As Thanksgiving approaches, William mourns his wife, Ellen, and wonders how he’s going to spend their favorite holiday without her. But his daughter-in-law, Amelia, loves to cook and has taken to cooking for dinner. Moved by his feelings and nostalgia, William gifts her Ellen’s most loved and worn apron. But when he finds the apron in the garbage, he realizes that his hurt goes all the way back to his grief, fueling a reaction.
It was the morning before Thanksgiving, and I was feeling the full weight of Ellen not being around anymore. This was the first Thanksgiving without my wife, who had passed away almost a year ago.
A rose on a tombstone | Source: Freepik
I sat on the armchair in my bedroom and left my newspaper to the side. If Ellen were still around, she would have had an entire shopping list ready for me to get.
“It’s just the last-minute things, William,” she would say, absentmindedly doodling on the grocery list while she pondered what else we would need.
A woman writing | Source: Unsplash
“Sure, honey,” I’d always tell her, ready to go to the store and get her everything she needed.
But this year was the first time in 30 years that I wouldn’t have Ellen around for the holidays.
Instead, my son’s wife, Amelia, promised us that she would take over the Thanksgiving dinner.
A smiling young woman | Source: Freepik
“Don’t worry, Dad,” my son, Harry, told me. “Amelia cooks just like Mom, and Mom taught her a few things, too.”
I wasn’t worried about anything. If I had to be honest, I was grateful that the kitchen would be used in all its glory once again. Since Ellen passed away, Harry and Amelia had moved in with me.
A fancy kitchen | Source: Unsplash
“It won’t be for long, Dad,” Harry said. “But I don’t want you to be alone. And this way, Amelia and I can save up for a house in the meantime. We all need to heal together.”
When they moved in, I tried to put a lot of Ellen’s things away. I wanted them to feel at home, too.
Packing boxes | Source: Unsplash
I couldn’t argue with Harry because the thought of being alone in the house that Ellen and I had built was too much. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to cope without her.
I needed the support from my son.
A smiling old man | Source: Unsplash
The longer I sat in my room, wrapped in the thoughts of my wife, the more sentimental I got. Eventually, I decided to pass on something priceless to Amelia.
Opening Ellen’s closet, I pulled out her faded floral apron. It had been around for as long as I could remember, and every holiday had at least one photograph of Ellen in it.
A floral apron | Source: Pexels
There were a few food stains that just couldn’t be removed, but I thought that it added charm to the apron.
I thought that maybe if I passed the apron to Amelia, who shared Ellen’s passion for cooking, she would honor Ellen’s memory and Thanksgiving traditions.
An elderly woman cooking | Source: Pexels
The following morning, I was sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal when Amelia came in, tying her hair and pulling up her sleeves.
“Hi, William,” she said. “Ready for Thanksgiving?”
A man pouring milk into a bowl | Source: Pexels
“Of course, I am,” I said, smiling at her. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do in the kitchen today.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Harry isn’t going to help at all. He’s probably going to watch the parade or look for sports on TV.”
“There’s something I want you to have,” I told her.
A person watching sport on TV | Source: Pexels
I put the folded apron onto the counter and slid it across to her.
“Ellen would have wanted you to have this, Amelia,” I said. “This was her favorite apron, and she wore it for every holiday that involved the kitchen.”
Amelia smiled at me. It was a polite smile; maybe it was a bit strained, but I dismissed it as my own sentimentality clouding my judgment.
A woman with a forced smile | Source: Pexels
She put the apron on, her face changing slightly when she saw how well-worn it was and the old food stains.
“Great, thank you,” she said. “Let’s cook!”
We spent the next few hours cooking together. Amelia did things differently than Ellen. From her cooking style to the actual ingredients used.
A woman cooking | Source: Pexels
I obeyed all her instructions and watched everything she did. It was different from what I was used to. But I still loved that Amelia was stepping up and taking control of the family holidays.
“Do you think we should do a table setting like what Ellen would have done?” she asked me.
