The mother-in-law was whispering behind her back.
“What on earth are you saying, Margaret?” Edith’s voice was sharp with indignation. “How can you spread such things about my daughter-in-law?”
“What did I say?” Margaret feigned innocence, adjusting her glasses. “I only mentioned that your Emily has been acting a bit odd lately. Either she’s exhausted or—”
“Or what?” Edith stepped closer to the garden fence. “Out with it!”
“Well, I don’t know…” Margaret lowered her voice to a hushed tone, though loud enough for half the street to hear. “What if she’s, you know… expecting? And keeping it quiet? It’s strange, isn’t it—married three years and still no children…”
Emily froze at the gate, gripping the bread bag tighter. She’d just come back from Tesco and had overheard the conversation by accident. Now, she couldn’t move. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the whole neighbourhood could hear it.
“Margaret, don’t be ridiculous!” Edith scoffed. “They’re young, building careers. Emily works at the bank—high-pressure job. Children can wait.”
“Ah yes, the *career*,” Margaret drawled. “But I’ve seen her in the mornings—pale, dark circles under her eyes. And she’s always running to the shops now. Didn’t used to be like that. Yesterday, I even spotted her outside Boots, staring at the pregnancy tests in the window…”
A chill ran down Emily’s spine. She *had* been at Boots yesterday, hesitating over the tests, too afraid to buy one. Fear had gnawed at her for weeks—fear of the unknown, of telling her husband, of everything changing.
“Oh, stop inventing dramas!” Edith snapped. “Emily’s a lovely girl, hardworking. If there was anything to tell, she’d have told me first. We get on well.”
“*Get on well*,” Margaret repeated with a peculiar lilt. “And do you know she phones her mother every evening? Long chats, but the moment Oliver gets home—click, she hangs up.”
Emily clenched her jaw. Yes, she *did* ring her mum every day—especially lately. Not because she was hiding anything, but because… well, her mum *understood*. She could talk to her about work, her fears, the times she just wanted to be alone.
“What’s wrong with that?” Edith defended. “Girls talk to their mothers—perfectly normal.”
“Perfectly normal, of course,” Margaret agreed, though her tone dripped with mischief. “But Doris from number 12 saw Emily at the bus stop the other day. Said she was crying—sitting there dabbing her eyes with a tissue.”
Emily remembered that day. Yes, she *had* cried on the bus—but not over pregnancy or marriage troubles. It was just… a terrible day at work. Her closest colleague had been sacked, and her manager had hinted at more layoffs. The fear of losing her job, especially now that she and Oliver were saving for a house, pressed down on her harder each day.
“Listen, Margaret,” Edith’s voice turned steely. “What exactly are you implying? Spit it out.”
“Oh, nothing much,” Margaret backpedalled. “Just seems like she’s struggling. Maybe work troubles? Or…” she dropped to a whisper, “*maybe things aren’t so happy with Oliver?*”
“With my son? Don’t be absurd!” Edith bristled. “They’re mad about each other—anyone can see that!”
“See it, do we?” Margaret muttered. “But have you noticed Oliver’s been coming home later? Dressing smarter too—new shirt, wearing cologne…”
Emily’s nails dug into her palms. Yes, Oliver *had* been working late, but he’d told her all about the big project. And the shirt? She’d bought it for his birthday. The cologne? A little treat—just to make him smile.
“Margaret,” Edith said, low and firm. “I’d appreciate it if you kept your gossip about my family to yourself. If you have *facts*, say them. If not, button it.”
“Oh, touchy!” Margaret huffed. “I’m only concerned! Anyone can see something’s off. Maybe she needs help?”
“If she does, she’ll ask,” Edith cut in. “Your whispers won’t help a soul.”
The garden gate creaked—Edith was heading inside. Margaret lingered by the fence, muttering under her breath, before finally disappearing.
Emily waited a few minutes before slipping into the house, hands trembling as she turned the key. Edith met her in the hallway—tall, stern, silver hair in a neat bun.
“Emily, where’ve you been?” Edith studied her. “You look peaky.”
“Just popped to Tesco.” Emily held up the bread. “Edith… can we talk?”
“Of course. Fancy a cuppa?”
They sat at the kitchen table, Emily twisting her mug. Edith waited patiently.
“I… overheard you and Margaret,” Emily began. “She was saying things… about me. That I’ve been acting strange, maybe pregnant, or that Oliver and I…”
Edith set her tea down. “And is there any truth to it?”
Emily looked up. “If I were pregnant, I’d tell you. Honestly. And things with Oliver are fine. It’s just… work’s been awful. There are layoffs, and I’m terrified I’ll lose my job. We’re saving for the house, and if I—”
“Why didn’t you *say*?” Edith’s voice softened.
“Didn’t want to worry anyone. Thought I’d sort it myself.”
Edith stood, resting a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Love, we’re family. Your troubles *are* ours. Oliver knows, doesn’t he?”
“He does. He’s been brilliant—says we’ll manage. But I see how stressed *he* is. His project’s chaos—that’s why he’s late.”
“See? And there’s Margaret, spinning it into some tawdry affair.” Edith sighed. “That woman could turn a dropped penny into a bank heist.”
“Does she… always talk like this about people?”
“Afraid so. Nose in everyone’s business. Normally I ignore her, but today… well, it was about *you*.”
Emily’s eyes prickled. “Hearing that… it felt like I’d done something wrong.”
“Emily,” Edith said gently. “You’ve done *nothing* wrong. You’re a wonderful wife to my son and a blessing to me. As for gossips? Let them chatter. Pay no mind.”
“But it’s not just her, is it? The whole street probably—”
“Who *cares* about the street?” Edith snapped. “We live for *us*, not them. Still… maybe Oliver should know? Let him hear what’s being said.”
“No,” Emily said quickly. “He’s stressed enough. Why add to it?”
“Fair enough. But if you hear more, tell me. I won’t have rumours spreading about my family.”
Keys jangled in the door—Oliver was home.
“Mum! Em! I’m back!”
“In here!” Edith called.
Oliver strode in, kissing Emily’s hair, hugging his mum.
“Everything all right? You two look serious.”
“Just girl talk,” Edith smiled. “Hungry?”
“Starving. What’s for dinner?”
“I’ll heat up the stew, there’s shepherd’s pie too,” Emily said, standing.
“Sit, I’ll sort it,” Edith waved her off. “Oliver, how’s the project?”
As Edith bustled about, Oliver talked shop. Emily half-listened, wondering—should she tell him? He *should* know… but why upset him?
“Em, you’re miles away,” Oliver noticed.
“Just tired.”
“Work again?”
Emily glanced at Edith, who gave a tiny nod.
“Ollie… there might be more layoffs next week.”
His brow furrowed. “When will you know?”
“Next Friday. They’re finalising things.”
Oliver took her hand. “So what? If they sack you, you’ll find another job. You’re brilliant—banks are ten a penny.”
“But the *house*—”
“We’ll wait a bit longer. Not the end of the world. Just… don’t bottle it up, love. I’ve seen how tense you’ve been.”
“Exactly what I’ve told her,” Edith chimed in, setting down plates. “Family first—the rest sorts itself.”
After dinner, they lingered, making plans. Oliver’s project could mean a promotion—a higher salary would ease the pressure.
“Maybe it’s a blessing,” he said, arm around Emily. “You could find a job closer—no more trekking across town.”
“Right, you two—I’m off to bed,” Edith stood. “Early start tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late!”
Emily washed up while Oliver watched the news. Later, as they
