A Day in the Life of Amy

Amy was just settling into the rhythm of her days with Fiona when the cracks began to show.

It started with Rose. She cornered Amy in the wine shop on Main Street, her arms crossed, eyes sharp.

“So,” she said, her voice sweet but dripping with something else, “I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with Fiona Keller. Coffee shops, photo shoots, late nights…” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Mark’s not exactly thrilled.”

Amy stiffened, fumbling with the bottle she’d just picked up. “Rose, I don’t—”

“Oh, you don’t have to explain to me,” Rose interrupted smoothly, leaning closer. “But Napa’s small. People notice. People talk. You should… be careful.”

That night, Amy couldn’t shake Rose’s warning. She tried to laugh it off with Fiona over dinner, but Fiona caught the tension in her shoulders. “What did she say?” Fiona asked, setting her fork down.

“Nothing important,” Amy murmured, not ready to admit how the words had knotted in her stomach.

But it didn’t stop there.

Two days later, her mother called. Amy hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, but the first thing out of her mouth wasn’t “hello.”

“I got a call from Aunt Marissa,” her mom said, clipped. “She heard from one of her friends that you’ve been… seen around with that photographer woman. Amy, is this true?”

Amy closed her eyes, gripping the phone. “Mom—”

“Do you know what people are saying? You’ve already had enough whispers around you with Mark. Don’t you think about how this makes you look?”

Amy hung up the call before her mom could say more, her hands shaking. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor, the warmth Fiona had been giving her suddenly swallowed up by cold shame.

That evening, Fiona found her curled on the couch, Max’s head in her lap. “Hey,” Fiona said gently, kneeling in front of her. “What happened?”

Amy hesitated, then whispered, “They’re all talking. Rose. My mom. Everyone. I feel like…” She swallowed hard. “Like I’m being watched. Judged.”

Fiona took her hands, firm but tender. “Amy. Let them talk. Let them choke on their own gossip. They don’t get to decide what’s real for you. For us.”

But Amy’s silence stretched too long. Fiona’s jaw tightened. She leaned back slightly, searching Amy’s face. “Unless… you’re not sure this is what you want.”

Amy’s heart lurched, torn between the comfort of Fiona’s certainty and the weight of everyone else’s expectations pressing down on her.