З життя
The Country House Standoff: Daughter Claims Back What’s Rightfully Hers
Summer EscapeA Daughter Takes Back Whats Hers
Lucy, you must see my position is desperate, said my father Peter Wright, pinching the bridge of his nose before exhaling heavily. Elaine has been on at me for weeks now.
She found some prestigious course in Cyprus for Oliver. You know, our boy. Says he needs a good start, and a chance to improve his English. But how am I meant to pay for it?
Youre well aware, Im not exactly raking it in these days.
I glanced up at him, taking in his pink cheeks and the slightly desperate glint in his eyes.
And youve decided selling the cottage is the answer? I asked quietly.
What else can I do? he brightened up slightly, sitting forward as if eager for encouragement. The cottage just sits there doing nothing. Elaine never goesshe finds it dull. She moans about the midges, everything.
She doesnt even know its not mine on paper anymore. She thinks well put it up for auction and all live happily ever after.
Lucy, youre sensible. How about this: you make the sale official. You get your money backevery last penny you gave me ten years ago!
And the rest, the price its gained now, you pass on to me. Family, right?
You dont lose out, surely? You keep whats yours, and help out your old man.
Of course, Dad had turned up unannounced. We barely spoke these dayshe had his new wife, Elaine, and young Oliver, and somehow I just didnt quite fit their picture.
I had a feeling this visit wasnt just a social call. I half-suspected hed ask for a loan, but His suggestion was at best bizarre.
Dad, lets take a moment to remember what happened ten years ago, I replied after a long pause. When you came to me for moneysaid you needed it for surgery and a long recovery.
Do you remember?
He winced.
Is there any need to dig all that up now? I pulled through, thanks be.
The past? I let out a short, dry laugh and shook my head. Those were all my savings sitting in the bank, Dad. Five years I scrimped for a deposit on a flat.
I worked weekends, took no holidays, counted every penny. Then you turned up. No work, no savings, but at least youd found yourself a new wife and a son.
You cleaned me out back then.
I was desperate, Lucy! What else could I do? Crawl under a bridge and die?
I offered to help, Dad, I went on, ignoring the interruption. But I told you outright: I was terrified of being left with nothing if you didnt make it.
You had Elaineyour legal next of kin. Shed never have let me step foot in that cottage.
We argued for a week, remember? You wouldnt sign a proper agreement. Took offence.
How could you not trust your own father!
I only wanted some assurance.
And you got your guarantee! he cut in. We drew up the papers, the cottage became yours.
I sold it to you for next to nothing, just the amount it cost for my treatment.
I thought wed agreed: Id use it, and once I had the money, Id buy it back.
Its been ten years, I said flatly. Ten, Dad. Have you ever once spoken about buying it back? Returned so much as a fiver? No.
Youve spent every summer there, grown your runner beans, burned through firewoodwhich I paid for.
The ratesmine. Three years ago, when the roof needed repairsthat was my money too.
You lived in it as if it were yours, with no sign of guilt, while I slogged to pay off my mortgage.
He mopped his brow.
I couldnt work, Lucy. You know full well, it took ages to recover after the chemo. And since then, Im too oldno one wants me.
Elaine isnt exactly the practical type either. Shes burnt out by her office job.
We just about scrape by, selling bits and bobs online.
Shes fragile? I shot back, starting to pace the kitchen. But Im bulletproof, am I?
Im expected to juggle two jobs, keep up my mortgage, and pay for your rehab in the cottage?
And now Elaines decided its time to flog my cottage to ship her darling boy off for sun and courses?
My cottage, Dad! Mine!
Technically, yes, he shrugged. But you must see, that was always just meant as a stopgap.
Im your father. I gave you life! Surely youre not going to quibble over a patch of countryside when your brother needs help?
Brother? I came to a halt. Ive seen Oliver all of twice in my life.
Hes never wished me happy birthday. Has Elaine ever once asked how I’ve coped? How I managed those payments for years?
Elaines still convinced you own half of London and are just between jobs.
Youve lied to her for a decade, Dad.
He looked away, shamefaced.
I meant well, Lucy Didnt want to upset her.
