Whispers of Deceit.

Chapter 1

I lean against the window of my cabin, gazing up at the sky, drawn to its endless expanse. There’s something about May that stirs a quiet joy in me. The month feels like a soft exhale-the tail end of spring, where the world seems to hold its breath before the heat of summer arrives. The sky stretches in flawless blue, and the air, kisses with warmth carries a sense of promise.

Spring is my sanctuary, a perfect balance before summer’s heavy humidity settles in—a season where the weather doesn’t demand anything of you. It’s warm enough to linger outside, cool enough to breathe easily. Everyone seems lighter, the anticipation of summer lifting spirits as if even nature is getting ready to celebrate. Of course, in England, that sunny illusion is fragile. The weather here has a mischievous streak. A cloudless sky can morph into rain in the blink of an eye. But even that unpredictability feels like part of the charm, as if the air itself is alive with possibility.

Movement in the kitchen window catches my eye, pulling my attention toward Jared. He’s at the stove, fully immersed in making his signature ‘tuna pasta bake.’ It’s just an ordinary recipe, really—except for the bacon bits he insists on adding, which, in his mind, makes it special. I’ve teased him before, suggesting he just make a carbonara instead, but he always brushes me off with a grin, claiming my taste buds are too childish to appreciate his creation.

For a moment, I find myself admiring him. His mousy brown hair falls over his eyes, and with a quick motion, he sweeps it back using the back of his hand. I’ve been pestering him for two weeks to get a haircut, but it’s always the same excuses: “I’m too busy” or “Yeah, I will,” followed by nothing.

As he concentrates on the meal, his eyes narrow slightly, nearly closing as he focuses on whatever he’s doing. His brow furrows, the faint line on his forehead deepening as his eyebrows almost meet. It’s a small gesture, but it’s one of those familiar quirks that always makes me smile.

I look away and back down to my work. My motivation is gone. It’s only four in the afternoon on a Wednesday, I could log off and finish for the day, but I have a deadline to meet for Friday.

I work as an animator, specializing in character creation. My job begins with collaborating closely with clients to understand the vision for their character—whether it’s a person, an animal, or a completely original creature. Once I have a clear idea, I start with a rough concept sketch on my iPad to present the basic look and feel. If the client approves, I dive into designing the character in 2D, focusing on every detail that will bring it to life. From there, I animate the character, ensuring it moves and acts exactly as the client imagines, whether for a cartoon, a website, or any other medium. Throughout the process, I work with a talented team of editors who refine the movements and add finishing touches, making sure the character feels as vibrant and dynamic as possible.

I let out a sigh, glancing down at the characters in front of me. I’m working on a new show for CBBC called My Crazy Family and Me. It’s about a diverse family navigating the ups and downs of everyday life. Personally, the title doesn’t grab me—it feels like the kind of thing I would’ve skipped as a kid in favour of SpongeBob or something more fun. The target audience is eight- to twelve-year-olds, but I can’t shake the feeling it’s missing the mark. I’ve got the mum and dad designs sorted, but I’m stuck on the main child. Inspiration just isn’t flowing. I’ve done so many similar characters lately that it’s starting to feel repetitive, and honestly, it’s hard to get excited about it anymore.

I close my computer for the day and send my emails to out of office and lock up the cabin before walking through the back door into my kitchen.

Jared looks up and gives me that award winning smile I love so much “Finished?”

I groan and sit at the bar “No, not even close. But today I’ve had enough."

“You’ll get there babe, I believe in you.”

I smile and he puts the tuna pasta bake in the oven and comes over and plants a kiss on the side of my head.

Jared is a gastrointestinal surgeon. He works a lot and is home very rarely. Some days he’s on call, like today. If his phone rings, he’d be out the door within five minutes to go in and complete a surgery or if he has an urgent consultation. Usually when he’s on call, he’d have been called by one in the afternoon, it is very rare to be called this late so I’m assuming he won’t need to go in today.

“Food smells good.” I say as he opens the fridge and grabs a can of coke. He points towards one and I shake my head.

