A friend by accident flung my motherinlaw the screenshots of my messages.
Did you tell my mother Im a terrible husband? James stood in the middle of the kitchen, phone clenched, his cheeks hot with indignation.
Emily turned from the stove, where she was frying a mince patty. A rogue drop of oil splattered onto the linoleum, hissing like a tiny serpent.
What? What are you on about? she asked.
My mum just called. She says she knows everything about us that I dont value you, that I behave like a child, that shes seen through it all.
James, I never said a word to your mother. We havent spoken in weeks.
So how does she know about our fishingtrip argument? I only told you about that yesterday!
Emily switched off the burner and wiped her hands on a teatowel. Her heart thudded. She hadnt spoken of the fishing trip to anyone. Except
I wrote to Mabel, she whispered slowly. Only to Mabel. In a private chat.
So now Mabel is reporting our private life to my mother?
No way. Mabel is my best friend she would never
The phone rang. It was Mrs. Whitaker. Emily glanced at James; he nodded, as if to say, take the call.
Hello, Mrs. Whitaker.
Emily, I need to speak with you seriously. Can you come over this afternoon?
Whats happened?
Youll understand better in person. Its urgent.
Emily agreed, her hands trembling. How could her motherinlaw have learned about the messages she sent to Mabel?
Ill drive to her, she told James. We need answers.
James gave a rueful nod. They had lived together five years, a generally smooth marriage, but Mrs. Whitaker had always been a rockhard obstacle domineering, convinced that no one was worthy of her son. Emily tried to keep the peace, to be polite, but sometimes she snapped, and those moments she confided in Mabel, her university mate.
Mabel was the one person Emily could unload about the motherinlaw, about James, about life itself. Fifteen years of friendship, shared lectures, first romances, being each others bridesmaid. Mabel knew everything absolutely everything.
Now that information somehow reached Mrs. Whitaker.
Emily dressed and drove to the Whitaker residence, a modest threebed flat in a neighboring council estate where James grew up. The widow had been alone for ten years, devoting herself to her son and believing she owned the right to steer his every step.
Mrs. Whitaker opened the door, her face stern, a wall of propriety.
Come in. Would you like tea?
No, thank you. Mrs. Whitaker, whats happened?
The matriarch moved into the sitting room, sank into her favourite armchair. Emily lingered by the doorway.
Sit, dont stand like a statue.
She perched on the edge of the sofa. Mrs. Whitakers gaze bore into her.
Ive always felt youre not sincere with me. You smile, you nod, but behind my back you say things.
I dont follow, madam.
Here, have a look, Mrs. Whitaker thrust a phone toward her.
The screen displayed Emilys private chat with Mabel. Emily recognised her own words, her own frustrations. She scrolled down, deeper and deeper complaints about the motherinlaws meddling, irritation at the tentimesaday calls, annoyance at the criticism of Emilys cooking.
Where did you get this? Emily whispered.
Mabel visited yesterday. She stopped by for tea, we chatted, and she by chance showed me some photos. I saw the messages. She said she wanted me to know the truth about how you really feel about me.
Blood drained from Emilys face. Mabel. Her best friend. Why?
This is private correspondence. Everyone deserves a place to vent, to vent their grievances. It doesnt mean I disrespect you, Emily protested.
You dont respect me, thats clear. Look at this! Im an old hen, you think Im a nuisance with my control. You should quit to your sisters cottage and stop intruding. James is a mamas boy who cant stand up to me.
I was angry when I wrote that. We all have weak moments.
Weak moments? Hundreds of messages over years! Youve hated me and pretended to be sweet.
Emily rose.
I never hated you. I was just weary of your pressure and needed someone to share it with.
Now share it with the whole neighbourhood, the motherinlaw snapped, standing as well. Ive shown this to all my acquaintances. Let them see who you truly are.
What?
You mocked me behind my back; now youll taste your own medicine.
Emily snatched her bag and fled the flat, stumbling down the stairs, tears blurring her vision. She fumbled with the car keys; her hands shook so violently the key slipped from her grasp.
Mabel. How could she? Why?
Emily dialed Mabels number. The line rang, stretched, endless. Finally Mabel answered.
Hi, Em! How are you?
How could you?
What do you mean? Whats happened?
Dont play dumb! You showed the motherinlaw our chat!
Mabel was silent a heartbeat.
Oh, that. Yeah, I showed it. It sort of slipped out.
Slipped out? You went to her house on purpose!
I wanted to meet Jamess mum. Nothing wrong with that, right? We chatted, I showed her some photos from my phone, and she saw the messages. It wasnt intentional.
Dont lie! Why did you do it?
Mabel sighed.
Emily, Im tired of being your emotional cushion. Fifteen years youve complained about everyone parents, classmates, bosses, now my motherinlaw and your husband. Im fed up.
