З життя
Three O’Clock in the Morning and a Phone Call: How Saving a Stray German Shepherd with Mum’s Help Changed My Heart Forever
Mary Ellen wakes at three in the morning to the insistent buzzing of her old mobile phone on her bedside table.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, puzzled as to who might be calling at such an hour, she picks it up and sees her sons name glowing on the screen. Her heart instantly races. Hes calling.
Hello Jamie, whats happened?! Mary asks, her voice trembling with fear. Why are you ringing so late?
Mum, sorry to wake you. Its just, well, I was driving home from work Jamies words tumble out uncertainly, and then I dont know what to do
What happened, love? Speak up, dont keep me waiting! Youre not trying to give your mother a heart attack, are you?
Well, theres this well, shes lying in the road. I dont know what to do, Mum. First time Ive seen anything like this. Im a bit all over the place.
For a few seconds, theres only silence.
Wait Are you saying you hit someone with your car? Did you did you kill someone? Mary gasps, barely keeping hold of the phone as her hands shake.
No, not dead, I dont think, Jamie answers, and its not me who hit her. Someone else. And its not a person, anyway.
Not a person? Who then?
A dog a German shepherd, I think. Shes still breathing, but its bad. What should I do, Mum? There arent any all-night vets around here. Youve always had more of a way with animals than me.
Jamie looks down at the dog, still lying by the roadside, lit by his headlights. Her chest rises and falls slowly, each breath a struggle, eyes glassy with a sadness so human that Jamie feels a pang in his heart.
At least shes breathing Maybe theres hope, he thinks, pressing the phone closer to his ear.
*****
Three days earlier.
Mum, youre at it again? Havent you got anything better to do? Why do you keep bothering with all these cats? Jamie grumbles, popping into his mothers for a quick visit and finding her outside with the local strays. She never used to fuss so much over animals.
It had all started when Mary retired. Suddenly, a fierce devotion to stray cats blossomed. She fed them every day, no matter who was watching. Jamie couldnt make sense of it.
Hello, love, Mary straightens and waves. Didnt know you were coming. Id have made you something nice, she says.
Looks like youve given all your nice things to the cats, Jamie jokes dryly.
He genuinely doesnt understand why she spends her pension and time caring for animals. Shes already got four rescued cats at home, all adopted in under a year. Surely thats enough? But Mary carries on, feeding stray animals, giving her love to them as if its the most natural thing in the world.
She adores cats, cant ignore a hungry dog, even leaves food for the pigeons clustering by the bins.
The neighbours nicknamed her Mother Teresa behind her back.
It stings Jamie when he sees people gossip, pointing or smirking at his mum. A few even make circling gestures at their temples, suggesting shes a bit touched.
Let them think what they want, son, Mary tells him, not missing his discomfort at the neighbours laughter. There isnt enough kindness in the world, so Im trying to add just a bit more.
Mary gazes thoughtfully at the cats, hungrily diving into the food shes laid down.
Really, what do they get out there? Nothing. I want them to know someone cares, even just a little. Its awful to feel unwanted. You remember what your gran used to say?
But youve already got four cats, Mum. Isnt that enough? Jamie is genuinely surprised.
Its not about how many, love. Id take them all if I could, but my flats tiny, and my pension isnt much. I do what I can, but that doesnt mean I should ignore the rest. So I feed them. If people think Im mad, so be it. Setting a good example is worth it.
A good example?
Yes! Maybe someone else will see and start doing the same. Were responsible for the animals we tame. And as people, we should help those who cant help themselves. No one else is going to.
Jamie tries to understand, but its beyond him. He reckons itd be better if she helped homeless people, at least. But animals?
He doesnt mind the cats and dogs running about the estate; he just thinks its going too far.
But three days after that conversation, something happens that utterly changes Jamies feelings about animals.
That night, hes heading home from work well past midnight. Usually, hes home earlier, but theres a last-minute crisis at work, so he got held up.
Strangely, he doesnt mind. He hasnt driven through the city at night in ages.