“Yeah, should be ready in thirty minutes. I’m going to slow the heat down in five minutes though so it should be ready for five for when my parents come."

Fuck me. I forgot his parents were coming for dinner tonight. Now I wish I stayed in my office and told him I’d be working until late this evening.

He looks at me and starts to laugh “You forgot, didn’t you?”

I sigh “I’m sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind with work.”

"It’s okay. Do you want me to call and reschedule?" he asks, glancing over at me.

I glance at my Apple Watch, 4:16 p.m. Cancelling now, with less than an hour until they’re supposed to be here, feels impossible. His parents live an hour away, and if I know them, they’ll show up at least half an hour early.

As much as I’d love for him to cancel, I know he’s only offering because he expects me to say no. If I actually took him up on it, we’d just end up in a pointless argument, and I’m too drained for that right now.

I shake my head, forcing a smile. “No, it’s cool. I’ll just catch up on work later tonight—it’ll be fine.”

He smiles, turning back to the kitchen to prepare the salad for dinner. The clatter of the chopping board fills the silence. I can’t help but wish I had a regular office job, just so I could pull the classic excuse: "Sorry, I’m stuck at the office." It would be the perfect escape right now.

I head upstairs and go into the bathroom and start running the shower. I won’t be putting make up on for his parents coming over, although his mum will definitely comment on my appearance.

I like Jared’s parents, I do. But they are so different to mine. My parents are very chill and check in on me once a month if I’m lucky, Jared’s parents are very full on. Helen, his mum, will call him twice a day to check on her baby boy and they are sometimes on the phone for hours. She is very critical of everything he does, everything I do and everything in our house. She disagrees with a lot of stuff I believe in and will tell Jared that I’m wrong and he needs to convince me I’m wrong. She’s caused a lot of arguments between Jared and I since we started dating ten years ago. His dad is a bit more chilled but is stricter in morals. If we ever cancel on them, he will be the first to tell us how disrespectful it is.

After my shower I get changed into some jeans and a long sleeve top. I take my hair out of the bun it’s been in all day and brush it, it’s got a slight wave to it, so I leave it how it is.

When Jared and I started dating I would put in the effort more for his parents than I would for him. Jared has said from day one he thinks I look good no matter what, but his mum would always comment on my lack of effort in my appearance for the first couple of years. I have never been the type of person to care what others think of me, but after a while it did start making me doubt myself so I would go the extra mile to always look presentable. I haven’t thought that way in almost six years.

I put some fluffy socks on and head downstairs. His parents will be here in fifteen minutes.

When I step into the kitchen, I notice Jared has already poured two glasses of wine—one waiting for me.

“What if you get called in?” I ask, taking a sip.

He shakes his head with a grin. “I’m off call for the day. The night surgeon’s handling things now.”

I nod, and we clink our glasses together before taking another sip. The wine is one of our favourites—on the pricier side, but worth it. I don’t mind a cheaper red now and then, but I’ve developed a taste for the finer stuff. Luckily, we can afford it. My job pays well, and Jared’s brings in even more. Financial stress is something we don’t have to worry about, though it wasn’t always like this. We’ve worked our way up, and these days, money isn’t something we argue about or even think twice about. It’s a quiet luxury, one I don’t take for granted.

“Where’s Breeze?” I ask.

Breeze is our cat, she’s a ragdoll. She’s three years old and we absolutely adore her. She’s not much of an outside cat, she goes in our garden but that’s as far as she adventures out.

“Last I saw she was under the side table in the living room.”

I make my way into the living room and see Breeze crawled in her favourite spot which is under our side table next to our sofa. I’m not sure why she likes it under here, but she has ever since we moved here.

“Hello baby.” I smile and stroke her, hearing her instantly purr brings a smile to my face.

As I am about to pull her onto my lap, the doorbell rings. Jared goes to answer it, and I follow behind. Helen and Patrick both look as smart as ever, Helen’s make up is done to perfection, along with her hair. And Patrick is wearing a ‘farmers’ hat as I call it.

“Mum, dad.” Jared says and he hugs them both.

“Hello.” I smile and step forward and give them both a hug.

