“My friend accidentally showed my motherinlaw our private messages,” I muttered, standing in the kitchen with my phone clenched in my fist, my face flushed with indignation.
Emily turned from the hob, where shed been frying meatballs. A stray drop of oil hit the linoleum and sputtered.
What? she asked. What are you on about?
Mom 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.
Arthur, I havent spoken to your mother at all this week, Emily replied, wiping her hands on a towel. Her heart raced. She hadnt told anyone about the fishing trip argument except
I texted Sophie, she said slowly. Only Sophie. In a private chat.
And now Sophies feeding my mother details about our personal life?
That cant be right. Sophies my best friend. Shed never
The phone rang. It was my motherinlaw. Emily glanced at me; I gave a small nod, signalling her to take the call.
Hello, Margaret.
Emily, I need to speak to you seriously. Can you come over this afternoon?
Whats happened?
Its better if we discuss it in person. Its important.
Emily agreed, hung up, and her hands trembled. How could Margaret have learned about the messages Id sent to Sophie?
Ill drive to her, she told me. We need to sort this out.
I nodded, though my expression was troubled. Wed been together five years, our marriage solid, with no major blowups. Still, Margaret had always been a stumbling block domineering, certain she knew what was best for her son, never quite accepting anyone else. Emily tried to keep the peace, to be polite, but occasionally let slip her frustrations. Those venting sessions were usually with Sophie, her university mate.
Sophie was the only person Emily could unload her grievances on about her motherinlaw, about me, about life in general. Theyd been friends for fifteen years, studying together, sharing first romances, standing beside each other at weddings. Sophie knew everything. Everything.
Now, somehow, all that information had reached Margaret.
Emily got dressed and drove to Margarets flat. Margaret lived just a few streets away in a modest threebedroom council flat where Id grown up. A widow of ten years, shed devoted herself to me and believed she had the right to monitor my every move.
Margaret opened the door, her face stern and impenetrable.
Come in. Would you like a cup of tea?
No, thank you. Margaret, whats happened?
Margaret led us into the sitting room and settled into her favourite armchair. Emily stayed standing.
Sit down, dont just stand there like a post.
She eased onto the edge of the sofa. Margaret fixed her gaze on Emily, heavy and lingering.
Youve never been entirely honest with me, have you? You smile, you nod, but behind my back you say all sorts of things.
I dont understand what you mean.
Here, have a look. Margaret thrust her phone towards Emily.
On the screen was the entire chat between Emily and Sophie. Emily recognized her own words, scrolling down as the conversation stretched further and further. It was all there complaints about Margarets meddling, irritation at the tenaday phone calls, resentment over the meals Emily prepared.
How did you get this? Emily whispered.
Sophie stopped by yesterday. She said she wanted to meet you, so we had tea together. She accidentally showed me some photos, and I saw the messages. She claimed she wanted me to know the truth about how you really feel about me.
Emily felt her face go pale. Sophie her best friend why?
This is private, Emily protested. Everyone has a right to vent, to vent their frustrations. It doesnt mean I dont respect you.
Respect you? Look at this! You call me an old fool, a nagging control freak. You suggest I should move to my sisters cottage and stop interfering with our lives. You call me a motherinlaw who makes you a coward.
I was angry when I wrote it. We all have moments of weakness.
Moments of weakness? This is hundreds of messages over years! Youve hated me all this time and pretended to be sweet.
Emily stood up.
I never hated you. I just got fed up with the pressure sometimes, and needed someone to share it with.
Now share it with the whole neighbourhood, Margaret retorted, standing as well. Ive shown these messages to all my acquaintances. Let them see who you really are.
What?
Youve belittled me behind my back, now youll feel what thats like.
Emily grabbed her bag and bolted out, tears blurring her vision as she trudged down the stairs. She fumbled with the car keys, the engine refusing to turn over as her hands shook violently.
Sophie. How could she? Why?
Emily dialed Sophie’s number. After a long, endless ringing, Sophie finally answered.
Hey, Em! Hows it going?
How could you?
What do you mean? Whats happening?