Shes emotional, wouldve gone spare if I told her Id handed over the cottage.
Handed over, you say?
Please, Lucy, dont nitpick! now he was raising his voice. Im making you a decent offer! The cottage is worth five times what it was. The markets gone mad.
You take your hundred grand backthe amount you lent me. Thats fair, right? Right! The other two hundred thousand, thats for me.
Oliver needs a future; Elaine needs dental work; theres the car, which is falling to bits.
Its not like you need the money. Youve got your place in London, everything you could want.
Help your family!
I kept staring at him, searching for the father whod read me fairy tales when I was little.
No, I said firmly.
What do you mean, no? he gasped.
Im not selling the cottage. I most certainly wont hand over any extra cash.
Its mine by rightand by every moral standard.
Youve lived blissfully rent-free for ten years, regained your health, enjoyed the countryside. Chalk that up as my contribution.
Thats the end of it.
Are you serious? his face flushed. Youd take everything from your own father?
If it wasnt for me, there wouldnt even be a cottage! My father built it with his own hands!
Exactly. It was Grandpas. Hed turn in his grave if he knew you wanted to flog off the family home for some dubious course in Cyprus for a boy who hasnt lifted a finger in nineteen years.
For pitys sake, Lucy! Dad was on his feet now, shouting. You owe me! I raised you! If you refuse, Ill tell everyone how mean you are.
Ill tell Elaine everythingshell come round and make your life hell!
Well take you to court! Well get the sale overturned! It was unfair, wasnt it? You took advantage when I was ill, fleeced me of my property!
I gave a bitter little laugh.
Give it a go, Dad. Ive kept all the hospital bills, every bank transfer into your name.
And the legal papers you signed, in full possession of your facultiesMr Riley the solicitor made sure of that, you remember?
Elaine will be very interested to find out you sold the cottage long before Oliver started school.
You told her it was your inheritance, didnt you?
Lucy his tone changed: wheedling, almost pitiful. Please, love. Elaines going through a bad patch
If she finds out the truth, shell turf me out. Shes fifteen years youngershes only here because of what I can provide.
If theres no cottage, no money, she wont want me. Is that what you wantfor your father to end up on the street in his old age?
Did you ever think about this before? I felt my anger rising When you went a decade without a job? When you let Elaine rack up debts? When you promised her luxury at my expense?
So you wont help? Dad squared up. Some daughter you are
Go home, Dad. Tell Elaine the truth. Its the only way youll keep a shred of dignity.
Choke on your precious cottage! he spat out as he swept past me. But remember, you have no father now. Dont you dare contact me!
He left, and I smiled coldly. As if Id had a father for years.
Truth is, Dad walked out on us when I was seven.
***
The phone rang early Saturday morningfrom an unknown number.
Hello?
Is that Lucy? I recognised Elaine immediately. Who do you think you are, you selfish cow?
You really think you can cheat Peter out of the cottage? Hes told me everything!
You tricked him into signing those papers when he was drugged after surgery!
Good morning, Elaine, I said evenly. If you want to talk, can we do it without shouting?
Morning? My solicitors drawing up the paperwork as we speak! Well have that deal thrown out! You took advantage of your ill father and robbed him of his familys home for peanuts.
Well make sure youre left with nothing!
Elaine, please listen.
I understand Peter’s told you his versionbut I have all the evidence showing the money went to his medical care.
In addition, I have a decade of messages from him thanking me for keeping the cottage running and letting him stay there.
He wrote, in his own words: Thank you, Lucy, for not abandoning me, for knowing the cottage is safe with you.
What do you think the judge will make of that?
The line went silentElaine hadnt expected me to be so prepared.
Youre disgusting, she hissed. Isnt your own flat enough? You have to take away Olivers chance as well? He needs to study!
Oliver needs to get a job like I did when I was his age.
And you, Elaine, deserve to know the truth. Remember all those shares Peter said he owned?
What shares? I heard the tremor in her voice.
The shares he invented. He just used the money I sent him to help out, pretended they were dividends.
Check the bank transfers, if you dont believe me. Your dear husbands been lying to you for years. Played the illness card for all its worth.
