Laura stood in the kitchen, a phone clenched in her hand, her cheeks flushed with indignation.
Did you tell my mother Im a lousy husband? Arthurs voice boomed from the centre of the room, eyes blazing.
Laura turned from the stove, where a sizzle of oil escaped onto the linoleum and hissed.
What? What are you on about?
My mum just called. She says she knows everything about us that I dont value you, that I act like a child, that shes seen through it all.
I never said a word to my mum, Laura replied, wiping her hands on a dish towel. We havent spoken in weeks.
Then how does she know about our fight over the fishing trip? I only mentioned that yesterday!
She turned off the burner, her heart thudding. She hadnt spoken about the fishing trip to anyone except
Ive only been writing to Sarah, she said slowly. Just Sarah. In messages.
And now Sarah tells my mother about our private life?
Impossible. Sarah is my best friend; she would never
The phone rang. It was her motherinlaw. Laura glanced at Arthur, who gave a small nod.
Hello, Mrs. Clarke.
Laura, I need to speak to you seriously. Can you come over today?
Whats happened?
Better in person. Its important very important.
Lauras hands trembled as she hung up. How could her motherinlaw have learned what shed written to Sarah?
Ill drive to her, she told Arthur. We need to sort this out.
Arthurs expression was gloomy. Theyd lived together five years, a relatively smooth marriage with few quarrels. Yet Mrs. Clarke had always been a stumbling block: domineering, convinced that no one was worthy of her son. Laura tried to keep the peace, to be polite, but occasionally snapped, confiding those moments to Sarah, her university mate.
Sarah was the only person Laura could unload about her motherinlaw, about Arthur, about life itself. Fifteen years of friendship, shared lectures, first romances, bridal parties Sarah knew everything, absolutely everything.
And now that information had somehow reached Mrs. Clarke.
Laura dressed and drove to the flat in the neighbouring borough where Mrs. Clarke liveda cramped threebedroom flat in the same block Arthur grew up in. The widowed woman, ten years alone, had devoted her life to her son and felt entitled to monitor his every step.
Mrs. Clarke opened the door, her face stern, unreadable.
Come in. Would you like some tea?
No, thank you. Mrs. Clarke, whats happened?
She led Laura into the sitting room and sank into her favourite armchair. Laura lingered by the doorway.
Sit, dont just stand like a post.
She perched on the edge of the couch. Mrs. Clarke stared at her with a heavy, lingering gaze.
Ive always felt you werent sincere with me. You smile, you nod, but behind my back you say all sorts of things.
I dont understand what you mean.
Here, read this, Mrs. Clarke said, thrusting a phone into Lauras hand.
The screen displayed Lauras chat with Sarah. Laura recognised her own words, scrolling down, down, deeper into the stream. Complaints about a meddlesome motherinlaw, irritation at Mrs. Clarkes tentimesaday calls, resentment over the dishes Laura prepared.
How did you get this? Laura whispered.
Your friend Sarah was here yesterday. She stopped by for a cuppa, we chatted. Then she, accidentally, showed me some photos and I saw your messages. She said she wanted me to know the truth about how you really feel about me.
Laura felt the colour drain from her face. Sarah. Her closest friend. Why?
This is private, Laura protested. Everyone has a right to vent, to complain. It doesnt mean I disrespect you.
You dont respect me, thats clear. Look at this! Im an old fool, you think Im a meddling tyrant. Youd rather I moved to my sisters cottage in the country and stop interfering. You call Arthur mums boy whos scared to argue with me.
I was angry when I wrote that. Everyone has weak moments.
Weak moments? These are hundreds of messages over years! Youve hated me all this time and pretended to be sweet.
Laura stood.
I never hated you. I just grew weary of your pressure and needed someone to share it with.
Now share it with the whole neighbourhood, Mrs. Clarke rose as well. Ive shown this to all my acquaintances. Let them see who you truly are.
What?
You ridiculed me behind my back, now feel the sting.
Laura grabbed her bag and bolted out, stumbling down the stairs, tears blurring her vision. She tried to start the car, but the engine refused, the key slipping from trembling fingers.
