Hey love, you wont believe the chaos that unfolded last weekend. We were in the middle of a big client rollout, and the server crashed. We spent half a day just waiting for IT to bring it back online the order almost went off the rails, can you imagine the loss?
Charlotte was sitting across from me in the little café on the high street, right opposite her office. Andrew was rambling about his latest project, and she kept watching his fingers fidget with the napkin, thinking about how, after six months together, she still hadnt met his family.
Shes thirty now, the age when you stop flirting with romance and start craving certainty. Andrews a solid bloke hardworking, caring, dependable. A month ago he popped the question in that same café where they first met. She said yes, but a nervous knot settled in her chest.
Every time she tried to bring up his parents, he nimbly steered the conversation elsewhere Did you see the weather? or Ive got to jump on a call. She chalked it up to shyness. Maybe he was embarrassed about his modest background, or just wasnt used to sharing personal stuff.
So, when am I finally going to meet your parents? Charlotte asked, pushing her nowcold coffee away.
Andrew tensed. The napkin turned into a crumpled ball in his hand. He looked up at her, and there was a flicker of unease.
This weekend, well go, he said after a pause.
Relief flooded Charlottes chest. Finally! She could picture herself stepping into his familys home, his mum wrapping her in a hug, calling her dear, and them all sharing tea and scones around a big table.
The days leading up to the weekend became a whirlwind of preparation. She hit three shopping centres Westfield, the Brentford Mall, and the Harrods outlet hunting for perfect presents. For Andrews mum she bought a luxurious silk scarf and a bottle of French perfume. For his dad, a highquality tool set that any bloke would dream of. And for his sister, a sleek designer handbag shed been eyeing herself.
On Saturday morning Charlotte rose at six, raced through a quick shower, hair styling, and light makeup. She chose an elegant kneelength beige dress and classic heels you can never go wrong with a timeless look. She twirled in front of the mirror, gave herself a nod of approval. Perfect exactly how a future daughterinlaw should appear.
Andrew slipped into the car in silence. Charlotte turned the key, pulled out onto the motorway. The radio played something mellow, while roadside cafés and petrol stations whizzed past. She smiled, daydreaming about the meeting, while Andrew kept a tightlipped stare.
Why so glum? Charlotte asked, glancing at him. Nervous?
Just, Andrew clenched his fists on his knees. Dont worry if anything goes wrong, okay?
She frowned and shifted gears.
What do you mean goes wrong? What could possibly go wrong?
Theyre particular, he muttered, turning his gaze to the window. Just keep that in mind.
She wanted to keep probing, but the GPS announced a left turn. The village they were heading for was tiny maybe ten or twelve houses stretched along a single lane. The road snaked past crooked fences and garden patches. The navigator led them to an old wooden cottage with peeling paint on the shutters.
She turned off the engine and looked around. The garden was a mess grass growing wild, a stack of firewood in the corner, rusty tools leaning against the shed. Still, she forced a smile. Its not about the surroundings, its about the people.
On the porch three figures waited: an elderly woman in a faded bathrobe, a man in a stretchedout tshirt, and a twentysomething daughter with a skeptical expression.
Look whos finally here, Andrews mum said, appraising Charlotte with a sharp glance.
Charlotte stepped forward, extending her hand. Hello, its wonderful to finally meet you.
The mother gave a halfhearted handshake. The father just nodded. The sister crossed her arms, didnt even bother to respond.
Charlotte turned back to the car to fetch the gift bags. She lifted the boot, leaned in for the parcels, when a loud hissing sound cut through the air.
From behind the house burst a massive white goose. It was the size of a small dog, with a long, twisted neck and fierce eyes. The bird hurtled straight at Charlotte, wings flaring, beak wide open.
What the Charlotte leapt aside, dropping the perfume bag.
The goose didnt slow. It slammed into her legs, pecking at her calves, flapping wildly. She tried to shut the car door, but the bird kept chasing, relentless.
Andrew! she shouted, ducking another swoop.
He took a tentative step forward, just as a booming, cackling laugh erupted from the porch.
Oh, it didnt pass the test! Andrews mum cried, clutching her belly from laughter. Look, look! Gosh has exposed her!
Andrews sister snorted, clearly enjoying the spectacle. A real woman wouldnt be scared of a goose, she taunted. Look at her scurrying in that fancy dress.
Their dad whipped out his phone, filming the chaos. His face lit up like hed just witnessed the best comedy of the year.
Andrew, do something! Charlotte yelled, trying to fend off the bird.
Andrew lunged, waving his hands, but the goose kept snapping at her ankles, claws raking her heels, wings slapping her thighs.
Their mother shouted, Dont interfere! Let Gosh sort it out! He can smell bad folks!
Andrew froze, eyes darting between his mum, the goose, and Charlotte. He stepped back, retreating to the porch where his family stayed.
Charlotte pressed her back against the car, the goose cornering her. Her dress was splattered, her shoes slipping in the mud, red bite marks on her calves. She stared at Andrew, his mother, his sister, his dad with the phone, and a cold dread settled deep inside her.
It was a deliberate humiliation. Not an accident, but a cruel test set up by Andrews family to put her in her place. And Andrew just stood there, doing nothing.
She bolted into the car. The goose jabbed at the windows for a few more seconds, then lost interest and strutted away, proud as ever.
Andrew walked over, knocked on the window. Charlotte cracked it a few centimetres.
Darling, calm down, he said hurriedly. Its just a family tradition, a little rite of passage for brides. Mum always does it.
She met his eyes, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Inside she felt hurt, anger, disappointment.
There wont be a wedding, she whispered, clear and firm.
Andrew blinked, as if shed said nothing.
What? Sue, what are you saying? It was just a joke
No wedding, she repeated. She slipped the wedding band off her finger, pushed it through the tiny gap in the window. Take it.
Youre insane! Andrew tried to open the door, but it was locked. Dont be foolish, lets talk.
Theres nothing left to say.
She turned the engine, the car gave a low growl, and she pulled away. Andrew stood there, clutching the ring, looking lost. As she backed out, his familys silhouettes lingered on the porch, still laughing.
The first few miles she drove on autopilot, barely noticing the passing fields. Her hands trembled on the wheel, heart pounding in her throat. Tears welled up, but she brushed them away. Shed cry later at home; right now she just needed to get away.
That evening her phone buzzed nonstop. Andrew kept calling, texting apologies, begging for another chance. She answered once, heard his rushed, guilty voice, and hung up.
A week later she blocked his number on every app, deleted every photo of them together, tossed the few keepsakes his shirt, his novel, the coffee mug.
Life slipped back into its old rhythm: work, meetups with friends, the gym. She tried not to think about it, but sometimes, as she drifted off to sleep, shed see that gooses angry eyes and hear his familys cruel laughter.
A month after, a friend mentioned over coffee that Andrew had tied the knot with a village girl his mum approved of straight away. No geese, no tests.
Charlotte listened, feeling a light relief. That goose, that family, their mockery had shown her the truth before she ever truly invested anything in them. She ran her finger over the spot where her ring used to be, smiled, and thought how everything had finally fallen into place.