If you were fed up, you could have just said so! Why the sabotage?
Sabotage? I was just showing the truth. Mrs. Whitaker has a right to know what you think of her.
Weve been friends fifteen years!
We were, we were but Im not interested in staying with someone who only whines and never changes.
Mabel hung up. Emily stared at the dead screen, the world collapsing. Her friend had betrayed, the motherinlaw now openly hostile, James looking bewildered.
She started the car and drove home. James met her at the hallway.
So?
Mabel showed her our chat. On purpose.
Why?
I dont know. She said she was tired of being my cushion.
James pulled her into an embrace. Emily sobbed into his shoulder.
Itll be alright, he said. Well sort it out.
My motherinlaw showed the messages to all her contacts. Now everyone knows what I wrote.
What exactly did you write?
Emily stepped back, looking at him.
Various things that your mum drives me mad, that you sometimes act like a child, that its hard for me.
James frowned.
So you spent years venting about me to a friend?
Not years. Sometimes, when things were tough.
What did you actually say?
James, now isnt the time.
No, it is. I want to know what you said behind my back.
Emily went to the living room, sat down, head throbbing. James sat opposite.
I wrote that youre too attached to your mother, that youre scared to contradict her. I wrote that when she visits you become a different person.
Different how?
That you agree with her on everything, even when we had chosen together. Remember the bedroom wallpaper? We picked a design, she called it tasteless, and you went along. We ended up with her choice.
James was silent.
And when I wanted to visit my parents for my fathers jubilee, your mum said that day was her birthday, so we had to be with her. You didnt even try to move the celebration.
Birthdays cant be moved, James replied.
They could have been! My fathers 60th, an important date!
My mum is more important.
Emily stared at him.
See? You just said that. And now youre upset I told a friend.
Former friend, apparently.
Yes, former.
They sat in silence as night fell, the kitchens leftover patties hardening on the stove.
Emilys phone rang again. Unknown number.
Hello?
This is Tamara Clarke, a friend of Mrs. Whitakers. She showed me your chat.
Emily closed her eyes. It began.
And?
I just wanted to say youre right.
What?
The matriarch really oversteps. Ive known her for thirty years; shes a controlfreak. Dont worry, youre normal for needing to vent. Nothing wrong with that.
Thanks, Emily managed.
And your friend Mabel that was a nasty move. Id avoid her now.
I wont.
Good. Take care, dear.
Tamara hung up. Emily looked at James.
Your mums friend called, said I was right about her.
James raised an eyebrow.
Tamara Clarke? Strange, she always sides with my mum.
Even her friends see shes overdoing it.
The phone kept ringing that evening Mrs. Whitakers acquaintances, neighbours, distant relatives. Some condemned Emily, others supported her. One lady ranted, calling her ungrateful; another admitted shed suffered under a motherinlaw herself.
Turn it off, James suggested. Well deal with it tomorrow.
Emily did. They ate dinner in silence, then went to bed, but sleep eluded her. She lay staring at the ceiling, replaying the day.
Mabel had been her confidante through everything the first crush on James, the wedding planning, the miscarriage where Mabel held her hand in the hospital. And now Mabel had deliberately shown the private messages to the motherinlaw. Why? Why?
Morning found Emily with swollen eyes and a heavy head. James was already at the kitchen, sipping tea.
Morning. How did you sleep?
Poorly.
Ive been thinking. Maybe we should meet Mabel, clear the air, find out why she did it.
I have nothing to say to her.
But fifteen years of friendship isnt tossed away so easily.
It was she who tossed it, not me.
James fell silent, finishing his tea.
I called my mum. Told her she was wrong to broadcast the messages.
And what did she say?
She said she had the right to protect herself, that Id insulted her, and she was defending her dignity.
Of course.
Did you ever think you shouldve stopped writing those things?
What?
I mean, writing bad things about people is risky. Sooner or later it surfaces.
So Im to blame?
I didnt mean that.
Youre saying Im at fault! My friend betrayed, your mother publicly shamed me, and you think Im the one at fault!
Im just saying you should have been more careful.
Thats not what I meant.
James looked at her, confused.
Its not about blame. Its about being cautious.
Emily snapped her head toward him.
What did you just say?
Im saying venting can backfire. Eventually it does.
So Im guilty?
No, thats not what I meant
Enough! Emily shouted, storming to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face, trying to steady herself. Her husband seemed on the side of his mother, as always when sheinlaw matters arise.
A knock sounded at the door. Emily peeked through the peephole. Mabel stood there.
Dont open, James warned, moving toward the door.
Im not opening.
Mabel, open up! I need to talk! she pleaded, pounding.
Leave. I have nothing to say to you.
Please! I need to explain!
Its too late for explanations.
Mabel, why did you do it? Did you really think it would help?
Mabels voice trembled from the other side.
