“Your friend accidentally showed my motherinlaw our texts,” Andrew announced, standing in the middle of the kitchen with his phone clenched in one hand, his face the colour of a boiled beet.
Emma turned from the hob, where shed been frying battered fishcakes. A stray drop of oil hit the linoleum with a sizzle.
“What? What are you on about?” she asked.
“Mom just called. She says she knows everything about us that I dont appreciate you, that I act like a child, that shes got the whole picture.”
“Andrew, I havent said a word to your mum. We havent spoken for a week.”
“Then how does she know about our argument over the fishing trip? I only told you about that yesterday!”
Emma switched off the burner and dabbed her hands on a tea towel. Her heart thumped nervously. She hadnt told anyone about the fishing incident. Except
“I was writing to Mabel,” she said slowly. “Just Mabel. In a private chat.”
“So now Mabel is feeding my mother the details of our love life?”
“That cant be. Mabels my best friend; she would never”
The phone rang. It was the motherinlaw. Emma glanced at Andrew, who gave a quick nod.
“Hello, Margaret.”
“Emma, I need to have a serious word with you. Can you come over this afternoon?”
“Whats happened?”
“Better to tell you in person. Its important.”
Emma agreed, hung up, and felt her hands shake. How could Margaret have stumbled across a private text to Mabel?
“I’m going over,” she told Andrew. “We need to sort this out.”
Andrews nod was tinged with disappointment. Theyd been together five years, a fairly smooth run with hardly any fireworks. But Margaret had always been the thorn in their side bossy, certain she knew what was best for her son, and quick to meddle. Emma tried to keep the peace, to be polite, but sometimes she let off steam. Those outbursts she confided to Mabel, a university mate turned lifelong confidante.
Mabel had been the one person Emma could unload about her motherinlaw, about Andrew, about life in general. Fifteen years of shared lectures, first crushes, bridesmaid duties Mabel knew everything. Absolutely everything.
And now, somehow, that information had reached Margaret.
Emma dressed and drove to Margarets flat in a neighbouring suburb of Manchester, a modest threebedroom house where Andrew had grown up. A widower for ten years, Margaret had devoted herself to her son and felt entitled to monitor his every step.
Margaret opened the door, her expression stern and impenetrable.
“Come in. Want a cuppa?”
“No, thanks. Margaret, whats happened?”
She ushered Emma into the living room and sank into her favourite armchair. Emma lingered, unsure where to stand.
“Sit down, dont just stand there like a lamppost.”
Margaret perched on the edge of the sofa, her gaze heavy.
“Emma, Ive always felt you werent entirely honest with me. You smile, you nod, but behind my back you say all sorts of things.”
“Im not following.”
“Here, have a look,” Margaret said, sliding her phone across the coffee table.
On the screen was the full conversation between Emma and Mabel. Emma recognised her own words, the complaints, the little grievances. She scrolled down, down, down a trail of venting about Margarets constant phone calls, about that roast you made that never seemed good enough.
“Where did you get this?” Emma whispered.
“Mabel dropped by yesterday, wanted to meet you. We had tea, we chatted, and shewell, she accidentally showed me some photos and I happened upon your messages. She said she wanted me to know the truth about how you really feel.”
Emma felt the colour drain from her face. Her best friend, the one she trusted with all her secrets, had just handed them over to her motherinlaw.
“Margaret, this is private. Everyone needs a vent sometimes, but that doesnt mean I dont respect you.”
“Respect? Look at this! You call me an old cow, a meddler. You say I should move to the countryside and stop interfering. You call Andrew mums boy whos too scared to argue with me.”
“I was angry when I wrote those things. We all have moments of weakness.”
“Moments? There are hundreds of messages over years! Youve been hating me and pretending to be sweet.”
Emma stood up.
“I never hated you. I was just fed up with the pressure and needed somewhere to unload.”
“And now youll unload on the whole neighbourhood,” Margaret snapped, standing as well. “Ive already shown these texts to everyone I know. Let them see the real you.”
“What?”
“Youve been talking behind my back; now youll know how it feels.”
Emma snatched her bag and fled the flat, tripping down the stairs, tears blurring her vision. She jumped into her car, but the engine refused to turn over. Her hands trembled so violently the key slipped from her fingers.
Mabel. How could she? Why?
Emma dialled Mabels number. The line rang a long, endless time. Finally, Mabel answered.
“Hey, Em! Hows it going?”
“How could you?”
“What do you mean? Whats happened?”
“Dont play dumb! You showed my motherinlaw our chat!”
Mabel was silent for a beat.
“Ah, that. Yeah, I showed it. It just sort of happened.”
“Happened? You went to her on purpose!”
“I wanted to meet your mums boyfriends mother. Nothing wrong with that, right? We were chatting, I was scrolling through photos on my phone and she saw the messages. I didnt mean to.”
“Dont lie to me! Why would you do that?”
Mabel sighed.