Jamies always careful at the wheel, rarely speeding, but tonight, he lets loosethe roads are empty. But his joyride ends quickly.
He barely manages to brake in time when he spots the dog lying in the road.
He sits for a minute in stunned silence, gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white. The shock passes and Jamie jumps out, running to the dog.
One look is enough to tell him a cars hit herprobably another late-night speeder, maybe even someone drunk.
No sense in wondering now. Whats important is helping her. But how?
Hes clueless, panicked. Hes never had pets, never even kept a goldfish.
So he does the only thing he canhe rings his mum.
*****
Hello Jamie, whats happened?! Mary asks, terrified as she answers her phone at three in the morning. Why are you calling now?
Mum, sorry. I was just driving home and I dont know what to do Jamies voice is a mess of nerves.
What happened, love? she presses.
Shes here lying in the road. I dont know what to do. Any advice?
Flowers to silence.
Are you telling me youve run someone over? Killed them? Mary can hardly hold the phone, shaking hard.
No, I dont think so. And it wasnt me, and its not a person.
What then?
A dog looks like a German shepherd. Definitely a stray. Shes breathing, but its rough. What should I do, Mum? No all-night vets here. Where else could I go? Youve always had more sense with animals.
He glances again at the struggling dog, chest rising and falling in patches of light. The pain in her expression tugs at him.
At least shes alive It cant be all bad, he thinks, tightening his grip on the phone.
Mum, what now? Do you know any vets?
No friends who are vets, sadly. And youre right, no all-night surgeries here, and its risky trying to get her to one in another townyou might not make it in time. Bring the dog to me, Jamie.
To yours? Are you serious?
Of course. Why are you so surprised? Worried about what the neighbours will say again?
No Its just, youve got four cats in your flat. What about them? Wont they all kick off?
Theyre cats, not crocodiles, love. Theyll cope. Just get her in the car and bring her over, quickly now. Ill sort things out here and well do our best for her.
*****
Half an hour later, Jamie is lugging the dog up to Marys fourth-floor flat.
Everythings a messthe back seat is covered in mud and fur, Jamies clothes smudged with dirt and blood, but he doesnt care. All that matters is the dogs life.
Put her here, gently, Mary instructs, indicating the settee in the sitting room, covered with old sheets she hadnt quite thrown out.
Marys no vetnever even worked in an animal shelterbut years of taking her own strays to the surgery, watching everything, means shes picked up a few things that suddenly become useful.
Jamie, too, tries to help, searching on his smartphone for what to do. Unlike his mums ancient phone, his can tap into whatever he needs.
Between them, they finally stem the bleeding, and the dog breathes a little easier.
You wouldnt believe it, but even the cats get involved.
At first, theyre wary of this big, wounded newcomer. But soon, curiosity gets the better of them. They settle down next to her, each purring softly. The dog drifts off to sleepnot from blacking out, but real, restful sleep.
Its the best thing, because the pain fades for a few hours, soothed by the gentle chorus of cats, their healing paws pressed against her.
Mum, do you think shell be alright? Jamie asks quietly, stroking the dogs head.
Im sure she will, Mary smiles, worn out. The injuries arent too bad. You know, if this wonderful dog could awaken some compassion in you, then meeting her wasnt just an accident, was it?
I couldnt leave her out there, Mum, Jamie says softly. That wouldve been plain wrong.
Thats what Im saying, love. Three days ago you didnt get why I feed strays, and now here you are, up all night, worried sick over a dog. And I have a feeling you wont kick her back out, eitheram I right?
Probably not Jamie blushes, but inside, hes strangely pleased.
For the first time, he feels genuinely kind.
*****
At dawn, Jamie drives the dog to the vets. He queues outside with all the early risers, and as soon as people see him carrying the injured dog, they step aside without complaint. No need to ask. They just get it.
At that moment, Jamie truly understandstheres nothing wrong with loving and caring for animals. In fact, it brings out the best in people.