I was getting into debt, thinking I was saving Dads lifeall while he spun his web of lies.
Elaine hung up. That evening, I got a text from Dad. Three words: Youve ruined everything.
***
I never replied. A couple of days later, neighbours from the village called: apparently, Elaine had put on quite a showthrowing my fathers belongings out the windows while yelling her head off, until the police were called.
Turns out, certain the cottage would soon be sold, Elaine had loaded herself with major debtsa big loan at sky-high interest for Olivers fresh start.
Dad had to move out. Elaine filed for divorce as soon as she realised how deep his lies ran.
And as for Oliverhed been pampered all his life. Didnt even spare his father a glance as he packed up and moved in with his girlfriend. The old man brought it on himself, he said.
Where Dad is now, I dont know. And I dont intend to find out.
Shutting the Door on Our Own Daughter — “Why didn’t you let her in?” Veronica finally asked the question that haunted her most. “You used to always let her in…” Her mother gave a bitter smile. “Because I’m scared for you, Nicky. Do you think we don’t see the way you hide in the corner when your sister barges in at night? The way you hide your textbooks so she won’t ruin them? She looks at you and gets angry. Angry because you’re normal. Because you have a different future ahead of you, but she’s drowned hers in a bottle…” Veronica hunched over her open textbook, flinching as yet another row kicked off in the next room. Her father didn’t even take off his coat—he stood in the hallway, phone in hand, shouting into it. “Don’t try and fob me off!” he roared. “Where’s it all gone then? Two weeks after payday, Larissa! Two!” Tatiana peered out from the kitchen. She listened to her husband’s tirade, then asked, “Again?” Valery waved her off and put the phone on speaker—immediately met by sobbing. Veronica’s older sister had a natural talent for making even stones melt in pity. But their parents had developed a tough skin after so many years. “What do you mean ‘he threw you out’?” Valery started to pace the cramped corridor. “Damn right. Who’d put up with your never-ending drunkenness? Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? You’re thirty, but you look like a battered dog.” Veronica crept her door open an inch. “Dad, please…” The sobs suddenly cut out. “He put my things out on the landing. I’ve nowhere to go. It’s cold, it’s raining… I’ll come to you, okay? Just for a couple of days. Just to get some sleep…” Mother lunged for the phone, but Valery turned away. “No!” he barked. “You’re not coming in this house. We agreed last time—after you hocked the TV while we were at the cottage, the door to this family shut for you!” “Mum! Mum, say something!” came the desperate cry. Tatiana covered her face. Her shoulders shook. “Larissa, how could you…” she sobbed, avoiding her husband’s eyes. “We took you to the doctors, we… You promised. The last treatment, they said it would last three years. You didn’t even last a month.” “Those treatments are rubbish!” Larissa snapped back, her voice suddenly venomous. “They’re just taking your money! I’m suffering here! Everything’s burning inside, I can’t breathe! And you’re worried about a TV! As if I won’t buy you a new one!” “With what?!” Valery stopped, glaring at a spot on the wall. “With what, when you’ve spent everything? Borrowed from your drinking friends again? Or sold something from your boyfriend’s flat, what’s his name?” “Doesn’t matter!” Larissa yelled. “Dad, I’ve nowhere to go! What do you want, for me to sleep under a bridge?” “Go to a shelter. Go anywhere,” her father’s voice went cold. “But you aren’t walking through this door. I’ll change the locks if I see you on our street.” Veronica sat on her bed, knees hugged to her chest. Usually, when her older sister pushed their parents into rage, the anger bounced on to her. “What are you doing there, on your phone again? You’ll end up as useless as your sister!” Words she’d heard for three years. But tonight, she was forgotten. No shouting, no snipes. Her father hung up, took off his coat, and her parents moved to the kitchen. Veronica carefully stepped into the hall. “Val, you can’t…” her mother pleaded. “She’ll be lost. You know how she gets in that state. She’s not responsible for herself.” “Why should I be responsible for her?” her father slammed the kettle on. “I’m fifty-five, Tania. I want to come home and sit in my chair in peace. I don’t want to hide my wallet under my pillow! I don’t want to apologise