“Emma, Im tired of being your emotional punching bag. Fifteen years youve complained about everyone parents, lecturers, bosses, now my muminlaw and your husband. Im fed up.”
“If youre fed up, you couldve just said so! Why the underhandedness?”
“Underhanded? I was just giving the truth. Margaret has a right to know how you feel about her.”
“Weve been friends for fifteen years!”
“We have, but Im done listening to your endless whining.”
Mabel hung up. Emma stared at her dead phone screen, feeling the world collapse. Her friend had betrayed her, her motherinlaw was now openly hostile, and Andrew looked crestfallen.
She started the car and drove home. Andrew met her at the front door.
“So?”
“Mabel showed Margaret our messages. On purpose.”
“Why?”
“I dont know. She said she was tired of being my crying cushion.”
Andrew pulled her into a hug. Emma sobbed into his shoulder.
“Itll be okay,” he said. “Well sort it out.”
“Your mum showed the messages to all her friends. Now everyone knows what I wrote.”
“What exactly did you write?”
Emma stepped back, looking at him.
“Stuff like: your mum is a pain, you sometimes act like a child, its hard for me.”
Andrew frowned.
“So Ive been complaining about you to a friend for years?”
“Well, not every year. Occasionally, when things get rough.”
“And what did you actually say?”
“Andrew, nows not the time.”
“No, it is. I want to know what youve been saying behind my back.”
Emma trudged to the sofa, head throbbing. Andrew sat opposite her.
“So? Im waiting.”
“I wrote that youre too attached to your mum, that youre scared to disagree with her. I wrote that when she visits you become a different man.”
“Different how?”
“Like youd agree with her on everything, even the wallpaper in the bedroom. Remember? We chose a pattern together, then she said it was tasteless and you went along. We ended up with her choice.”
Andrew was silent.
“Or when I wanted to go to my dads birthday, and your mum insisted we celebrate her birthday on the same day, and you never tried to move it.”
“Cant move a birthday,” Andrew replied.
“We could have celebrated another day! My dad was turning sixty a big deal!”
“Your mum is more important.”
Emma stared at him.
“There, you just said it. Then you get angry that I vent to a friend about it.”
“My exfriend, apparently.”
“Exactly.”
They sat in a heavy silence as dusk settled, the fishcakes on the stove long since hardened.
The phone rang again. Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“This is Tamara Clarke, a friend of Margarets. She showed me your messages.”
Emmas eyes widened.
“And?”
“I just wanted to say youre right. Margaret does overstep, shes always meddling. Ive known her thirty years; shes a bit weatherbeaten. So dont worry. Youre a normal person who needed to get something off your chest. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Thanks,” Emma managed.
“And your friend Mabel? What a piece of work. Showing private chats is nasty. Id stay away from her.”
“Im not going to.”
“Good. Take care, love.”
Tamara hung up. Emma looked at Andrew.
“Your mums friend called. Said I was right about her.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow.
“Tamara? Odd, shes always been on mums side.”
“Seems even her friends think shes overdoing it.”
The phone kept ringing all evening Margarets relatives, neighbours, distant cousins. Some condemned Emma, others sympathised. One woman ranted, calling Emma ungrateful; another said shed spent her whole life fearing Margaret and understood Emma perfectly.
“Turn it off,” Andrew suggested. “Well deal with it tomorrow.”
Emma did. They ate dinner in silence, then went to bed, but sleep eluded them. Emma lay awake, replaying the days drama.
Mabel had been Emmas confidante through everything. When Emma fell for Andrew, Mabel was the first to know. She helped plan the wedding. When Emma suffered a miscarriage, Mabel held her hand in the hospital and wept with her. And now the same Mabel deliberately fed the motherinlaw her private words. Why? For what?
The next morning Emma woke with swollen eyes and a heavy head. Andrew was already at the kitchen, sipping tea.
“Morning. Rough night?”
“Terrible.”
“Ive been thinking. Maybe we should meet Mabel and clear the air? Find out why she did it.”
“I have nothing to say to her.”
“But you cant just throw away fifteen years of friendship.”
“She threw it away.”
Andrew fell silent, finishing his tea.
“I called my mum. Told her she was wrong to broadcast the messages.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she was angry, that shed been hurt reading what Id written. She apologised for overstepping.”
“Do you think I should have never written those things?”
She snapped at him.
“What?”
“Well, you know how saying nasty things about people can backfire. Sooner or later it resurfaces.”
“So Im to blame?”
“I didnt mean it like that.”
“No, you meant it like that! My friend betrayed me, your mum publicly shamed me, and youre acting like Im at fault!”
“I’m just saying we should be more careful.”
“That was a private chat! I have a right to unload on a friend!”
“You have that right, but consequences follow.”
Emma stormed to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, trying to steady herself. Her husband wasnt on her side as usual, when mum is involved.
A knock came at the door. Emma peered through the peephole. It was Mabel.
“Dont answer,” Andrew warned, moving toward the door.