The vet gets the German shepherdwhom Jamie has started calling Ralphback on her feet. Now, every weekend, Jamie visits Mary and they walk together in the local park. Though together isnt the right word anymore.
Mary, Jamie, Ralph, and four cats all set outsometimes five, even six, as the rest of Marys strays have decided they like walks too. Nobody minds.
Neighbours peer through the curtains, muttering, some making the old loopy gesture. But now, Jamie couldnt care less.
Thank you, Ralph, for coming into his life the way you did. And thank you, Mum, for showing him how to do the right thing.
Thank you, too, to those strangers outside the vets. For their kindness. It was in that instant Jamie thoughtthe world really is a kinder place than hed believed.
And whatever anyone says, Jamie, like his mother, will keep helping whoever needs itcat, dog, or human.
Thats the story.
Like a Bird Drawn to a Song: A Young Woman’s Promise of Lifelong Love, Family Rivalries, and the Winding Journey Through Betrayal, Heartbreak, and Second Chances in Modern England
LIKE A BIRD TO THE CALL Girls, you only get married once, and thats how it should stay. You stick...
Three O’Clock in the Morning and a Phone Call: How Saving a Stray German Shepherd with Mum’s Help Changed My Heart Forever
Mary Ellen wakes at three in the morning to the insistent buzzing of her old mobile phone on her bedside...
Raw Nerves: In This Family, Everyone Lived Their Own Separate Lives. Dad, Alexander, Had Not Just a Wife but a String of Lovers. Mum, Jenny, Turned a Blind Eye, but She Had Her Own Secret Romance with a Married Colleague. Their Two Sons Were Left to Fend for Themselves. Nobody Really Raised Them, So They Wasted Days Wandering Aimlessly. Jenny Claimed the School Was Responsible for Their Upbringing. On Sundays, the Family Would Gather in Silence Round the Kitchen Table, Wolf Down Lunch, and Disperse to Their Separate Interests. They Might Have Continued in Their Broken, Flawed but Comfortably Familiar Existence—Until Irreversible Tragedy Struck. When the Younger Son, Daniel, Was Twelve, Alexander First Took Him to the Garage as His Little Helper. While Daniel Curiously Inspected the Tools, Alexander Stepped Next Door to Chat with Fellow Car Enthusiasts. Suddenly, Black Smoke and Flames Billowed from Alexander’s Garage. (Later, It Would Emerge that Daniel Had Accidentally Knocked a Lit Blowtorch onto a Can of Petrol.) Nobody Understood What Had Happened. People Were Frozen, Panicking, as Fire Raged. Water Was Thrown Over Alexander, and He Bolted into the Inferno. In Moments, He Emerged, Carrying His Motionless Son, Daniel’s Body a Mass of Burns—Only His Face, Shielded by His Hands, Remained Unscathed; His Clothes Were Completely Burned Away. Someone Had Already Called the Fire Brigade and Ambulance. Daniel Was Rushed to Hospital—He Was Alive! He Was Taken Straight to Surgery. After Agonising Hours, the Surgeon Came Out to Daniel’s Parents and Said, “We’re Doing All We Can. Your Son Is in a Coma. His Chances Are One in a Million. Science Is Powerless. Only Extraordinary Willpower—and a Miracle—Can Save Him Now.” Desperate, Alexander and Jenny Raced to the Nearest Church—in a Torrential Downpour. Drenched and Sobbing, They Entered the Sanctuary for the First Time in Their Lives, Begging the Priest, Father George, for Help. “…How grave are your sins?” Father George asked. Alexander, sheepish, replied, “Not murderers, if that’s what you mean…” “But where is your love? Dead underfoot,” the priest reproached. “There’s more space between you than a fallen oak log. Pray to Saint Nicholas for your son’s health—pray fiercely! But remember, it’s God’s will…” At the icon, Alexander and Jenny knelt, weeping and praying passionately—swearing to cut all affairs, vowing to change their lives. The next morning, the phone rang. The doctor reported Daniel was out of his coma. Alexander and Jenny never left his bedside. Daniel whispered to his parents, “Mum, Dad, promise me you’ll stay together,” and, “When I have children, they’ll have your names…” His parents thought he was delirious—after all, he couldn’t even move his finger. But Daniel began to recover. The