Sarah. How could she? Why?
Laura dialed Sarahs number. The line rang endlessly until Sarah finally answered.
Hey, Laura! How are you?
How could you?
What do you mean? What are you talking about?
Dont play dumb! You showed the motherinlaw our messages!
Sarah was silent for a heartbeat.
Ah, that. Yeah, I showed them. It was accidental.
Accidental? You went to her on purpose!
I wanted to meet Arthurs mother is that bad? We chatted, I showed her some photos from my phone, and she saw the texts. I didnt mean to.
Dont lie! Why would you do that?
Sarah sighed. Laura, Im tired of being your crying pillow. Fifteen years youve vented about everyone parents, classmates, bosses, now my motherinlaw and your husband. Im fed up.
If youre fed up, you could have just said so! Why the betrayal?
Betrayal? I was just showing the truth. Mrs. Clarke has a right to know what you think of her.
Weve been friends fifteen years!
We were, Laura. We were. But Im not interested in staying with someone who only whines and never changes.
Sarah hung up. Laura stared at the dead screen, the world collapsing. Her friend had betrayed her, her motherinlaw was openly hostile, Arthur looked crestfallen.
She finally got the car running and drove home. Arthur met her in the hallway.
So?
Sarah showed her my messages on purpose.
Why?
I dont know. She said she was tired of being my shoulder.
Arthur pulled her into his arms; she sobbed into his shoulder.
Itll be alright, he whispered. Well sort it out.
My motherinlaw showed the chats to everyone. Now they all know what I wrote.
What exactly did you write?
Laura turned away, eyes haunted.
Various things. That your motherinlaw drives me mad. That you sometimes act like a child. That its hard for me.
Arthur frowned.
So youve been complaining about me to a friend for years?
Not for years, sometimes. When its hard.
And what exactly did you say?
Arthur, now isnt the time.
No, it is. I want to know what youve been saying behind my back.
Laura retreated to the living room, sat on the sofa, her head throbbing. Arthur sat opposite her.
Now? he asked.
I wrote that youre too attached to your mother, that youre afraid to contradict her. That when she visits you become a different person.
The different person?
Yes. You start agreeing with her on everything, even when were on the same side. Remember the bedroom wallpaper debate? We chose together, but she called it tasteless and you went along. We ended up with her choice.
Arthur was silent.
And the anniversary of my fathers birthday? Your mother said that day was her birthday, so we had to be with her. You didnt even try to reschedule.
Birthdays cant be moved, Arthur replied.
They could have been celebrated another day! My dads 60th was important!
My mother is more important, he snapped.
Laura looked at him.
Exactly what you just said. And now youre upset I told a friend.
A former friend, apparently.
Yes, a former friend.
Silence settled as dusk fell, the kitchens oncehot cutlets now cold and hardened.
The phone rang again, an unknown number.
Hello?
This is Laura? a female voice asked.
Yes, whos calling?
Im Tamara Clarke, a friend of Mrs. Clarke. She showed me your messages.
Laura closed her eyes. It began again.
And what?
I just wanted to say youre right.
What do you mean?
Mrs. Clarke is far too overbearing. She always sticks her nose where it doesnt belong. Ive known her thirty years; shes a wrinkled tyrant. Dont worryyoure just venting. Theres nothing wrong with that.
Thank you, Laura said, at a loss for words.
And your friend Sarah? Showing private chats is nasty. Id cut her off if I were you.
I wont.
Good. Look after yourself, dear.
Tamara hung up. Laura turned to Arthur.
Your mothers friend called. Said I was right about her.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. Tamara Clarke? Odd. She always sided with my mum.
Even her friends see shes overstepping.
The phone kept ringing all evening Mrs. Clarkes neighbours, distant relatives, people taking sides. One woman cursed her as ungrateful, another confessed shed suffered from an overbearing motherinlaw herself.
Turn it off, Arthur suggested. Well deal with it tomorrow.
She did. They ate in silence, then went to bed, but sleep eluded them. Laura lay staring at the ceiling, replaying the days chaos.