to neighbours who saw her with dodgy characters in our building!” “She’s our daughter,” mother whispered. “She was our daughter until she was twenty. Now she’s just someone draining the life out of us. She’s a drinker, Tania. You can’t cure that if she doesn’t want to quit. And she doesn’t. She likes this life. Wake up, get a cheap bottle and pass out!” The phone rang again. The parents froze, then her father’s voice came: “Yes?” “Dad… I’m at the station. Police are everywhere. They’ll arrest me if I stay here. Please…” “Listen to me, closely,” he cut in. “You’re not coming home. Period.” “So, should I just go and kill myself then?” Larissa’s voice held a note of challenge. “Is that what you want? A call from the morgue?!” Veronica froze. That was Larissa’s classic trump card— when nothing else worked, threaten tragedy. It always worked before. Mum would break down, dad would clutch his heart, and Lari would get money, a bed, food, and a clean-up. Not tonight. Her dad didn’t bite. “Stop with the threats,” he said. “You love yourself too much for that. Here’s the deal. I’ll find you a room. The cheapest I can, at the edge of town. I’ll pay a month’s rent. Some food money. That’s all. After that, you’re on your own. Get a job, shape up—you can manage. If not, in a month you’re back on the street. That’s it for me.” “A room?! Just a room, not a flat? Dad, I can’t do it on my own. It’s scary. The neighbours might be weird. And I don’t even have bedding—he kept it all!” “Mum will pack you some. I’ll leave it with the concierge. Collect it, but don’t even try upstairs. I’ve warned you.” “You’re animals!” Larissa screamed. “Chuck your own daughter out! Living comfortable in your three-bed while I have to crawl into some hovel?!” Mum couldn’t take it, snatching the phone. “Larissa, that’s enough!” she shouted, making Veronica jump. “Listen to your father! This is your only chance. Take the room, or it’s the streets. Choose now, or he won’t even pay for that!” Silence came from the other end. “Fine,” Larissa finally snapped. “Send me the address. And money. I’m starving.” “No money,” Valery cut in. “I’ll send you food. I know exactly what your ‘food’ budget goes on.” He hung up. Veronica decided now was the time. She tiptoed to the kitchen for a drink, expecting a backlash. Her dad would comment on her scruffy t-shirt. Her mum would chide her indifference—how could she just wander the house with all this going on? But neither even looked at her. “Veronica,” her mum said quietly. “Yeah, Mum?” “In the wardrobe, top shelf. Old bedsheets and pillowcases. Pack them in the blue bag from the cupboard.” “Okay, Mum.” Veronica found the bag and emptied it, dazed. How would Larissa live alone? She couldn’t boil pasta, let alone stay off the bottle… Veronica returned, climbed on a stool, and started packing the linen. “Don’t forget towels!” called Dad. “Already packed,” Veronica replied. She saw her father stomp out, grab the bags, and leave. Off to find this “hovel,” presumably. Veronica wandered into the kitchen. Mum sat, unmoving. “Mum, want me to get you a tablet or something?” she whispered. Mum looked up. “You know, Nick,” she began, her voice hollow, “when she was little, I thought: she’ll be my helper. We’ll talk about everything. Now all I can think is—please, let her remember the address, let her get there…” “She will,” Veronica perched beside her. “She always manages.” “Not this time,” Mum shook her head. “Her eyes… they’re empty now. She’s just a shell that needs its poison.” Veronica fell silent. She’d always thought her parents didn’t notice her fear, too busy saving ‘lost’ Larissa. “I thought you stopped caring about me,” she whispered. Mum reached out, stroked her hair. “We care. But we’re out of strength. It’s like on a plane—you put your own mask on before the child’s. We tried putting a mask on her for ten years, Nick! Rehab, quacks, expensive clinics. Nearly suffocated ourselves in the process.” The doorbell rang. “Is it her?” Veronica asked. “No, Dad’s got the keys. Probably the food delivery.” Veronica fetched the shopping—groceries, tinned goods, basics. Nothing extra. “She won’t eat this,” Veronica said, setting aside buckwheat. “She only eats takeaways.” “If she wants to live, she’ll cook,” Mum snapped, her old firmness returning briefly. “No more coddling her. Our kindness is killing her.” An hour later, Dad came home, haggard. “Found it,” he grunted. “Keys are here. Landlady’s an old retired teacher, strict as they come. She said one whiff of drink or any trouble, she’ll boot