The air was thick with tension as Edward pulled up to the grim-looking tower block where his mother-in-law lived. His hands tightened on the steering wheel before he stepped out, straightening his coat collar as he walked toward the entrance. Just as he reached the door, movement caught his eye—a figure at the ground-floor window. His stomach lurched.
“Mum? What are you doing here?” he whispered, recognizing his mother, Margaret.
“Quiet,” she hissed, beckoning him closer. “Come here.”
“What’s going on?” Edward frowned, unease prickling down his spine.
“Just listen,” Margaret urged, nodding toward the cracked-open window.
Inside, voices carried clearly—his wife, Charlotte, and her mother, loud and unrestrained.
“Mum, you should’ve seen their faces,” Charlotte crowed, laughter sharp as glass. “Especially his mum—all teary-eyed, blubbering about how *she* failed, how *she* should’ve protected her grandson.” Another laugh. “Perfect. And Edward? God, he’s like a lapdog. Runs to fix everything. Even took me to hospital. Knew he’d never commit unless I trapped him with this ‘pregnancy.’”
“Charlotte… that’s cruel,” her mother muttered half-heartedly.
“You don’t get it,” Charlotte snapped. “The flat’s the target. Three bedrooms, right in the city centre. I’ve already told him—we *have* to move in together now that the ‘baby’s coming.’ Once we’re in, we’ll nudge the old folks out. Edward’ll swallow it. He’s not the type to make a scene. You can steer him gently… just how I need.”
Edward stood frozen, as if his ribcage had been cracked open. Every word was a knife. Beside him, Margaret clutched his arm.
“You heard?” she breathed.
He nodded, his face bleached of colour.
“Let’s go.”
They marched upstairs. Edward jammed his finger against the buzzer. The door swung open to reveal Charlotte, still glowing with smug triumph.
“Darling! You’re early—” Her smile faltered at his expression.
“Save it,” he said, voice icy. “I’ll have your things packed and sent over. Tomorrow, I’m filing for divorce.”
“*What?* Have you lost your mind? Why?”
“Because I heard everything. The ‘pregnancy.’ The flat. How *convenient* I am. Thanks for showing me exactly who you are.”
Charlotte gaped, words failing her.
Margaret shot her a look of cold disgust. “I blamed myself. Thought I’d driven you away, that I was too harsh. Turns out a mother’s instinct was right—I just didn’t *want* to see it.”
They left without another word. Edward didn’t look back. For the first time in years, the weight in his chest lifted—as if he’d finally shrugged off chains. He walked in silence, his mother’s grip on his hand the only anchor she offered. No speeches, no platitudes. Just the quiet solidarity that said more than words ever could.