A table setting and decor | Source: Unsplash
“Of course,” I said. “It’s just part of the tradition!”
“Then maybe we should get Harry onto that,” she suggested.
The rest of the day flew by in the kitchen with cooking preparations. Every single time I thought of Ellen, I distracted myself with another task.
A man chopping mushrooms | Source: Pexels
I watched as Amelia bustled around the kitchen in what seemed like genuine delight. As our closest family and friends began showing up for dinner, I went upstairs to freshen up for the occasion.
Everything was perfect, including Harry’s table setting. I missed Ellen throughout the evening, especially when the pies came out. My wife had a tradition of eating two slices of pie, one pecan and one pumpkin.
A pumpkin pie | Source: Pexels
“It’s the one time of year that I eat them,” she would say, spraying whipped cream all over the slices of pie on her plate.
Now, as Harry cut into the pumpkin pie, he caught my eye and smiled, handing me the first piece.
“For Mom,” he said.
Cream on a slice of pie | Source: Pexels
Everything seemed perfect. I went to bed that evening feeling as though my wife had been present. She was there, in the quiet moments after the dinner party, when I loaded the dishwasher and made myself a cup of tea.
But then, with the next morning came a different set of heartbreak.
A person stocking the dishwasher | Source: Unsplash
I was out, taking my usual walk around the block. While taking a shortcut back home through the alley behind our house, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks. A glimpse of floral fabric, peering out from the top of our dumpster.
A man talking a walk | Source: Pexels
It was Ellen’s apron, discarded and partially covered in the newspaper that I had been reading and other refuse.
My heart sank, bringing a different sense of grief to me.
The apron that held so many cherished memories of Ellen was thrown away like common trash.
Outdoor trashcans | Source: Pexels
I retrieved the apron, the dew having made it damp in the crisp morning.
“How could Amelia do this?” I asked myself.
It felt like a betrayal, not just of Ellen’s memory, but of the love and trust that I had placed in her.
An old man holding his chin | Source: Unsplash
I could have let it go. I would have chalked it up to Amelia not wanting to wear something old, or even not wanting to wear something that once belonged to her mother-in-law. But it was the cold way in which she had discarded it.
Determined to teach her a lesson about respect and the value of memories, I thought that I’d sit down to tea with her and talk about cooking. It was the one thing that we constantly bonded over.
A cup of tea | Source: Pexels
Amelia agreed, unaware that I knew about the apron. She followed me up the stairs, and I led her to the attic.
“Come on,” I said. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“Oh, William,” she said when she looked around the attic and saw the neatly preserved boxes.
An attic with stacked boxes and clothing | Source: Midjourney
“I’ve never been in here,” she said. “I didn’t know that we had an attic in this house.”
I stepped aside, allowing her to get into the room properly.
“Since you didn’t find value in the apron, maybe you’ll find something here that you won’t just throw away,” I said, my voice colder than I intended.
A woman covering her face with her hands | Source: Pexels
Amelia, visibly uncomfortable, shifted from foot to foot.
“William, I…” she began, her voice trailing off when she saw the apron hanging from a hook across the room.
I stood in silence as she tried to apologize, but her words seemed hollow.
A woman holding her face | Source: Pexels
“Look,” I said. “Maybe I forced it onto you, and I’m sorry about that, Amelia. But at the same time, I just thought that it would have been something to pass on to you. Not to mention that it was comforting for Harry and me to see.”
She nodded, nervously looking at the door. She was probably wondering if I had told Harry about the incident. I hadn’t. I didn’t want to create any unpleasantness between them.
A couple sitting uncomfortably | Source: Pexels
But I still felt like a rift had been caused between us. As we continued to live under the same roof, I kept to myself as much as possible. I wasn’t angry with Amelia. I was hurt.
I was hurt on behalf of myself, of Ellen, and even Harry, who didn’t know any better.
