24October2025
The morning started with a nightmare at the office. Our server crashed just as the clients order was about to go through, and we spent half a day watching the IT crew reboot the system. I could picture the losses if the deal had fallen throughenough to keep me awake for hours.
Later, I met Eleanor at the little café opposite my office on Fleet Street. She was fidgeting with a napkin, her fingers twisting it absentmindedly, while Andrew talked about the latest project deadline. It struck me again how, after six months together, I still hadnt been introduced to her family.
Eleanor is thirty nowold enough to have stopped playing at romance and hungry for certainty. Andrew is a solid bloke: diligent, attentive, reliable. A month ago, in that same café where we first met, he got down on one knee. She said yes, but a quiet anxiety settled in her chest.
Every time she tried to bring up her parents, Andrew would steer the conversation elsewheresometimes to the weather, other times to urgent work matters. She chalked it up to shyness, perhaps a modest upbringing or simply a reluctance to share personal life.
When will I finally meet your parents? she asked, pushing her cooling coffee aside.
Andrews hand tightened around the napkin, turning it into a crumpled wad. He met her eyes, a flicker of worry crossing his face.
Well go this weekend, he said after a pause.
Relief surged through Eleanor, washing away her doubts. She started picturing the Whitaker family home: a warm welcome from his mother, a hug, being called dear, tea and scones laid out on a big oak table.
The days leading up to the weekend were a blur of shopping. She scoured three shopping centres for the perfect presents: a silk scarf and a bottle of French perfume for Mrs. Whitaker, a quality toolset for Mr. Whitaker, and a stylish handbag for his sister, Lucy, which shed been eyeing herself.
On Saturday she rose at six, squeezed in a quick shower, styled her hair, and applied light makeup. She chose an elegant kneelength beige dress and classic heelsnothing too flashy, just the sort of look a future daughterinlaw should have. She twirled before the mirror, satisfied.
Andrew got into his car in silence. Eleanor started the engine and slipped onto the M25, the radio playing a soft ballad as roadside cafés and petrol stations flashed by. She smiled, imagining the meeting, while Andrew kept a tense silence.
You look glum, she asked, glancing at him. Nervous?
Just, he clenched his fists on his knees. Dont worry if something goes wrong, okay?
She frowned, shifting gears.
What do you mean go wrong? What could possibly go wrong?
Theyre particular, he muttered, looking out the window. Just be aware.
Before she could press for more, the GPS announced a left turn. The village they were heading for was tinyabout ten houses strung along a single lane, with hedgerows and crooked fences. The navigation led them to a weatherworn wooden cottage, its paint peeling from the shutters.
She turned off the engine and surveyed the untended garden: overgrown grass, a stack of firewood, rusted tools by the shed. She forced a smile; after all, wealth isnt measured in tidy yards but in people.
On the porch stood three figuresa elderly woman in a faded housecoat, a man in a stretchedout Tshirt, and a young woman about twentyfive with a sour expression.
Finally here, Mrs. Whitaker said, eyeing Eleanor with a thinly veiled appraisal.
Eleanor stepped forward, extending a hand.
Good afternoon. Its a pleasure to finally meet you.
Mrs. Whitaker gave a weak shake. James merely nodded. Lucy crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes, and offered no greeting.
Eleanor turned to fetch the gifts from the boot. She opened the trunk, bent down, andright thena loud hissing split the air.
From behind the cottage burst a massive white goose, as large as a small dog, its long neck twisting, eyes glinting with fury. It charged straight at her, bill open, wings flapping wildly.
What the Eleanor leapt aside, dropping the perfume bag.
The goose attacked with surprising ferocity, pecking at her calves, slashing at her heels with its beak. She scrambled toward the car, trying to shut the door, but the bird pursued relentless.
Andrew! she shouted, dodging another swoop.
Andrew took an uncertain step forward, but a booming laugh erupted from the porchloud, raucous, dripping with schadenfreude.
Oh, she didnt pass the test! Mrs. Whitaker cried, clutching her stomach from laughter. Lucy, look! Gosh has her pegged!
Lucy sneered, A real woman wouldnt be scared of a goose, but look at hersquealing in that pretty dress.
James whipped out his phone, recording the chaos, his grin wide as if this were the best entertainment hed seen all month.
Andrew, do something! Eleanor pleaded, swatting at the bird as it kept biting her shins and beating her thighs with its wings.
Andrew moved again, waving his arms hesitantly. The goose paused for a heartbeat, but Mrs. Whitaker barked at him, Dont interfere! Let Gosh sort it out! He knows the bad folk!
Andrew froze, eyes darting between his mother and Eleanor, then retreated to the porch, joining his family.
Cornered against the car, Eleanors dress was smeared, her shoes slipping in the mud, her legs marked with red welts. She stared at Andrew, his mother, Lucy, and James filming, feeling a cold dread settle deep inside.
They were humiliating her on purposea cruel initiation set by the Whitakers to test her mettle. Andrew stood by, doing nothing.
With a sudden surge, Eleanor leapt into the car. The goose pecked at the glass for a few more seconds before losing interest and waddling away, puffed up with selfsatisfaction.
Andrew knocked on the window. She lowered the glass a few centimetres.
Eleanor, calm down, love, he said urgently. Its just a family tradition. A little test for the bridetobe. Mum does this every time to gauge character.
She met his gaze, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Anger, hurt, and disappointment boiled inside her.
There will be no wedding, she whispered, voice steady.
Andrew blinked, as if the words hadnt landed.
What? Eleanor, what are you saying? Its only a joke
No wedding, she repeated, sliding the ring off her finger and pushing it through the tiny gap in the window. Take it.
Youre mad! Andrew shouted, trying to open the door, which was now locked. Dont be foolish! Lets talk.
Theres nothing left to talk about.
She revved the engine, the car shuddered, and Andrew remained there, clutching the ring, bewildered. She reversed, turned onto the lane, and drove away, the silhouettes of his family still laughing on the porch.
The first few miles she drove on autopilot, the countryside rolling past unnoticed. Her hands trembled on the wheel, heart hammering in her throat. Tears welled, but she brushed them away. Shed weep later, at home, not now.
That night her phone buzzed nonstop. Andrew called repeatedly, sent apologetic texts, begged for another chance. She read them without replying. Once she answered, hearing his hurried, guilty voice, she hung up immediately.
A week later she blocked his number on every app, deleted every photograph of them together, tossed away his Tshirt, the novel hed lent her, the coffee mug.
Life settled back into its ordinary rhythm: work, meetups with friends, the gym. She tried not to think of the incident, but occasionally, as she drifted off to sleep, the image of that angry goose and the Whitakers cruel laughter resurfaced.
A month later a friend mentioned shed heard that Andrew had married a village girl whom his mother approved instantlyno geese, no tests.
Eleanor listened, feeling a lightness rather than pain. The goose, the familys mockery, had revealed the truth before she ever truly bound herself to them. She ran her finger over the spot on her hand where the ring had sat and smiled. Everything fell into place as it should.
Lesson:A relationship built on secrecy and humiliation will crumble at the first test; honesty and respect are the only foundations worth building upon.
