Emily’s mother-in-law was whispering just out of earshot.
“How can you say such things, Margaret?” Susan’s voice trembled with indignation. “Spreading rumours about my daughter-in-law—what’s gotten into you?”
“I haven’t said anything wrong,” Margaret replied, adjusting her glasses with feigned innocence. “I only mentioned that your Charlotte has been acting a bit odd lately. Tired, perhaps, or…”
“Or what?” Susan took a step closer to the garden fence. “Out with it!”
“Well, I don’t know…” Margaret lowered her voice to a whisper, though loud enough for half the street to hear. “What if she’s… you know… expecting? Keeping it quiet? It’s just strange, married three years and no sign of children…”
Charlotte froze behind the gate, clutching a loaf of bread from the shop. She had been on her way home when she overheard the conversation, and now her feet refused to move. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Susan waved a hand dismissively. “They’re young, focusing on their careers. Charlotte works at the bank—responsible job. Children can wait.”
“Career, indeed,” Margaret drawled. “But I’ve seen her leaving the house in the mornings. Pale, dark circles under her eyes. And she’s been popping to the shops more than usual. Yesterday, I spotted her outside the pharmacy, staring at something in the window for ages…”
A chill ran down Charlotte’s spine. She *had* been outside the pharmacy yesterday, hesitating over whether to buy a pregnancy test. Fear had gripped her for weeks—fear of the unknown, of telling her husband, of everything changing.
“Stop making up stories!” Susan snapped. “Charlotte’s a good girl, hardworking. If there were any news, she’d have told me first. We get on well.”
“Get on well…” Margaret echoed with a sly undertone. “Do you know she calls her mother every evening? Long chats, but the moment Oliver comes home—click, she hangs up.”
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut. Yes, she called her mother daily, especially lately—not to hide anything, but because her mother *understood* her. She could talk about work, her fears, the days she just needed space.
“What’s wrong with that?” Susan defended. “She loves her mother. Perfectly normal.”
“Normal, of course,” Margaret agreed, though her tone dripped with insinuation. “But Judith from number twelve told me she saw Charlotte at the bus stop the other day, coming home from work. Crying, she said. Sitting there dabbing her eyes with a tissue.”
Charlotte remembered that day. She *had* cried on the bus—but not over pregnancy or marriage troubles. Her closest colleague had been laid off, and her manager had hinted at more cuts. The fear of losing her job, especially now when she and Oliver were saving for a house, weighed on her more each day.
“Listen, Margaret,” Susan’s voice turned sharp. “What exactly are you implying? Spit it out.”
“Nothing, really,” Margaret backtracked. “Just seems like she’s got something on her mind. Trouble at work, maybe? Or…” she dropped her voice again, “problems with Oliver?”
“There are no problems with my son!” Susan’s temper flared. “They’re happy—anyone can see that!”
“See it, indeed…” Margaret muttered. “But have you noticed Oliver’s been coming home later? Dressing smarter, too. New shirt, wearing cologne…”
Charlotte clenched her fists. Yes, Oliver *had* been working late—but he was honest about it, swamped with a big project. And that shirt? She’d bought it for his birthday. The cologne? A gift from her.
“Margaret,” Susan said, quiet but firm. “I’ll ask you once—stop spreading gossip about my family. If you’ve got facts, say them. If not, keep your guesses to yourself.”
“No need to snap!” Margaret huffed. “I’m only concerned for the girl. If she’s struggling, maybe she needs help?”
“If she does, she’ll ask,” Susan cut in. “Your whispers won’t do a thing.”
The gate creaked—Susan was heading inside. Margaret lingered, mumbling to herself before disappearing too.
Charlotte waited several minutes before entering the garden, hands shaking as she opened the door. Susan stood in the hallway—tall, stern, her silver hair pulled into a neat bun.
“Charlotte, where have you been?” Susan studied her. “You look pale.”
“Just popped to the shop.” Charlotte held up the bread. “Susan… can we talk?”
“Of course. Fancy a cuppa?”
They sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. Charlotte twisted her mug, unsure where to begin. Susan waited patiently.
“I… overheard you and Margaret,” Charlotte finally said. “She was talking about me. That I might be pregnant, or that Oliver and I…”
Susan set her cup down. “Is there any truth to it?”
Charlotte met her gaze. “If I were pregnant, I’d have told you. I wouldn’t hide something like that.”
“And things with Oliver?”
“No problems. We’re happy. It’s just…” She hesitated. “Work’s been hard. Layoffs started, and I’m terrified I’ll lose my job. We’re saving for the house, and if I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Susan asked gently.
“Didn’t want to worry anyone. Thought I’d handle it.”
Susan stood, placing a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Love, we’re family. Your troubles are ours. Oliver knows, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. He’s been supportive, says we’ll manage. But I see how stressed he is—his project’s overwhelming, hence the late nights.”
“See? And Margaret’s twisted it into something sordid,” Susan sighed. “That woman turns drizzle into a storm.”
“Does she… always gossip like this?”
“Afraid so. Nosy by nature. Usually I ignore her, but today riled me—because it was about *you*.”
Charlotte’s eyes stung. “It hurt, hearing those things. Like I’ve done something wrong.”
“Lottie,” Susan said softly. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re a wonderful wife to Oliver and a blessing to me. Gossips will always gossip—pay them no mind.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Oliver was home.
“Mum? Lottie? I’m back!” he called, kicking off his shoes.
“In the kitchen!” Susan replied.
Oliver kissed Charlotte’s head, then hugged his mother. “Why the serious faces?”
“Just girl talk,” Susan smiled. “Hungry?”
“Starving. What’s for dinner?”
“I’ll heat up the stew, there’s shepherd’s pie too,” Charlotte offered, standing.
“Sit, I’ll sort it,” Susan said. “Oliver, tell us about the project.”
As Susan busied herself, Oliver chatted about work. Charlotte half-listened, torn. Should she tell him about the rumours? Would it upset him unnecessarily?
“Lottie, you’re miles away,” Oliver noticed.
“Just tired.”
“Work again?”
Charlotte glanced at Susan, who nodded subtly.
“Ollie… there might be more layoffs next week.”
He frowned. “When will you know?”
“They’re holding a meeting.”
Oliver took her hand. “If it happens, you’ll find something else. You’re brilliant—plenty of banks in town.”
“But the house deposit—”
“We’ll manage. Your peace of mind matters more.”
“Exactly,” Susan agreed, setting down bowls. “Family first—the rest follows.”
Later, as they prepared for bed, Oliver asked, “What was Mum on about with ‘girl talk’ earlier?”
Charlotte hesitated. “Have you noticed the neighbours acting oddly around us?”
“No. Why?”
“Just… thought I caught some looks.”
Oliver pulled her close. “You overthink things. Let’s just be happy—ignore the rest.”
The next morning, Charlotte crossed the courtyard to the bus stop. Margaret, Judith, and another neighbour huddled near the bins, falling silent as she passed.
“Morning,” Charlotte said briskly, quickening her step. Behind her, whispers resumed:
“Did you see her walk? Something’s off…”
“Not pregnant, surely. Pregnant women waddle…”
“Must be trouble with Oliver, then. Knew it.”
Charlotte fixed her eyes ahead. At work, her mind kept drifting. Should she confront Margaret? Explain there were no secrets, just work stress? But she knew—any explanation would fuel more gossip.
That evening, Susan intercepted her in the garden. “Fancy a walk?”
They strolled down the lane in comfortable silence.
“Margaret cornered me this morning,” Susan admitted. “Asked if you’d ‘confessed’ anything. Said she’s *worried*.”
Charlotte sighed. “What did you say?”
“