family’s energy and savings—and even their summer cottage—went into his treatment. The garage and car had burned to ashes, but the main thing was: Daniel was alive. The grandparents pitched in to help, and the family came together through the crisis. A year on, Daniel was in a rehabilitation centre, able to walk and look after himself. He befriended Mary, a girl his own age who’d also been burned in a fire—her face badly scarred after multiple operations, too shy to look in a mirror. Daniel was drawn to her kindness, wisdom, and vulnerability. The two became inseparably close, bonding over pain, recovery, and endless conversation. Time passed… Daniel and Mary celebrated a modest wedding. They had two beautiful children: daughter Alexandra, then three years later, son John. At last, the family could breathe easy. But the ordeal had left Alexander and Jenny drained. They decided to part ways, both craving peace and relief from each other. Jenny moved to stay with her sister in the suburbs, visiting Father George before leaving—he, now a confidant, urged her not to go for long; “A husband and wife are one.” Alexander remained alone in the empty flat, sons with families of their own. Visiting grandchildren was done separately, timings carefully coordinated to avoid crossing paths. And so, after all they’d suffered, every member of the family finally found their own, peculiar peace…
CUT TO THE QUICK… In this family, everyone lived their own separate lives. Jack, the father, in addition to his...
I’ll Remind You – Miss Mary, This Swirl Won’t Work! A Second-Grader’s Birthday Gift, A Mother’s Disappointment, and a Teacher’s Lesson in Kindness and Memories That Bloom Like Painted Flowers
ILL REMIND YOU Miss Mary, hereit just keeps curling the wrong way, whispered little Tom, his brush hovering uncertainly above...
Desperate to Tie the Knot: After Ten Lonely Years, Dr. Alice Finds Unexpected Romance with a Former Algerian Student—Only for Fate to Bring Her Back to Her Ex-Husband and Knitting Socks for Their Grandchild Alice
IMPATIENT FOR MARRIAGE Ella is utterly determined to find the right husband. Shes already had one failed marriage. She has...
IS IT REALLY THE ORCHID’S FAULT? “Polly, take this orchid or I’ll bin it,” Kate muttered, scooping the transparent pot off the windowsill and thrusting it into my hands. “Thanks, mate! But what did this orchid ever do to upset you?” I was puzzled. There were still three gorgeous, pampered orchids on her windowsill. “That flower was a wedding gift for my son. And, well, you know how that turned out…” Kate sighed heavily. “I know your Dennis and Tanya divorced before their first anniversary. I won’t ask why—it must have been serious. Dennis absolutely adored Tanya.” I didn’t want to reopen an old wound. “Someday I’ll tell you the whole story, Polly. For now, it’s too much to remember,” Kate mused, dabbing her eyes. I brought the “rejected” and “banished” orchid home. My husband looked at the pitiful specimen and said, “Why bother with that runt? Even I can see there’s no life left in it. Don’t waste your time.” “I’m going to revive her,” I insisted. “A bit of love and care, and you’ll see—she’ll be in bloom again.” He winked: “Who can refuse love?” A week later, Kate rang: “Polly, can I come round? I can’t keep this burden inside. I want to tell you everything about Dennis’ disastrous marriage.” “Come right over, Kate. I’m here.” I couldn’t turn her down. She’d been my rock through my first painful divorce—and when things were rocky with my second husband too. We’d been friends forever. Kate arrived an hour later. She settled in the kitchen, and over a glass of dry wine, a cup of strong coffee, and some dark chocolate, the story spilled out. “I never imagined my ex-daughter-in-law was capable of such a thing. Dennis and Tanya were together for seven years before marrying. Dennis left Annie for Tanya—and I loved Annie, so homely and warm, I called her daughter. Then this dazzling beauty Tanya swept in. Dennis was besotted—hovering around her like a bee around a blossom. Love at first sight, absolutely scorching. He pushed Annie aside in a heartbeat. “Yes, Tanya had model looks. Dennis loved when his mates gawped and passers-by turned heads. Yet, no child in seven years. I thought maybe Dennis wanted everything proper—wedded first, then kids. He’s private, never confided much, and we didn’t meddle. “One day he just told us: “‘Mum, Dad, I’m marrying Tanya. We’ve given notice at the registry office. No expense spared—a wedding to remember.’ “We were thrilled—Dennis was thirty, finally settling down. But the wedding date shifted—he was unwell, then I got held up at work. I got a bad feeling, but I saw his happiness and kept silent. “Dennis even wanted a church blessing, but the priest was away. Nothing was going right. Everything was a sign… “Still, we had a big, noisy wedding. Look—here’s the photo. See that orchid? Blooming, magnificent. Its leaves stood tall. Now, they’re just limp rags. “Dennis and Tanya planned a Paris honeymoon, but there was a hitch—Tanya wasn’t allowed to leave the country. Some massive unpaid fine. They were turned away at the airport. Dennis ignored the strings of bad luck, lost in dreams of family life. “But then he got seriously ill—hospitalised. The doctors had little hope. Tanya stuck around for a week, then said: “‘I’m sorry, but I can’t cope with a disabled husband. I’m filing for divorce.’ “Imagine, Polly, what Dennis felt lying there? Still, he replied: “‘I understand, Tanya. I won’t stand in your way.’ “So, they divorced. “But Dennis recovered. We found him a brilliant doctor, who pulled him through in half a year—said Dennis was young enough to bounce back. Our family grew close to the doctor, Peter, who had a lovely twenty-year-old daughter, Masha. Dennis barely paid attention to her: “‘She’s tiny. Not even pretty.’ “‘Give her a chance, son. Looks aren’t everything. You’ve tried the model wife—now, perhaps, try joy over glamour.’ “He couldn’t forget Tanya’s betrayal, yet Masha adored Dennis from the start—she followed him everywhere, phoned him constantly. “We tried matchmaking with a trip in the countryside. Dennis sulked the whole time, nothing cheered him up—campfire, barbeque, our laughter—nothing. Masha followed him with puppy eyes, but he barely glanced at her. “‘It’s hopeless,’ I sighed to my husband. ‘Dennis still loves Tanya. She’s a splinter in his heart.’ “A few months later, Dennis showed up at the door with the infamous orchid: “‘Here, Mum—the last relic of past happiness. Do what you want with it. I don’t want this exotic reminder.’ “I begrudgingly accepted the orchid and took a dislike to it—almost as if I blamed it for my son’s pain. I shoved it out of sight, neglected it. “Then I ran into a neighbour: “‘Kate, I saw your Dennis with a pixie-like girl. His first wife was far more striking, though…’ “I didn’t believe it—could Dennis really be dating Masha? “‘Meet my wife, Masha,’ Dennis introduced her, cradling her hand. “My husband and I exchanged glances. “‘But what about a wedding? Guests?’ “‘No need for a fuss—we’ve done all that. Registered at the town hall, quiet and simple. Father Peter gave us a church blessing. Masha and I are forever.’ “I pulled Dennis aside: “‘Do you actually love her? Please don’t hurt Masha—or marry just to spite Tanya.’ “‘No, Mum, I’m not taking revenge. I’m over that woman,’ he said—he’d stopped calling Tanya by name. ‘As for love… Masha and I just fit perfectly together.’ “That’s my story, Polly.” Kate finally unburdened her heart. …After this heartfelt chat, two years rushed by, life got busy. But the orchid revived and bloomed—they really do respond to love. When I met Kate again, it was at the maternity ward: “Hey, mate, what are you doing here?” “Masha’s had twins. They’re being discharged today,” Kate grinned. At the entrance stood Dennis and Kate’s husband, Dennis clutching a bouquet of red roses. Out came a tired but glowing Masha, followed by the nurse gently carrying two tiny, sleeping bundles. My own daughter was there, snuggling her newborn. Tanya is now begging Dennis for forgiveness and to try again… But you can glue a broken cup, though you’ll never drink from it the same way again…
IS THE ORCHID TO BLAME? Polly, take this orchid away or Ill chuck it out, Kate announced, carelessly lifting the...