her straight out. I told her, ‘Do it.'” “Valery…” Mum sighed. “What? I’m done lying. She deserves to know.” He grabbed the bag, picked up the groceries and left. “I’ll drop this at the concierge. If she calls, don’t answer the house phone.” He left. Mum locked herself in the kitchen and wept. Veronica’s heart ached. How did it come to this? A sister not really living, only existing for the next drink—and parents barely surviving her… *** Her parents’ efforts failed—within a week, the landlady rang Valery. The daughter, with three men, partying all night: thrown out with the police. Still, the parents couldn’t abandon her. Larissa was sent to a secure rehab centre that claimed to ‘cure drinkers in a year.’ Maybe this time, there’ll be a miracle? **Shutting the Door on Our Own Daughter: When Love Fights to Survive Addiction’s Grip in an English Family**
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The Carer for the Wife — What do you mean? — Lida thought she must have misheard. — Where am I supposed to go? Why? What for? — Oh, can we just skip the dramatics, please? — he grimaced. — What’s not clear here? There’s no one left for you to take care of. Where you go is none of my concern. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? Weren’t we planning to get married…? — That was your idea. I never said any such thing. At 32, Lida decided to turn her life around and leave her small hometown. What was left for her there? Endure her mother’s nagging? Her mother simply couldn’t stop scolding Lida about the divorce, constantly asking how she managed to “lose” her husband. Yet Vas’ka wasn’t worth a kind word—drunk and a womaniser! How did she end up marrying him all those eight years ago? Lida wasn’t at all upset about the divorce—in fact, she felt she could finally breathe again. But she argued constantly with her mum about it, and they also fought about money, which was always in short supply. So, she’d head off to the county town and land a great job there! Look at Svetka—her old school friend—she’d been married for five years to a widower. Who cares if he’s 16 years older and hardly a heartthrob, at least he has a flat and a decent income. And Lida reckoned she was just as good as Svetka! — Well, thank heavens! You’ve come to your senses! — Svetka encouraged her. — Pack your things, you can stay with us for a bit, and we’ll sort out the job situation. — Won’t your Vadim Petrovich mind? — Lida was unsure. — Don’t be silly! He does whatever I ask! Don’t worry, we’ll get by! Still, Lida didn’t want to stay long at her friend’s place. After just a couple of weeks and her first wages, she rented her own room. And just a couple of months later, she had a stroke of luck. — Why is a woman like you working in the market? — said one of her regulars, Edward Boris, with concern. Lida knew all her regulars by name by now. — It’s cold, it’s hard work—not ideal. — Gotta earn money somehow, — she shrugged, — unless you have another offer? Edward Boris wasn’t exactly a dreamboat in her eyes—twenty years older, a bit pudgy, starting to bald, and with a shrewd look in his eye. He was always particular about choosing his vegetables and paid to the penny. But he dressed well and drove a nice car—definitely not a down-and-out, not a drunk. He also had a wedding ring, so she never considered him as husband material. — You strike me as responsible, steady, and clean, — Edward Boris switched to a familiar tone, — have you ever cared for anyone who was ill? — I used to look after a neighbour, actually. She had a stroke, her children live far away, so they paid me to help. — That’s great! — he exclaimed, and then put on a somber face: — My wife, Tamara, has had a stroke too. The doctors say she has little chance of recovery. I’ve brought her home, but I haven’t got time to look after her. Will you help? I’ll pay you properly. Lida didn’t have to think long—much better to be in a warm flat changing bedpans than freezing on the market for ten hours a day serving picky customers! He even suggested she live there, so no more rent. — They’ve got three spare rooms! You could play football in there! — she delightedly told her friend. — No children either. Tamara’s mother was a real madam—even at 68, she acted half her age. She’d just remarried and was busy with her husband. No one else to care for the invalid. — Is she really that sick? — Oh yes, poor thing can’t move or speak. She won’t get better. — You almost sound happy about it, — Svetka eyed her. — Of course not, — Lida looked down, — but once Tamara’s