“Im not opening.”
“Emma, open up! I need to talk!”
“Go away. I have nothing to say to you.”
“Please! I want to explain!”
“Its too late.”
Mabels voice trembled.
“I thought if Margaret saw how you really feel, shed leave you alone. I was naive.”
Emma finally opened. Mabel stood there, pale, eyes rimmed with red.
“You really thought that would work?”
“I wanted to help. Youve been whining about her for years; I was fed up. I thought the truth would set you free.”
“People like Margaret dont change. They just get more”
“I didnt think it through. Im sorry.”
Andrew stepped in.
“Mabel, why did you tell Emma you were tired of being a crying cushion? Why did you stop wanting to be friends?”
Mabel looked down.
“I was angry. Emma kept shouting at me, blaming me. I snapped.”
“Do you actually believe Im just a whiner?” Emma asked. “That I never try to change?”
“Sometimes, yes. But that doesnt mean I dont value our friendship. I just need a break from the negativity.”
Emma stared at her, the old friend now a picture of shame and confusion. Fifteen years of history hanging by a thread.
“I cant talk right now,” Emma said. “I need space.”
“For how long?”
“I dont know. A week? A month? Maybe never.”
“Mabel”
“Please leave.”
Mabel nodded and left. Emma shut the door, leaned against it, and Andrew wrapped his arms around her.
“Sorry for what I said earlier. Youre not to blame. Its Mabel and my mum.”
“Thanks.”
They stood there, hugging in the hallway, then Andrew said, “I want to apologise too. Ive always sided with my mum. Im scared to disagree with her, worried Ill cause a scene. Thats wrong. Youre my wife; I should protect you, not her.”
Emma lifted her eyes.
“Is that true?”
“Yes. From today, things will be different. I promise.”
He drove to Margarets flat, returned two hours later, exhausted but hopeful.
“We talked,” he said. “I told her sharing private messages was low. If she wants to stay in our lives, she must respect our boundaries.”
“And her reaction?”
“She shouted, then cried, then finally admitted shed overstepped. She said shed apologise.”
“Really?”
“Hes not sure shell follow through, but at least she tried.”
That evening Margaret called.
“Emma, I acted hastily showing the messages. It was a mistake.”
“I was angry, yes, but I understand now.”
“Reading what you wrote hurt me. I tried to be a good motherinlaw.”
Emma paused, then continued, “Lets agree: Ill be more open with you about my concerns, and youll try not to poke where youre not invited. Deal?”
There was a brief silence.
“Deal,” Margaret whispered. “Well try.”
Emma hung up, looked at Andrew.
“We did it.”
“Good job. Proud of you.”
A week passed. Mabel sent daily texts, apologising, asking for a meeting, swearing never to repeat the betrayal. Emma didnt answer; she needed time to sort her feelings.
On one side, Mabel was a fifteenyear friend a lot. On the other, what shed done felt like a knife. Could she be forgiven?
Emma saw a therapist, a kindly sixtyyearold woman with soft eyes.
“You have the right not to forgive,” she said. “But think about what holding onto the anger does to you. Forgiveness isnt for the offender; its for yourself, to let go.”
“How do I forgive something so hurtful?”
“Forgiving doesnt mean forgetting. It means accepting it happened and releasing the grip. You can forgive Mabel and still keep your distance, or you can rebuild with new boundaries.”
Emma pondered. The therapist was right the resentment was eating her from inside.
She wrote to Mabel, arranging to meet at a café.
Mabel arrived early, waiting at a table. When Emma walked in, Mabel stood, but didnt rush over.
They sat opposite each other, a waitress brought menus, they ordered coffee.
“Thanks for meeting,” Mabel said.
“I thought we needed to talk. Properly.”
“I really wanted to help. I thought if Margaret saw how you felt, shed change. Naïve, I know.”
“Naïve and cruel. You shattered my trust.”
“I know. Im ready to do whatever it takes to earn it back.”
“Are you honest now? Are you truly tired of me, my whining?”
Mabel hesitated.
“Sometimes, yes. I get weary. But thats normal, isnt it? Everyone gets fed up now and then. It doesnt mean I dont want to be friends.”
“Then why not tell me earlier? Id have tried to curb my venting.”
“I didnt want to hurt you. You were always so upset, and I didnt know how to say Im exhausted.”
“Friendship isnt just support; its honesty. If something bugs you, you must say it.”
“I get that. I wont stay silent again.”
Emma sipped her bitter coffee, wishing it had a little more sugar.
“I dont know if we can ever be what we were. Trust is hard to rebuild.”
“Ill wait. As long as it takes.”
“Maybe we start fresh, not as best mates but as acquaintances, and see if it works.”
Mabel nodded.
“Alright. Your call.”
And so, with a tentative grin, a steaming cup of tea, and a promise to be brutally honest, Emma and Mabel stepped back into each other’s lives, ready to rewrite their story one truthful line at a time.
