im a bit...
My Husband and I Came to the Countryside to Meet His Parents for the First Time — The Warm Welcome, Home-Cooked Meals, and Tall Tales Around the Kitchen Table Would Change Everything
My husband and I have just arrived in the countryside to meet his parents for the first time. Harrys mum...
Michael Froze: From Behind the Tree, a Dog He’d Recognise Anywhere Watched Him with Sad, Knowing Eyes
I frozepeering from behind an old oak tree, a dog watched me with a sadness Id have recognised anywhere. Dust...
DO I REMEMBER? I CAN’T FORGET! “Polly, listen… Remember my illegitimate daughter, Anastasia?” My husband spoke in riddles, making me uneasy. “Do I remember? I can’t forget! Why?” I sat down, bracing for bad news. “Well… Anastasia is begging us to take in her daughter—my granddaughter,” he mumbled. “And why on earth should we, Alex? Where’s Anastasia’s husband? Disappeared into thin air?” I was intrigued. “The thing is, Anastasia doesn’t have much time left. She never had a husband. Her mother remarried and lives in America. They’re estranged, and she has no other family. That’s why she’s asking…” Alex couldn’t meet my eyes. “So, what’s your plan?” I had already decided. “Well, I’m asking you, Polly. Whatever you say, that’s what we’ll do,” he finally looked at me. “How convenient. You made mistakes in your youth, and now I’m to shoulder the burden of a stranger’s child? Isn’t that right?” My husband’s feebleness made me furious. “Polly, we’re a family. We should decide together,” Alex pushed back. “Oh, you remembered now! Yet, when you fooled around, did you consult me? I’m your wife!” Tears welled up and I stormed out… In school, I dated a boy named Peter, until a new boy, Alex, arrived and swept me off my feet. I broke up with Peter. Alex noticed me, walked me home, kissed my cheek, and picked flowers for me. A week later, he led me to his bed. I didn’t protest—I fell head over heels for Alex. After we graduated, he went off to serve in the army in another city. We wrote to each other for a year. Then Alex returned on leave. I was overjoyed. He promised we’d marry when he came back for good—already considered me his wife. His sweet words melted me every time, even years later: one loving look from Alex, and I’d melt like chocolate in the sun. Alex went back to the army. I waited, confident I was a betrothed bride. Six months later, a letter arrived: Alex had found “real love” in his garrison town and wasn’t coming back. But I was already carrying Alex’s baby. So much for a wedding—just as my gran warned me. When the time came, I gave birth to my son, Ivan. Peter, my old boyfriend, stepped in to help. Desperate, I accepted. Yes, Peter and I became intimate. I’d long given up hope of seeing Alex again. Then he turned up, surprised to see Peter there. “Can I come in?” Alex asked. “Come on in, since you’re here,” Peter reluctantly allowed. Sensing the tension, Ivan clung to Peter, wailing. “Peter, why don’t you take Ivan for a walk?” I was at a loss. When they left, Alex asked, “Is he your husband?” “What’s it to you? Why are you here?” I was angry and confused. “I missed you. I see you’ve made a life with Peter—you didn’t wait for me. Well, I’ll go—sorry to intrude on your happy family,” he said, heading for the door. “Wait, Alex. Why have you come—just to hurt me? Peter helps me cope with loneliness. He’s been raising your two-year-old son, by the way,” I tried to keep him there. My love for him hadn’t died. “I’ve come back for you, Polly. Will you have me?” Alex asked, hope in his voice. “Come in, dinner’s ready,” my heart leapt—he came back, so he hadn’t forgotten. Why resist? Peter was shoved aside. My Ivan needed his real father. Later, Peter married a lovely woman with two children. A few years passed. Alex could never love Ivan as his own—he was convinced Ivan was Peter’s son. Alex never really cared for Ivan. He always had an eye for the ladies. He was forever chasing after women, easily smitten, just as easily moving on—including some of my own friends. I cried but kept loving him, determined to hold my family together. It was easier for me than for him—the one who loves is always blinded by hope. I never needed to lie or invent excuses; I just loved him. He was my sun. Sometimes I wanted to leave, but then I’d scold myself: Where would I go, who could compare? Besides, Alex would be