“These are for you,” Helen says with a bright smile as she hands me a bouquet of lilies.

I force a smile, thank her, and take them into the kitchen. How many times do I have to remind her that lilies are toxic to cats? I leave the flowers on the counter, finish off my glass of wine, and pour myself another before heading back to the living room. Breeze, our cat, has already disappeared from her cosy spot—smart move.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Helen says, but there’s no warmth in her voice. Her expression says it all: her eyes sweep over the room, and she looks almost disgusted by the changes we’ve made.

We’d transformed the space from cold and grey to something more welcoming—neutral tones with pops of green, lots of living plants, and a new oak wood floor replacing the old, dreary carpet. The light beige walls make the room feel bigger and brighter. We hung the TV above the fireplace and added a big bookshelf and a new rug that ties everything together. It’s warm, inviting, and finally feels like us—the total opposite of the stark black, white, and grey in Helen’s house. She’s the one who convinced me to go for the cold, minimalist look we had before. For five years, this room was my least favourite in the house. Now, it’s easily the best.

I don’t bother responding to her comment. Instead, I just smile politely and take a seat on the other sofa, content with the space we’ve created—even if she isn’t.

“Wine?” Jared offers them both, to which they reply yes instantly.

When Jared leaves, Helen looks at me and begins talking.

“So Natalia, how is work?”

I take another sip of my wine and nod. “Yeah, it’s good, thank you. I’m just busy with deadlines, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“But are you keeping well otherwise? You know, eating three healthy meals a day and doing light exercise? Stress can really take a toll on your body, especially when you’re trying for a baby,” she says, concern etched on her face.

My mouth drops open in shock. “What?”

I hear a voice from the hallway. “Yeah... what?”

Jared walks into the living room, carrying two glasses of wine.

“Oh, don’t look so confused, Jared. Your father and I know you’re at that stage in your lives. You’ve been married for three years, you have a cat—we know what the next steps are in a relationship. I’m just upset you didn’t tell me right away. You used to share everything with me.”

And he still does.

“Mum, we are not trying for a baby,” Jared corrects her, handing his parents their glasses of wine.

I take another sip—and then another. At this rate, I’m going to need the whole bottle for myself.

“Oh, well, I do apologize. But if not now, then when? No offense, Natalia, but women have a limited time frame, especially with you approaching your thirties. If you want a few kids, you should have started at least two years ago.”

I glance at Jared, and he’s staring at his mother like she’s sprouted two heads.

The having children conversation has never really been brought up between Jared and me. When we first started dating, I was 18 and he was 21, ever since we’ve both been focused on university and getting our careers and when we got them at aged 22 and 25, we have only ever been work oriented between us.

Sure, we’ve talked about it lightly but we both agreed it was never a right time and if we were to ever want kids, that’s a sit-down discussion. The last we spoke of this was almost three years ago.

I’m happy with how our life is and don’t want it to change, and I’m pretty sure he feels the same way.

“Thalia and I will have that discussion privately, not in front of you.” Jared clarifies as his mum looks us at, expecting us to get into it now so she can put her two pence in.

The way she looks at me, it’s almost in disbelief that I am not jumping at the idea of having babies right now. When me and Jared had a pregnancy scare when we were in our early twenties, she threw a fit. Of course, Jared had to tell her, he tells her everything. That’s one thing I’m not too pleased about, she knows the ins and outs of our relationship.

“Well all I’m saying is you are our only child, we would like to have grandchildren before we hit our mid-sixties. It’s fine for Natalia’s parents, they had so many kids they’d have grandchildren every year at this rate.”

My parents had four children; I am the youngest. All my other siblings have had two or three children each but that’s not my prerogative.

I do feel for Jared’s parents. They had another son, Ezra. He lost his life at eighteen due to a drink-driving accident, he being the driver who was too drunk to drive. If the story were to be recounted, it would likely only mention the car accident, omitting the fact that he took his own life, along with the lives of his two friends and an innocent man. Had Ezra survived the crash, he would likely be serving a life sentence in prison.