Dont play innocent! You showed my motherinlaw our chat!
Sophie was silent for a moment.
Yes, I sort of. It was accidental.
Accidental? You went to her house on purpose!
I wanted to meet your husbands mother. Nothing wrong with that, right? We were chatting, I showed her some photos from my phone, and she saw the messages. I didnt mean to.
Dont lie to me! Why did you do it?
Sophie sighed. Emily, Im tired of being your sounding board. Fifteen years youve complained about everyone parents, classmates, bosses, now my motherinlaw and you. Im fed up.
If you were fed up, you could have just said so! Why sabotage me?
I didnt think it was sabotage. I thought she had a right to know how you truly felt about her.
Weve been friends for fifteen years!
We were, Emily. We were. But Im not interested in staying close to someone who only whines and never changes.
Sophie hung up. Emily stared at the dead phone screen, her world collapsing. My motherinlaw now openly opposed us, and my husband seemed torn.
I started the car and drove home. When I got inside, I found Arthur waiting in the hallway.
So whats the story?
Sophie showed Margaret the messages. On purpose.
Why?
I dont know. She said she was tired of being my vent.
Arthur pulled me into an embrace. I sobbed into his shoulder.
Itll be alright, he said. Well sort this out.
My mother showed the messages to all her friends. Now everyone knows what I wrote.
What exactly did you write?
I stepped back, looking at him.
Various things. That your mother 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, just sometimes when things got tough.
And what exactly did you say?
Arthur, nows not the time.
No, it is. I want to know what youve been saying behind my back.
I went into the living room and sat on the sofa, my head pounding. Arthur sat opposite me.
Come on, Im waiting.
I took a breath. I wrote that youre too attached to your mother, that youre scared to disagree with her, that you become a different person when she visits. Remember the wallpaper debacle? We chose a colour together, but she called it tasteless and you went along with her, so we ended up with her choice.
Arthur was silent.
Or the yearold fathers birthday I wanted to attend my dads 60th celebration, and your mum said it clashed with her birthday, so we stayed with her. You never tried to move the date.
The birthday cant be moved, he replied.
You could have. It was an important day for my father.
My mother is more important, he said.
I looked at him. There you go. You just said it yourself, and now youre upset I wrote it to a friend.
To a former friend, apparently.
Yes, a former friend.
The room fell quiet as evening deepened outside. The meatballs on the stove had long since hardened.
The phone rang again an unknown number.
Hello?
This is Laura Ivanov, a friend of Margarets. She showed me your messages.
I closed my eyes. And?
I just wanted to tell you that youre right. Margaret is overbearing, always meddling. Ive known her for thirty years; shes a real control freak. Youre not wrong to vent. Theres nothing shameful about that.
Thank you, I managed.
But your friend Sophie that was a low move. Showing private messages on purpose is nasty. Id cut ties with her.
I wont be speaking to her again.
Good. Take care of yourself, dear.
Laura hung up. I turned to Arthur.
Your mothers friend called. Said I was right about Margaret.
He raised an eyebrow. Laura? Odd. Shes always been on Margarets side.
Seems even her friends see shes overstepping.
The phone kept ringing that night Margarets neighbours, distant relatives, some condemning me, others defending me. One woman ranted, calling me ungrateful; another confessed shed endured a controlling motherinlaw all her life and sympathised.
Turn it off, Arthur suggested. Well deal with it tomorrow.
I obeyed. We ate dinner in silence, then went to bed, but sleep eluded me. I lay awake, replaying everything.
Sophie had been my confidante through everything the first time I fell for you, the wedding planning, the miscarriage. And now she deliberately handed our private chat to my motherinlaw. Why?
Morning found me with puffy eyes and a throbbing head. Arthur was already at the kitchen table, sipping coffee.
Morning. How did you sleep?
Badly.
Ive been thinking. Maybe we should meet Sophie and clear the air. Find out why she did it.
Ive got nothing to say to her.
But fifteen years of friendship dont just vanish.
Its she who threw it away.
Arthur fell silent, finishing his coffee.