I thought if Mrs. Whitaker saw how you truly feel, shed back off. I thought it would help.
Emily opened the door. Mabel was pale, eyes rimmed with red.
Did you seriously think that would work?
I wanted to help. Youve been complaining for years, I was tired of listening. I thought truth would change things.
People like Mrs. Whitaker dont change. They become worse when confronted.
I didnt think that far.
James stepped between them.
Mabel, why did you tell Emily you were tired of being a crying cushion? Why did you say you didnt want to talk to her anymore?
Mabel lowered her gaze.
I was angry. You shouted at me, blamed me. I snapped.
Do you really believe that? Emily asked. That I only whine and never act?
Sometimes, Mabel admitted. But that doesnt mean I dislike you.
Emily stared at her, the old friend looking small and lost. Fifteen years of friendship hanging on a single foolish act.
I cant talk now, Emily said. I need time.
How long?
I dont know. A week, a month, maybe never.
Emily
Go away, Mabel. Please.
Mabel nodded and left. Emily leaned against the door, James wrapping his arms around her.
Im sorry for what I said in the kitchen. Youre not to blame. Its Mabel and my mother.
Thank you.
They stood there, embraced in the hallway, then James spoke.
I also want to apologise. Ive always sided with my mother. Youre rightIm scared to contradict her, afraid of a scene. Thats wrong. Youre my wife; I should defend you, not her.
Emily lifted her eyes to him.
Is that true?
It is. From today things will be different. I promise.
He drove to his mothers flat, returned two hours later, exhausted but hopeful.
We talked. I told her showing private messages to everyone was low. If she wants to stay in our lives she must respect our boundaries.
And what did she say?
She shouted, then cried, then finally admitted shed overstepped. She said shed apologise to you.
Really?
She wasnt sure shed follow through, but she tried.
That night Mrs. Whitaker called.
Emily, I rushed the showing of the messages. I was angry, hurt. James explained that everyone deserves privacy.
Thank you for understanding.
I was hurt by what you wrote. Ive always tried to be a good motherinlaw.
Emily paused, then said, Lets agree: Ill try to be more open with you, voice my concerns. And youll try not to intrude where youre not asked. Deal?
There was a brief silence.
Deal. Lets try.
Emily hung up, looked at James.
Seems weve reached an agreement.
Good job. Im proud of you.
A week passed. Mabel sent daily apologies, begging for a meeting, swearing never to repeat such a betrayal. Emily didnt answer. She needed space to sort her feelings.
On one afternoon she visited a therapist, a kindly woman in her sixties with soft eyes.
You have the right not to forgive, the therapist said. But think what holding on will do to you. Resentment eats you from inside. Forgiveness isnt for the offender; its for you, to release the pain. You can forgive without rekindling the friendship, or you can set new terms.
Emily reflected. The anger was gnawing at her. She drafted a message to Mabel, proposing a coffee meet.
Mabel arrived early, waiting at a tiny table. When Emily walked in, Mabel sprang up but kept her distance, just watching.
They sat opposite each other, a waitress placed menus, they ordered coffee.
Thank you for meeting, Mabel said.
I thought we needed this, Emily replied. A proper talk.
I wanted to help. I thought if Mrs. Whitaker saw the truth shed change. Naïve, I know.
It was cruel. You shattered my trust.
I know. Im ready to do whatever it takes to rebuild.
Did you really get tired of me? Of my complaints?
Mabel hesitated.
Sometimes, yes. But thats normal, isnt it? Everyone gets weary. It doesnt mean I dont want our friendship.
Why didnt you tell me before?
I didnt want to hurt you. I thought staying silent was kinder.
Friendship also means honesty. If something bothers you, you should say it.
Mabel nodded.
Ill be honest from now on.
Emily sipped the bitter coffee, unsweetened.
I dont know if we can be what we were. Trust is fragile.
Ill wait. As long as it takes.
Maybe we start anew, not as best mates but as acquaintances, and see if it works.
Mabel agreed.
They finished their drinks, chatted lightly about weather, work, the news a gentle, tensionfree conversation. Perhaps, with time, things could mend.
At home James greeted Emily with a bouquet.
For what? she asked, surprised.
Just because. Im proud you faced Mabel.
Im not sure well ever be friends again, but trying is worthwhile.
Exactly. Fifteen years is a lot.
The next day Mrs. Whitaker called, inviting Emily for tea to talk. Emily accepted.
They met at the same little café where Emily had spoken to Mabel. Mrs. Whitaker arrived in a crisp suit, hair neatly done.
You look lovely, she said.
Thank you, you too, Emily replied.
They ordered tea and scones. After a long pause, Mrs. Whitaker spoke.
Emily, Id like a fresh start. I realise I was overbearing, too controlling, always prying into your life with James. I wasShe smiled, extended her hand, and vowed to respect their boundaries from then on.