Fate on a Hospital Bed – “Young Lady, You Look After Him! I’m Too Scared to Even Feed Him with a Spoon,” She Snapped, Tossing Grocery Bags onto the Bed Where Her Sick Husband Lay. “Please Don’t Worry! Your Husband Will Recover. He Needs Careful Nursing Now. I’ll Help Dmitry Get Back on His Feet,” I, as the nurse, had to reassure the tuberculosis patient’s wife yet again. Dmitry arrived in critical condition, but his will to live gave him good odds. Sadly, his wife Alla didn’t believe in medicine. It seemed she’d given up on him already… Years later, the same fate befell their son Yura. Alla gave up on him too – but Yura survived. Despite his diagnosis, Dmitry joked and laughed, eager to leave the TB ward. His village lacked any specialist hospital, so Alla rarely visited. I felt sorry for him – so unkempt, so abandoned… “Dima, do you mind if I bring you some things? I see you don’t even have slippers,” I teased. “Violetta, I’d swallow poison from you if you said it was medicine. But no, just let me get well first…” My heart fluttered. Was I falling for a married man? I tried not to. But you can’t command the heart… I visited Dima more often. Our talks grew deep; we switched to first names. He had a five-year-old son. “My Yura takes after his beautiful mum… I loved Alla – but she only loves herself. It eats you up… now it’s you caring for me, a stranger,” he sighed. I tried to make excuses for Alla. He shook his head. “A wife can find time for her lovers a hundred miles away—but not for me.” After a fight, Alla vanished. A month passed. Dima told me quietly, “We’re divorcing.” When he was discharged, he asked shyly to stay with me, and I agreed—if he’d accept my child too. He did—and so began our life together. Years passed. We had two children together. His son Yura visits often. My own daughter lives far away; I never regretted being a single mother. As for Alla: she remarried many times, had another son who suffered from mental illness. She remained cold and distant, and when she died, her son was sent to a care home. Now Dima and I are old, but love each other more than ever, grateful for every day together.
FATE ON A HOSPITAL BED Tuesday Ill never get used to certain moments in the ward. Today, Mrs. Parker burst...
I’ve Never Taken What Belongs to Someone Else Once, while still at school, Martha both despised and envied Nastya. She looked down on Nastya because her parents were hopelessly alcoholic, scraping by on odd jobs and living hand-to-mouth. Nastya always wore shabby clothes, seemed half-starved and downtrodden. Her father often hit her—sometimes for drinking too little, sometimes for drinking too much, sometimes for no clear reason at all. Nastya’s mother never stood up for her, too afraid of her husband’s heavy hand. Only her devoted grandmother brought any light to Nastya’s world. Once a month, from her modest pension, Grandma would give her beloved granddaughter a “salary” for good behaviour. Even if Nastya misbehaved, Grandma would always pretend not to notice and hand over her pay anyway—five roubles! For Nastya, that was the happiest day of the month. She’d rush to the shop and buy ice cream (one for herself, one for Grandma), halvah, and a few sweets. Every time, Nastya tried to make the treats last all month—but after two days, they’d always be gone. Then, as if on cue, Grandma would get her own ice cream from the fridge and say, “Here, sweetheart, eat this. My throat is sore today.” “How odd,” Nastya thought, “Grandma’s throat always seems to start hurting the day my sweets run out…” She secretly always hoped to get a share of Grandma’s portion. Martha’s family was the complete opposite. Their home was overflowing with comfort. Her parents earned good money and pampered their only daughter. Martha was always dressed in the latest fashions, and her classmates sometimes borrowed her things. She was never denied anything—well-fed, well-dressed, and shod in the best shoes. Yet Martha envied her classmate’s enchanting beauty, the warmth that radiated from Nastya, and her natural ability to get along with everyone. Martha, however, considered herself above even talking to Nastya. Whenever they crossed paths, Martha would glare at her so