lost without me. I was wife, lover, and mother to him. Alex lost his own mother at fourteen—she died in her sleep. Maybe that’s why he always looked for lost affection elsewhere. I forgave everything. Once, after a bitter argument, I threw him out. He moved in with his relatives. Months passed—I forgot why we argued—but he didn’t return. At last, I went to his family’s house. His aunt was surprised to see me. “Polly, why do you want Alex? He said you’d divorced—he has a new girlfriend now.” I found out where she lived and paid them a visit. “Hello! Could I see Alex, please?” I asked politely. She just smirked and slammed the door in my face. I left in silence. A year later, Alex came back. By then the girl had given birth to his daughter, Anastasia. To this day, I blame myself for throwing him out—maybe that girl wouldn’t have scooped him up otherwise. I tried harder to please and adore Alex. We never talked about his illegitimate daughter. It seemed if we did, our family would fall apart. We let sleeping dogs lie. After all, what’s one stray child? It happens. I blamed the “temptresses” instead. In time, Alex settled down. Flings ended. He stayed home watching TV. Our son married early, gave us three grandkids. Then, out of nowhere… Anastasia, Alex’s daughter from long ago, reappeared—asking us to take in her daughter. How would I explain a new little girl to Ivan? He never knew about his father’s youthful escapades. In the end, we took legal guardianship of five-year-old Alina. Anastasia passed away, gone at thirty. Graves grow over with grass, but life goes on. Alex spoke to Ivan man-to-man. After hearing his father’s confession, Ivan said, “What’s done is done, you don’t answer to me. But the girl should stay—she’s family.” Alex and I breathed easier. We’d raised a kind son. Now, Alina is sixteen. She adores her Grandpa Alex, whispers secrets to him, calls me Granny, and says she’s my spitting image at her age. I never argue…
DO I REMEMBER? I COULD NEVER FORGET! Polly, darling, theres something I must tell you Well, do you recall my...
Winter had blanketed Andrew’s garden with soft snow, but his loyal dog Duke, a massive German Shepherd, was acting strangely. Instead of curling up in the large kennel Andrew had lovingly built for him last summer, Duke stubbornly insisted on sleeping outside, right in the snow. Watching from his window, Andrew felt a pang of worry—Duke had never behaved like this before. Each morning, as he stepped outside, Andrew noticed Duke watching him tensely. Whenever he approached the kennel, Duke positioned himself between Andrew and the entrance, growling softly and looking at him pleadingly, as if to say: “Please, don’t go in there.” This odd behaviour was so out of character for their years of friendship, it made Andrew uneasy—what was his best friend hiding? Determined to get to the bottom of it, Andrew came up with a plan—he lured Duke into the kitchen with a tempting piece of steak. While the dog, locked inside, barked desperately at the window, Andrew crept towards the kennel and crouched down to peer inside. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw something that froze him on the spot… …There, curled up in a blanket, was a tiny kitten—dirty, freezing, and barely breathing. Its eyes barely opened, and its frail body shivered with cold. Duke had found it somewhere, and instead of chasing it away or leaving it to its fate, he had sheltered it. He had slept outside to avoid scaring it and guarded the entrance as if there was treasure inside. Andrew held his breath. He reached out, gently lifted the tiny creature and pressed it to his chest. In that moment, Duke raced over and nestled beside his shoulder—not growling, but gently, eager to help. “You’re a good dog, Duke…” Andrew whispered, clutching the kitten. “Better than most people.” From that day on, there were no longer just two friends living in the garden, but three. And the lovingly built kennel found its purpose again—as a little home for souls in need of saving.
Winter had blanketed Davids garden in a soft layer of snow, but his loyal dog Byron, a huge English Mastiff,...
The Little Girl Who Wouldn’t Eat: The Night My Stepdaughter Found Her Voice and Our Family Was Forever Changed
A Little Girl Who Couldn’t Eat: The Night My Stepdaughter Finally Found Her Voice and Everything Changed 8 December 2025...