Andrew stands in the middle of the kitchen, phone in his hand, his face flushed with anger. Did you tell my mother that Im a terrible husband? he demands.
Laura turns from the stove, where shes frying mince patties. A droplet of oil sizzles on the linoleum. What? What are you talking about?
My mum just called. She says she knows everything about us, that I dont appreciate you, that I act like a child, that shes got it all sorted, he says.
Laura, I havent spoken to your mother at all this week, she replies, wiping her hands on a towel. Her heart hammers. She never told anyone about the fishing trip argumentexcept
I was chatting with Emma, Laura says slowly. Just Emma, in a private conversation.
And now Emma is feeding my mother details about our private life?
That cant be right. Emmas my best friend; she would never
The phone rings. Its the motherinlaw. Laura looks at Andrew, who nods. Answer it, he says.
Hello, Mrs. Clarke.
Laura, I need to speak to you seriously. Can you come over today?
Whats happened?
Its better to tell you in person. Its important.
Laura agrees, her hands trembling. How could her motherinlaw have seen what she wrote to Emma?
Ill drive over, she tells Andrew. We need to sort this out.
Andrew nods, though his expression is forlorn. They have been together five years, a solid relationship with few major fights. Yet the motherinlaw, Eleanor, has always been a stumbling blockauthoritarian, convinced no one is worthy of her son. Laura tries to keep the peace, but sometimes she vents to Emma, her university confidante.
Emma is the only person Laura can unload about Eleanor, the marriage, life in general. They have been friends for fifteen years, sharing first romances, being each others bridesmaids, knowing every secret. So how did this information reach Mrs. Clarke?
Laura drives to Eleanors flat in the neighboring district, a modest threebedroom council house where Andrew grew up. A widow for ten years, Eleanor has devoted her life to her son and believes she has the right to monitor his every move.
Eleanor opens the door, her face stern. Come in. Would you like some tea?
No, thank you. Eleanor, whats going on?
Eleanor leads Laura into the sitting room and settles into her favourite armchair. Sit down, dont just stand there like a post.
Laura obeys, remaining upright as Eleanor fixes her gaze on her.
Ive always felt youre not entirely sincere with me. You smile, you nod, but behind my back you say things, Eleanor says.
I dont understand what you mean, Laura replies.
Read this, Eleanor says, handing over Lauras phone.
On the screen, the chat with Emma is open. Laura recognises her own messages, her own words. She scrolls down, further and further. The entire conversation is there: complaints about Eleanors meddling, irritation at being called ten times a day, resentment over the way Eleanor critiques Lauras cooking.
How did you get this? Laura whispers.
Emma visited yesterday. She dropped by for a cup of tea, we chatted, and she accidentally showed me some photos. I saw the messages and she said she wanted me to know the truth about how you really feel about me, Eleanor explains.
Laura feels the colour drain from her face. Emmaher best friendhow could she?
This is private, Laura says. Everyone needs a vent, but that doesnt mean I dont respect you.
You dont respect me, thats clear. Look at this! You call me an old fool who spoils everything, that I should move to my sisters cottage and stop meddling, that Andrew is a mamas boy who cant stand up to me, Eleanor reads aloud.
I was angry when I wrote it. Everyone has moments of weakness, Laura admits.
Moments of weakness? This is hundreds of messages over years! Youve hated me and pretended to be sweet, Eleanor snaps.
Laura rises. I never hated you. I was just exhausted by your pressure and needed someone to share it with.
Now youll share it with the whole neighbourhood, Eleanor says, standing as well. Ill show everyone who you really are.
What?
You ridiculed me behind my back. Now youll feel what thats like.
Laura grabs her bag and bolts out, stumbling down the stairs, tears blurring her vision. She fumbles with the car keys; her hands shake so hard the key slips from her fingers.
Emma. How could she? Why?
Laura dials Emmas number. After a long ring, Emma answers.
Hey, Laura! How are you?
How could you?
What do you mean? Whats happening?
Dont play dumb! You showed my mother our messages!
Emma is silent for a moment. Oh, that. Yeah, I showed them. It just… happened by accident.
Accident? You went to her on purpose!
I wanted to meet your motherinlaw. Nothing wrong with that. We chatted, I showed her some photos, and she saw the chat. I didnt mean to.
Dont lie to me! Why would you do that?
Emma sighs. Laura, Im tired of being your emotional dump. Fifteen years youve complained about everyoneparents, classmates, bosses, now my motherinlaw and your husband. Im fed up.
If you were fed up, you could have just said so! Why be so petty?
Its not petty. Its the truth. Mrs. Clarke has a right to know what you think of her.
Youve been my friend for fifteen years!
We were, but Im done listening to a constant whiner who never changes.
Emma hangs up. Laura sits in the car, staring at the dark screen. Her world feels shatteredfriend betrayed, motherinlaw openly hostile, husband upset.
She starts the car and drives home. Andrew meets her at the hallway.
Whats wrong?
Emma showed my motherinlaw the chats. On purpose.
Why?
I dont know. She said she was tired of being my vent.
Andrew pulls her into an embrace. Laura cries into his shoulder.
Itll be okay, he says. Well get through this.
My motherinlaw showed the messages to everyone she knows. Now everyone knows what I wrote.
What exactly did you write?
Laura steps back, looking at him. Things about how shes a pain, how you sometimes act like a child, how I find it hard.
Andrew frowns. So youve been complaining about me to a friend for years?
Not for yearssometimes, when things are tough.
And what exactly did you say?
Laura shakes her head. Now isnt the time.
No, it is. I want to know what youve been saying behind my back.
Laura moves to the sofa, her head pounding. Andrew sits opposite her. Im waiting.