Sarah had been her confidante for fifteen years the one who first heard about Arthur, the one who helped plan the wedding, the one who held her hand after a miscarriage. And now she had deliberately taken the messages to a motherinlaw. Why?
Morning came with swollen eyes and a heavy head. Arthur was already at the table, sipping tea.
Morning. How did you sleep?
Poorly.
Ive been thinking. Maybe we should meet Sarah and clear the air. Find out why she did it.
I have nothing to say to her.
But fifteen years of friendship dont just vanish.
It was she who threw it away.
Arthur fell silent, finishing his tea.
I called my mum. Told her she was wrong to broadcast the messages.
What did she say?
She said shed acted out of hurt, that she was defending herself.
Do you think you should have never written those things?
Laura shot a sharp glance at him.
What?
Its dangerous to write ill about people. Sooner or later it comes back.
So Im to blame?
I didnt mean that.
No, you meant exactly that! My friend betrayed me, your mother publicly shamed me, and you think Im at fault!
Im just saying you could have been more careful.
So its my fault?
Not that. Just think about it.
Laura rose, walked to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, trying to steady herself. Her husband seemed not on her side, as always when his mother was involved.
A knock at the door. Laura peeked through the peephole it was Sarah.
Dont open, Arthur warned, moving toward the door.
Im not going to.
Laura, open! I need to talk! Sarah pounded.
Leave. I have nothing to say.
Please! I want to explain!
Its too late to explain.
Sarahs voice softened.
I didnt mean for this to happen. I thought if Mrs. Clarke knew how you really felt, shed back off. I was naïve.
Laura opened the door. Sarah stood there, pale, eyes rimmed with red.
You really thought that would work?
I wanted to help. Youve been complaining for years, I was tired of listening. I thought the truth would change things.
People like Mrs. Clarke never change. They only get worse when challenged.
I didnt think it through. Im sorry.
Arthur stepped in.
Why did you tell Laura you were tired of being a crying cushion? Why stop talking to her?
Sarah lowered her gaze.
I was angry. Laura shouted at me, blamed me. I snapped.
Do you truly feel that?
Laura asked. That I only whine and never change?
Sometimes, yes. But it doesnt mean I dont want to be friends.
Laura sipped the bitter coffee, the sugar never quite enough.
I dont know if we can go back to how things were. Trust is hard to rebuild.
Ill wait. As long as it takes.
Maybe we start anew, not as best friends but as acquaintances, and see if we can rebuild.
Sarah nodded.
Okay. As you wish.
They finished their coffee, talked about weather, work, news light, uncomplicated. Perhaps time would mend the cracks.
When Laura got home, Arthur greeted her with a bouquet.
Whats this for? she asked, surprised.
Just because. Im proud of you for meeting Sarah.
Im not sure well ever be friends again, but its worth trying.
Fiveteen years is a long time.
The next day Mrs. Clarke called, inviting Laura for tea to talk. Laura accepted.
They met in the same café where the earlier conversation with Sarah had taken place. Mrs. Clarke arrived in a sharp coat, hair neatly styled.
You look lovely, she said.
You too, Laura replied.
They ordered tea and scones. After a pause, Mrs. Clarke spoke.
I want a fresh start. I realise Ive been too intrusive, too controlling. I was scared of losing my son after my husband died. Hes all I have, and when he married, I felt like I was losing him to you.
Laura looked at her, seeing tears glisten.
I was also wrong. I should have spoken to you directly instead of venting to a friend. Im sorry.
I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me too.
They finished their tea, chatting about summer plans and the small renovation Mrs. Clarke was undertaking. The conversation felt ordinary, human.
That evening Laura stood on the balcony with a glass of wine. Arthur joined her, slipping an arm over her shoulders.
What are you thinking about?
About how life is odd. Sometimes everything collapses so it can be rebuilt stronger.
About Sarah and mum?
About them, about us, about everything.
He kissed her forehead.
I love you.
And I love you.
They watched the sunset, while somewhere else Sarah stared out her window, pondering friendship, and elsewhere Mrs. Clarke sorted through old photographs, remembering a tiny boy named Arthur. Invisible threads bound them all, each with their own hurts, fears, hopes.
Life went on, and that was enough.