gone, Edward Boris would be free… — Are you for real, Lida? Wishing someone dead for a flat?! — I’m not wishing anyone dead—I’m just not going to miss my chance! Easy for you to say, you’ve got it made! They had a huge fight and didn’t speak for half a year—until Lida confessed to Svetka her romance with Edward Boris. They couldn’t live without each other, but of course, he’d never leave his wife—not that type! So for now, she’d remain his lover. — So you’re shacking up with him while his wife is dying in the next room? — her friend was appalled. — Do you even see how vile that is? Or are you that blinded by his money—if he’s even got it? — Trust you to never say a kind word, — Lida retorted. They stopped talking again, but she barely felt guilty—well, perhaps just a bit. She cared for Tamara with real diligence, and since her affair with Edward Boris began, she took on all the housework too. After all, a man needs more than just a woman in his bed—he wants a good meal, crisp shirts, a clean flat. Lida thought her lover was very content, and she was enjoying her life too. She barely noticed Edward had stopped paying her for caring for his wife. Not that it mattered now—they were almost like husband and wife! He gave her money for shopping, and she managed the budget, not realising it was tight. And his job paid well enough—but never mind, once they got married it would all become clear. With time, the spark between them dulled, and Edward lingered less at home, but Lida put it down to the strain of having a sick wife. She pitied him, even though he barely spent a minute a day checking on Tamara. Even so, Lida wept when Tamara finally passed away. She’d given a year and a half of her life to that woman—you can’t get that time back. She organised the funeral too—Edward was “too grief-stricken.” He gave her the bare minimum for expenses, but she did everything properly. No one could accuse her of a thing. Even the neighbours, gossiping about her and Edward—nothing escapes them!—nodded approvingly at the funeral. His mother-in-law too seemed satisfied. So Lida never expected what Edward said next. — You understand there’s no need for your services anymore, so I’m giving you a week to move out, — he said on the tenth day after the funeral. — What do you mean? — Lida’s voice faltered. — Where should I go? Why? — Please, do we have to have this scene? — he sighed. — There’s no one left for you to care for, and where you go is none of my business. — Ed, what’s wrong with you? We were supposed to get married… — That’s your fantasy. I never said anything of the sort. Next morning, after a sleepless night, Lida tried to talk again, but he just repeated the same words and urged her to move quickly. — My fiancée wants to renovate before the wedding, — was all he said. — Fiancée? Who’s that? — None of your business. — Oh, none of my business?! Well, I’ll move out, but you’ll pay me for my work first. You were meant to pay forty grand a month. I only got paid twice. So you owe me £8,000. — You can do the sums, can’t you! — he snorted. — Don’t get carried away… — And you owe for cleaning too! I won’t nit-pick, just pay me ten grand and we’ll call it even. — Or what? You’ll go to court? There’s no contract. — I’ll tell Tamila—remember, your mother-in-law owns this flat. Edward’s face changed, but he recovered quickly. — Who’d believe you? — he huffed. — You know what? I don’t want to see you. Get out now. — You’ve got three days, darling. No ten grand, and there’ll be a scandal, — Lida replied, heading for a cheap hostel. She’d managed to save some of the housekeeping money. On the fourth day, having had no answer, Lida went back to the flat. Tamila, the mother-in-law, was there. Lida could see from Edward’s face she’d never get paid. So she told Tamila everything. — She’s making it all up! Don’t listen! — the widower protested. — Well, well, I’d heard rumours at the funeral, but I didn’t believe them — Tamila’s stare was fierce. — Now it all makes sense. And you, my dear son-in-law, don’t forget who owns this flat? Edward froze. — So, I want you out of here within the week. No—within three days. Tamila turned to leave, then paused at Lida. — And you, standing there like you expect a prize? Get out! Lida bolted from the flat, realising there’d be no money for her—not now. Back to the market again; there’d always be work there… **The Carer’s Devotion: Betrayal Behind Closed Doors in Suburban England**
A Carer for My Wife What do you mean? Linda could hardly believe what she was hearing. Where am I...