I called my mother. Told her she was wrong to broadcast our messages.
What did she say?
She said shed acted out of hurt, defending her dignity.
Of course shed feel hurt reading what you wrote about her. Ive always tried to be a good motherinlaw.
I wanted to argue but held back.
Lets make a deal. Ill try to be more open with you, tell you what bothers me. And youll try not to interfere where youre not asked. Deal?
She paused.
Okay. Well try.
A week later, Sophie was still texting daily, apologising, asking to meet, swearing shed never do anything like that again. I didnt reply. I needed time to sort my feelings.
On the other side, Sophie was also staring out her window, thinking about the friendship that had frayed.
I booked an appointment with a therapist, a kindlooking woman in her sixties. She listened.
You have the right not to forgive, she said. But consider what holding onto that anger will do to you. Forgiveness isnt for the offender; its for you, to let go. You can forgive without resuming the friendship, or you can rebuild it with new boundaries.
I thought about it. The resentment was eating me alive. I wrote to Sophie, suggesting we meet at a café.
She arrived early, waiting at the table. When I walked in, she stood, eyes red, but didnt approach. We sat opposite each other, a waitress placed menus, and we ordered coffee.
Thanks for meeting, Sophie said.
I think we need to talk properly.
I wanted to help. I thought if Margaret saw how you really felt, shed change. Naïve, I know.
Naïve and cruel. You destroyed my trust.
I know, and Im ready to do whatever it takes to earn it back.
Tell me honestly, Sophie. Were you really fed up with my complaints?
She hesitated. Sometimes, yes. It wears on you, doesnt it? But that doesnt mean I dont value our friendship.
Then why didnt you tell me earlier? I might have cut back on the venting.
I didnt want to hurt you. You were going through a lot; I thought keeping quiet was kinder.
Friendship isnt just support; its honesty. If something bothers you, you must say it.
I understand now. I wont keep silent.
I sipped the bitter coffee, wishing it had more sugar.
I dont know if we can ever be as close as before. Trust is hard to rebuild.
Ill wait as long as it takes.
Maybe we start fresh, not as best friends but as acquaintances, and see if we can grow back into something.
She nodded. Okay. Whatever you want.
We finished our drinks, talked about the weather, work, the news light, easy, without tension. Perhaps with time things would settle.
When I got home, Arthur greeted me with a bouquet of flowers.
Whats this for? I asked, surprised.
Just because. Im proud of you for meeting Sophie and trying to sort things out.
Im not sure well ever be friends again, but its worth trying.
Definitely worth it. Fifteen years is a long time.
The next day Margaret called, suggesting we meet for tea and a chat. I agreed.
We met in the same café where Id spoken to Sophie. Margaret arrived in a neat suit, hair perfectly styled.
You look lovely, she said.
Thank you, you too, I replied.
We ordered tea and scones. Margaret was quiet for a while, then spoke.
Emily, I want a fresh start. I realise Ive been overbearing, trying to control too much. I was scared of losing you, my only son, after my husband died. I thought if I clung to him, Id keep him.
I didnt take him from you. I just got married, I said.
I know. I just didnt see it then. I behaved selfishly, selfishly.
I looked at her, tears welling. For the first time in years, Margaret showed vulnerability.
I was wrong too, I admitted. I should have spoken to you directly instead of venting to Sophie. Im sorry.
I forgive you. Forgive me as well.
We finished our tea, chatted about summer plans, the renovation Margaret was organising in the flat. It felt normal, human.
That evening I stood on the balcony with a glass of wine. Arthur joined me, slipping his arm around my shoulders.
Whats on your mind?
How life is a strange thing. Sometimes everything collapses so it can be rebuilt stronger.
About Sophie and your mother?
About them, about us, about everything.
He kissed the top of my head.
I love you.
And I love you.
We watched the sunset together. Somewhere else, Sophie stared out her window, thinking about friendship. Somewhere else, Margaret flipped through old photographs, remembering a tiny boy named Arthur. All of us were linked by invisible threads, each carrying our own pains, fears, hopes.
Life went on, and that was fine.