She takes a breath. I wrote that youre too attached to your mother, that youre scared to argue with her, that when she visits you become a different person.
Andrew is silent. Or when I wanted to visit my parents for dads birthday and your mother said its her birthday too, so we had to stay with her. You never tried to move it.
Its possible to celebrate on another day. My dads 60th birthday was a big deal, Laura says.
Your mother is more important, Andrew replies.
Laura looks at him. You just said that, and now youre upset I told Emma.
And Emma, apparently, is now a former friend.
Yes, former.
They sit in silence as dusk falls, the kitchens leftover meat pies hardening on the stove.
Lauras phone rings again. An unknown number.
Hello?
This is Tamara Clarke, a friend of Eleanors. She showed me your messages, a woman says.
Laura closes her eyes. And?
I just wanted to say youre right. Eleanor is overly controlling, always meddling. Ive known her thirty years, and shes a nightmare. Youre just venting, not doing anything wrong.
Thanks, Laura manages.
And your friend Emmawhat a piece of work. Showing private chats deliberately is cruel. Id cut her off if I were you.
Im not going to.
Good. Take care of yourself, dear.
Tamara hangs up. Laura looks at Andrew. Your mothers friend called. Said Im right about Eleanor.
Andrew raises an eyebrow. Tamara? Shes always on my mothers side.
Looks like even her friends see shes overstepping.
More calls come that nightEleanors relatives, neighbours, distant cousins. Some condemn Laura, others side with her. One woman calls her ungrateful, another says she knows what its like to live under a domineering motherinlaw.
Turn it off, Andrew suggests. Well deal with it tomorrow.
Laura does. They eat dinner in silence, then lie down, but sleep eludes them. Laura stares at the ceiling, replaying the days events.
Emma had been her confidante through everythingfirst love, wedding planning, even the miscarriage when Emma held her hand in the hospital. Now Emma deliberately showed the chats to Eleanor. Why?
The next morning Laura wakes with puffy eyes and a heavy head. Andrew is already at the table, sipping coffee.
Morning. How did you sleep?
Badly.
Ive been thinking. Maybe we should meet Emma and clear the air. Find out why she did it.
I have nothing to say to her.
But fifteen years of friendship dont just disappear.
Its her who threw it away.
Andrew stays quiet, finishing his coffee. I called my mother. Told her she was wrong to spread the messages.
What did she say?
She said she had a right to protect herself, that I offended her, and shed apologise later.
Do you think you shouldve never written those things?
Laura snaps at him. What are you saying?
You understand that writing nasty things about people can come back to bite you. Sooner or later it surfaces.
So Im to blame?
I didnt mean it like that.
No, you meant exactly that! My friend betrayed me, your mother made a public spectacle, and youre saying its my fault!
Im just saying we should have been more careful.
This was a private chat! I have the right to vent to a friend!
I get that, but consequences follow.
Laura storms to the bathroom, slams the cold tap, trying to steady herself. Andrew isnt on her side, as usual when his mother is involved.
Theres a knock at the door. Laura peers through the peepholeEmma stands there.
Dont open, Andrew warns.
Im not opening, Laura says.
Laura, open up! I need to talk! Emma pleads.
Leave. I have nothing to say to you.
Please, I want to explain!
Its too late.
I didnt want this to happen! I thought if Eleanor knew how you really felt, shed back off. I was naive.
Laura opens the door. Emma looks pale, eyes red. Did you really think that would work?
I wanted to help. Youve been complaining for years; I was fed up listening. I thought the truth would change her.
People like Eleanor never change. They only get worse when challenged.
I didnt think it through. Im sorry.
Andrew steps forward. Emma, why did you tell Laura you were tired of being a crying cushion?
Emma looks down. I was angry. Laura shouted at me, blamed me. I snapped.
Do you really believe that?
Laura asks, Do you think I only whine and never change?
Sometimes, yes. But that doesnt mean I dont want to stay friends.
Laura sips her bitter coffee. I dont know if we can be friends like before. Trust is hard to rebuild.
Ill wait. As long as it takes.
Maybe we start over as acquaintances, not best friends, and see if we can get back there.
Emma nods. They finish their coffee, talk about weather, work, the newslight, unforced. Perhaps time will heal.
When Laura returns home, Andrew greets her with flowers.
Whats this for? she asks.
Just because. Im proud of you for confronting Emma.
Im not sure well ever be okay, but its worth trying.
Fifteen years is a long time.
The next day, Eleanor calls, asking to meet for tea. Laura agrees.
They meet in the same café where Laura met Emma. Eleanor arrives in a fresh coat, hair neatly styled.
You look well, she says.
Thank you. You too.
They order tea and scones. After a quiet pause, Eleanor speaks.
Laura, 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 my only child, and when he married, I felt abandoned. I thought you were taking him away from me.
Laura sees tears in Eleanors eyes. For the first time in years, Eleanor shows vulnerability.
I was wrong, too, Laura says. 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, Eleanor replies.
They finish tea, chat about summer plans and a small renovation Eleanor is undertaking in the flat. The conversation feels human, ordinary.
That evening Laura sits on the balcony with a glass of wine. Andrew joins her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
What are you thinking about? he asks.
Lifes strange. Sometimes everything collapses so something new can be built, stronger, she says.
You mean the mess with Emma and my mother?
Yes, that too. Everything.
He kisses her forehead. I love you.
And I love you.
They watch the sunset, the sky turning pink. Somewhere else, Emma looks out her window, reflecting on the friendship. In another house, Eleanor flips through old photographs of a young Andrew, remembering how small he once was. All of them are bound by invisible threads of pain, fear, and hope.
Life goes on, and that feels just right.