coldly, it felt to Nastya as if she’d been doused in ice water. Once, Martha insulted her in front of everyone: “You’re pathetic!” Nastya ran home in tears and told her grandmother. Grandma sat her down, stroked her hair and said, “Don’t cry, Nastya. Tomorrow, tell her, ‘You’re right—I belong to God!’” Nastya felt better right away. Martha was beautiful herself, but her beauty came with an air of coldness and distance. Then there was Max, the class heartthrob—carefree, always joking, not bothered by failing grades or scoldings from teachers. His outlook was sunny, and his optimism infectious; even the teachers liked him, despite his troublemaking ways. In their final years at school, Max began escorting Martha home after lessons and waiting for her at the school gate in the morning. Their classmates teased: “Here come the bride and groom!” Even the teachers noticed the blossoming romance between Max and Martha. Eventually, the final bell rang, prom night passed, and the classmates went their separate ways. Max and Martha married in a hurry—the “evidence of love” couldn’t be concealed, not even by Martha’s elaborate wedding dress. Within five months, she gave birth to a daughter, Sofia. After school, Nastya was forced to get a job. Her beloved grandmother had passed away, and now her parents depended on Nastya’s income. She had plenty of admirers, but none touched her soul, and she was ashamed of her alcoholic family. A decade slipped by… One day, in the waiting room at the addiction clinic, there were two pairs: Nastya with her mum, Max with Martha. Nastya immediately recognized Max—he was now an impressive man, but Martha was nearly unrecognizable: gaunt, hands shaking, dead-eyed, only 28 but looking much older. Max greeted Nastya, embarrassed. “Hello, classmate,” he said, not wanting Nastya to witness his family’s misery. “Hello, Max. Looks like trouble at home. Has it been going on for long?” Nastya asked quickly. “A while,” he confessed, awkwardly. “A woman who drinks—it’s a disaster. I know from my mum. My father literally drank himself to death,” Nastya sympathized. After the appointments, Max and Nastya exchanged numbers for support. Misery loves company, and Max started visiting Nastya for advice. She shared her hard-earned wisdom about living with alcoholics, what treatments worked, and what absolutely didn’t. She knew, as so many drowned in the bottle, it wasn’t always obvious from the surface… Max confided that he and his daughter Sofia had long lived alone—Martha had returned to her parents’ home. Max had shielded Sofia from her unpredictable mother. The breaking point was when Max came home to find Martha drunk on the floor and three-year-old Sofia teetering on the windowsill, poised to fall from the fifth floor. After that, Max took no more chances. Martha refused help, convinced she could stop anytime. She was drawn to the abyss—and wanted to fall as far as possible. Their marriage ended. Later, Max invited Nastya to a restaurant and confessed: he’d loved her since their schooldays, but was too afraid of rejection, then Martha had become pregnant… Life tumbled on. Meeting at the clinic had seemed like fate. Chatting with Nastya was like a soothing balm. Max proposed marriage, and after all these years, Nastya was finally ready to accept his love—especially now that Martha was out of the picture. Nastya and Max married quietly, and she moved in with him. At first, Sofia was wary of sharing her father’s love, but Nastya’s kindness soon melted her heart, and before long, Sofia started calling her “mum.” A few years later, Sofia gained a little sister, Molly. One day, their doorbell rang. Nastya opened it to find—Martha, utterly changed, reeked of alcohol, a living warning. “You snake! You stole my husband, my daughter! No wonder I’ve hated you all my life!” Martha hissed. Nastya stood calm, confident, beautiful. “I have never taken what was not mine. You gave up your family by choice, never understanding why. I have never uttered a bad word about you. I truly pity you, Martha…” With that, Nastya closed the door on her uninvited guest.
NEVER TOOK WHAT WASNT MINE Even back in school, Martha looked down on Nancy yet couldnt help but envy her....