I knew that I would get over it eventually, but for now, I just needed to let myself grieve my wife, and keep her memory strong.
A smiling old couple | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
My Parents Arranged a Marriage for Me, So I Decided to Test My Wealthy Fiancé
When Nadia returns home from college abroad, she has no choice but to agree to an arranged marriage to a wealthy man—a man chosen by her parents. But as the tentative date for their wedding draws closer, Nadia decides to test him, to truly understand who she’s marrying.
I never imagined that I’d find myself disguised as a homeless woman, sitting on a sidewalk outside of a restaurant. I sat there, hunched with a shawl wrapped around my shoulders.
A woman sitting on the floor | Source: Pexels
People passed me without paying any attention, as I watched for the sleek black car that often carried my fiancé, Danny.
Despite it being the 21st century, in my culture, arranged marriage still holds its own.
A black Mercedes-Benz | Source: Pexels
But I had been studying in America for the past four years, and my ideal of independence and personal freedom was something very different from what I had left home with.
Now, I found myself rebelling at every turn.
A woman in a red coat | Source: Pexels
When my parents first broke the news of my engagement to Danny, I was still ensconced in the States—my mind buzzing with new ideologies and lectures on autonomy.
“Now that you’ve been abroad and have studied,” my mother said, “it’s time for you to become a wife.”
I tried to protest, but it always fell on deaf ears.
A smiling woman in a white dress | Source: Pexels
“Nadia,” my mother said, “there is no choice here. Your father and I have done our research. Danny is a good one. He will take care of you.”
My mother moved around the kitchen, mixing a concoction of spices as she began to cook dinner.
Assorted cooking spices | Source: Pexels
“And that’s just it?” I asked, making some tea. “I have to marry this man?”
She nodded and smiled at me.
“Nadia, your father and I did it—we had an arranged marriage, and everything turned out well for us.”
A bride and groom holding hands | Source: Pexels
Now, I was faced with meeting a stranger whom I was going to marry—a stranger and his affluent family.
“You’re going to meet him soon, and his family. They own a line of restaurants, darling. They’re always going out of their way to help people.”
Restaurant interior | Source: Pexels
A few days later, we were all settled around the dining table. It was the first time that I was meeting Danny, and I had no idea what to expect.
When I stepped out of the house, he was there in the driveway, dressed in a suit—holding a gift bag and flowers.
A bouquet of roses | Source: Pexels
On first impression, he was good-looking, but I needed him to be more than just a nice face to look at.
This man was going to be my husband. I was stuck with him. And judging from the way my parents were behaving, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.
A man wearing a suit | Source: Pexels
As my father welcomed Danny and his parents into our home, my mother brought out a tray of tea and sweets.
“I didn’t know what you’d like,” she said, “so I got everything.”
Tea on a tray | Source: Unsplash
Danny smiled at her; he seemed to genuinely care about impressing my parents. We exchanged polite conversation during the tea, and when it was time for us to have dinner, we sat around the table.
“Danny,” my father said, pointing to the head of the table, “sit here.”
My mother began to fuss over Danny and his family, ensuring that she piled their plates high with food.
A table full of food | Source: Pexels
“I need you to leave here knowing that you’ve been fed,” she said.
I poured myself a glass of juice. It was going to be a long meal.
“Why did you decide to study in America?” Danny asked me, frowning over his glass of water. “Didn’t you want to stay around family?”
Juice in glass bottles | Source: Pexels
“I applied not thinking that I could get in,” I admitted. “But then I did, and I wanted it to be a new challenge for me.”
“But being away for so long?” he pressed. “I bet you spent time in the library.”
“It was just four years. I came home a few times anyway.”
A library | Source: Pexels
“Family is very important to me, Nadia,” he said firmly.
I looked at my mother, who refused to meet my eye. Without me replying to Danny, the silence took over for a few moments. Only the sound of scraping cutlery and chewing could be heard.
A woman eating | Source: Unsplash
“Tell Nadia about your charity,” my father said, beaming at me.