At the time of Ezra’s passing, Jared and I had only been dating for two months. He was my age, but I didn’t know him. I’d met him a handful of times but did not attend the funeral, I wasn’t allowed.

“Okay Helen, now is not the time for this conversation.” Patrick says, politely telling her to shut up. He is just as uncomfortable as I.

“Well I’m just saying, it was just last week Jared told me he wants to have kids soon. What am I supposed to think? I think it's my right as his mother to know.”

I look at Jared and he looks at me. He told her he wants kids soon? This is news to me. Surely that’s a conversation he should have with me and not his mum?

I instantly become annoyed at the conversation, so I excuse myself and go into the downstairs bathroom.

I’m hurt Jared went to his mum with this conversation and honestly, I’m completely blind sighted. I would never dream about talking about this stuff with my mum before talking to him.

I flushed the toilet, the sound a cover for my absence, hoping they’d think I had actually gone to the bathroom, washed my hands, and took one last glance at myself in the mirror. When I stepped out, the air in the house felt heavier, as if my absence had only thickened the tension. In the dining room, everyone had already gathered. Jared was waiting for me, handing me my wine, now suspiciously topped off. I took my seat, and we all fell into an eerie, collective silence.

Jared busied himself in the kitchen, pulling dinner from the oven, but the atmosphere remained suffocating. No one dared to meet each other’s eyes. The clinking of glass was the only sound, as we each pretended to be engrossed in our drinks, our hands occupied as if the simple act of sipping could distract us from whatever unspoken thing hung between us.

By the time dinner was done and his parents were ready to leave, it was just past eight. I forced a smile, saying my goodbyes to Helen and Patrick, telling them how lovely it was to see them. It wasn’t. The lie felt sour on my tongue. As the door closed behind them, I let out a breath of relief.

I grabbed the bottle of wine and made my way out the back door and to my office, without another word. Before leaving the kitchen, I threw the lilies she got for me in the bin.

I am still really upset with Jared for speaking with his mum about children. Maybe I’m overreacting but I still think this is a private discussion to have with each other, not for me to get bombarded with on a Wednesday evening by his nosey mother.

By the time I’ve logged into my computer and iPad, I hear Jared’s footsteps approaching. He’s making his way out of the house and into my workspace, a place I’d hoped would offer some solitude.

“What?” I ask, not bothering to hide my irritation as soon as he opens the cabin door.

“I’m really sorry about tonight,” he says with a sigh, his voice heavy with regret.

“Okay.” The word leaves my mouth flat, emotionless. I pull up my animation work from earlier and take a sip straight from the wine bottle, feeling the bitterness settle in.

“Can we please talk about this?” Jared’s voice carries a quiet plea, but I don’t look at him. I can’t.

“No, Jared, I’m busy, and I’ve got to get this done,” I say, my fingers tapping against the screen, trying to focus. “I’ll speak to you later.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again, softer this time. “You threw out the lilies my mum got you. That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

I almost laugh, the absurdity of it hitting me. “No, I don’t think it’s harsh at all. I’ve told her repeatedly that lilies are poisonous to cats, but she insists on bringing them every time. I’m not going to risk having them in the house where Breeze can get to them.”

I turn away to grab my iPad charger, trying to shake off the frustration, and hear the door click shut behind him. With a deep sigh, I sit back down, staring at the wall for a moment. I don’t want to shut him out like this, but he needs to understand that his words have consequences.

He made one offhand comment about moving closer to his mum, and for three months, she flooded us with listings, practically demanding we consider houses on Right move. She took his words so literally, and now here we are, again—trapped in the fallout of something that should’ve been a simple conversation.

By the time I’m done with today’s work, it’s 10:36 p.m. Jared will be asleep by now. I grabbed the bottle of wine and threw it in the bin in my office and lock everything up behind me. I enter the back door and lock it after myself and head upstairs.

Jared is in bed, snoring. I strip down to just my knickers and throw on an oversized top and get in next to him. I scroll on my phone on some social apps for an hour before my eyelids start to feel heavy. Sleep doesn’t find me as easily as it does Jared. He could be asleep within thirty seconds of him hitting the pillow, but it always takes me over an hour.