“‘There’s a Man Living with a Minor Next Door! Please Come Quickly!’ – Alarmed Neighbours Call the Police Over My New Marriage”

My word! That mans living with a schoolgirl next door you need to come at once! the neighbours cried down the phone to the police.
Hes just moved in, and hes shacked up with a teenager! was the alarmed report the police received, courtesy of the couple next door.
After my wife and I tied the knot, we spent months searching for a flat together, finally deciding on one with a mortgage. For weeks, I commuted there alone to oversee the renovations and wrangle with the builders, while my wife visited less frequently. During those weeks, I got to know our elderly neighbours Mr. and Mrs. Clarke. We scarcely knew anyone else in the building, and wanted to mark our new start, so we decided to invite the Clarkes round for a modest housewarming.
But as soon as the Clarkes sat at our table and met my wife, their expressions turned odd. Something seemed off in the way they shot each other glances, but my wife, ever gentle, showered me with kisses and hugs, drawing my attention away from their awkwardness. They made their excuses and left in a hurry, but we were so swept up in our happiness, we barely gave it a second thought.
It was the following morning, dreadfully early, that an insistent knocking jolted us awake. Groggy and uneasy, I opened the door to find the local constable standing on our mat, looking me up and down with a suspicious eye.
Good morning, Im PC Davies, he said, brandishing his badge. Ill need to see your marriage certificate, please, sir for you and your wife.
Still in my dressing gown and utterly dumbfounded, I rummaged through a jungle of boxes and untouched bags. After ten long minutes I found it, handing the certificate over with a nervous smile.
The constable compared my wife with her photo, then looked long at the certificate. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Thank you, sir. This will do nicely.
But whats going on? I asked, my voice cracking.
We received a report, he said, glancing at his notebook, that theres a grown man here shacked up with an underage girl apparently not yet sixteen.
I burst out laughing; the absurdity of it all was overwhelming. The fact was, my wife lovely Emily was actually a year older than me! I was twenty-two, she was twenty-three. Granted, she was petite, with a round, youthful face and when she wore her hair in a ponytail, without makeup could have passed for someone still in school. I, on the other hand, had aged a decade overnight from the stress of renovations and moving; with my tired face and rough beard, I seemed years her senior.
Perhaps now, with some proper rest and a good shave, Id look less like an ageing father and more like the young husband my Emily deserves.