“Oh!” Danny’s mother exclaimed, quickly putting her fork down.
She went on at length about how Danny feeds homeless people all the time, and that he had scheduled a roster for different areas around us.
Bags of food | Source: Unsplash
“Nobody will go hungry if we can help it,” Danny’s mother said.
My goodness, I thought to myself as I dug into my chicken. Do I really need to bear this for the rest of my life?
The dinner ended, and my husband-to-be left the house.
A plate of food | Source: Unsplash
“Don’t you love him?” my mother asked as we washed up the dishes and cleaned the kitchen.
“I don’t know him, Mom,” I said.
“But you will,” she replied, drying the plates with a dish towel. “You will get to know him soon.”
A person washing a glass | Source: Pexels
I didn’t have the energy to deal with it further. I went to my bedroom and sat down, wondering how I could just give in to tradition after having been away and free for so long.
I yearned for my college dorm and the liberation that had come with it. But I also knew that I would have to let go of that.
A woman in her room | Source: Pexels
Instead, I had to wait for the day of my arranged marriage. As the months closed in, the wedding drew closer, and I began to get anxious—needing pills to sleep.
I didn’t know how I was going to marry Danny, knowing only the bare minimum about him.
One morning, while pouring myself some cereal, I decided that I would dress like a homeless person and wait outside the restaurant that Danny was based at. I needed to see how he would react to someone in need.
A bowl of cereal | Source: Pexels
As the car approached, I huddled into my disguise, my voice hoarse as Danny stepped out of the car.
“Excuse me, Sir,” I said. “Could you spare…”
Danny paused, his brows furrowing slightly.
“Ma’am, what do you need? I can’t just hand you money or food for the day. We need to help you long-term.”
A man frowning | Source: Pexels
My heart tightened.
“There’s a shelter not far from here,” he said. “I can take you there, my mother volunteers there, too. You’ll be safe there. You can get a meal, a shower, clean clothing, and we can talk about getting you on your feet.”
I stood up and pulled my shawl away, revealing myself to him.
“Nadia?” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
A shocked man | Source: Pexels
“I was testing you, Danny,” I said. “I wanted to see if you really are the person they say you are. I just needed to know. How else can I marry you?”
Danny looked stunned, then a wry smile spread across his face.
“I guess I should be honest too, then. I’ve been horrible on purpose, hoping you’d call off the wedding.”
His candidness took me aback.
A smiling man | Source: Pexels
“Why would you do that?” I asked.
Danny sighed, running a hand through his hair as he silenced his ringing phone.
“Because I thought it was all a farce. I didn’t want to be part of an arrangement. Not really. I knew that it needed to be done, because of my age. But I’ve wanted love. I’ve wanted to marry for love.”
A man holding a phone | Source: Pexels
As we sat down on a nearby bench, Danny opened up about his past.
“The parents you met are my adopted parents. My mother died when I was very young, and they took me in. I’ve built my entire persona to help people who are where I once was. It’s not just philanthropy—it’s personal.”
His words echoed in the cold air—each syllable heavy with emotion.
“Yes, I am successful. But I never wanted to use that success as leverage for a marriage. I wanted someone to see me, not my money or my past.”
Flowers on a grave | Source: Pexels
We talked through the evening, unraveling the misunderstandings and the pressure from our families. It was the first time we truly connected, seeing each other beyond the expectations set upon us.
In the weeks that followed, we began dating—real dates, filled with genuine laughter and shared dreams. Our parents saw the change in us, the way we looked at each other with newfound respect and affection.
Soon, we’ll be married, but now, I’m content with the reality of it.
A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one:
When Elle’s mother passes away, she moves through the funeral in a daze. But then, she stumbles upon a man who closely resembles her. When he approaches her, he reveals that he is her biological father—who had been hidden away all this time. Elle doesn’t know whether she should tell her father and risk losing the only other parent she has ever known.
Read the full story here.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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