When Jake insists on cooking Thanksgiving turkey for the first time, Jen is skeptical but supportive until the result is a culinary disaster no one at the table can ignore. But the real shock comes when she discovers the recipe isn’t Jake’s. As tensions simmer and doubts creep in, she’s forced to confront the cracks in their marriage. This Thanksgiving, the turkey isn’t the only thing leaving a bad aftertaste.
Thanksgiving has always been my domain. I’m not saying I’m Martha Stewart in any way, but the turkey? That’s my masterpiece.
So when Jake, my husband of six years, announced he’d be taking the reins this year, I was caught off guard.
A woman standing in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“This year, I’m cooking the turkey,” he declared over dinner one night, his tone brimming with confidence.
“I’ve got a secret recipe, Jen…”
I smiled at him, though something about the way he said secret made my stomach do a little flip.
“Alright,” I said, keeping my tone light. “I’ll put my feet up, maybe do my nails. Just let me know if you need any help.”
A man sitting at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
“I won’t,” he shot back quickly.
Too quickly.
“This is going to be special.”
Jake’s always been eager to impress. At work, with his friends, his mother — especially his mother. And Patricia’s the type of woman who finds fault in compliments. She’d call the Mona Lisa “a little boring.”
A woman drinking a glass of wine | Source: Midjourney
The morning of Thanksgiving, Jake was a man possessed. He’d woken up early to prep, shooing me out of the kitchen before I could even pour my coffee.
“I’ve got it under control,” he chirped.
Patricia, perched at the counter with her ever-present glass of wine, raised a skeptical eyebrow.
A coffee machine | Source: Midjourney
“Jen, are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked me, her voice dripping with faux concern. “You’ve always done the turkey so well.”
“It’ll be fine,” I muttered, more to myself than to her.
Hours later, Jake emerged from the kitchen with our Thanksgiving centerpiece. To his credit, it looked perfect. Golden-brown, glistening, straight out of a food magazine or blog. He had even made roasted vegetables, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and a thick gravy.
A Thanksgiving turkey | Source: Midjourney
My mom clapped enthusiastically. Patricia tilted her head, inspecting it like a jeweler appraising a diamond.
“It smells amazing!” my mom gushed.
We gathered around the table, Jake beaming as he carved the first slice. Music was being played, plates were passed, and soon everyone had a helping. I cut into mine, ready to be caught off guard by the delicious meal.
People sitting around a table | Source: Midjourney
The moment it hit my tongue, I gagged.
“What the…?” I coughed, reaching for my water.
It wasn’t savory. It wasn’t even remotely turkey-like. It was sweet. Sickeningly, cloyingly sweet, like someone had glazed it with melted candy or something.
“Jake,” I managed, staring at him in disbelief. “What is this?”
A woman holding a napkin to her mouth | Source: Midjourney
Patricia, mid-chew, spat hers into a napkin with dramatic flair.
“Oh, Jake. Oh no.”
Jake’s face flushed red.
“It’s a glaze!” he said defensively. “Brown sugar, maple syrup, and marshmallow fluff. It’s different! It’s creative!”
A woman holding napkin to her mouth | Source: Midjourney
“Creative?” I echoed. “It tastes like someone dropped a turkey in a vat of something at Willy Wonka’s factory.”
The room fell silent. My brother-in-law, Steven, stifled a laugh. My mom pretended to focus on her mashed potatoes. Patricia, never one to miss an opportunity, shook her head with a dramatic sigh.
“This is why we don’t mess with tradition, Jake. Since you got married, Jen’s been the turkey girl. Tradition, Jake. Tradition.”
A woman sitting at a table with a glass of wine | Source: Midjourney
Jake’s jaw tightened at her comment, but he stayed quiet. I noticed his hand twitch toward the wine bottle. Like he wanted to grab it and drown out the awkwardness with some good old fermented grapes.
Later, after most of our guests had shuffled home and Jake had retreated to the den to lick his wounds, I stayed behind to clean the kitchen.
“Don’t worry about it, honey,” I said. “You chill in there, and I’ll be with you soon. I stashed a pumpkin pie earlier, because I know we like it with cold whipped cream.”
A slice of pumpkin pie and whipped cream | Source: Midjourney
I was trying to be nice. To help him realize that it had been a mistake, and nothing was wrong with that.
As I tossed scraps into the trash, a crumpled piece of paper caught my eye. Curious, I smoothed it out, revealing a handwritten recipe.
My heart sped up when I saw the name at the bottom of the page.
Sarah.
The contents of a trash can | Source: Midjourney
Sarah. Jake’s ex-wife.
My hands trembled as I stared at the card. Of all the people Jake could have gone to for a recipe — Google searches included — why on earth would he choose her? My mind worked overtime, trying to connect dots I didn’t want to see.
I stormed into the living room, holding the recipe card like evidence. Jake looked up from his football game rerun, his face draining of color.
A man sitting in front of a TV | Source: Midjourney
“Care to explain this?” I asked, my voice colder than I intended.
Jake sat up straighter.
“I… uh… I just wanted to make something special, Jen. Sarah worked as a cook for a while, when she was into catering. And I thought she’d… you know… have some good ideas for me.”
A woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“You thought Sarah would have the answer?” I interrupted, my voice rising. “Not me, your wife, the person who has been cooking almost all of your meals, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners included, for years?”
Jake’s mouth opened, then closed. For once, he had no response.
“I just… I didn’t want to mess up,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re so good at it, and I thought if I asked, you’d take over. I wanted to prove that I could do it all on my own.”
A man holding his head | Source: Midjourney
“And you couldn’t just ask me for a little help?” I snapped. “Not even for my suggestions? Instead, you went to your ex-wife?”
Jake winced.
“Jen, it wasn’t like that…”
“No?” I shot back. “Then what was it like?”
A woman with her hands on her hips | Source: Midjourney
As I lay staring at the ceiling that night, my mind wouldn’t stop spiraling. Jake’s explanation felt weak. If he was too insecure to ask for my help with a turkey, what did that say about our relationship?
And Sarah?
Why her?
Was she really his best option, or was something else behind it? I mean, if I’m being honest, people always say you remember your first love forever.
A woman laying in bed at night | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, Jake approached me with a mug of coffee and a slice of pumpkin pie.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’m really sorry, love. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to impress everyone, and I… I messed up royally.”
I nodded, keeping calm and collected, as I had instructed myself all night. I could barely sleep with my mind running through the possibilities.
A cup of coffee and a slice of pie | Source: Midjourney
“I understand wanting to impress people, Jake. But here’s the thing — next time you want advice, like good, solid advice, maybe start with the person you married. And for the record? Sarah sabotaged you. This recipe? Unless it was for some sickly sweet cereal treat, it was revenge, plain and simple.”
Jake blinked, his mouth dropping open.
“You think…”
A man looking shocked | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, I don’t think, Jake,” I said firmly. “I know.”
He groaned, sinking into the nearest chair.
“Goodness, I’m such an idiot.”
Jake couldn’t seem to meet my eyes for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend. He apologized again, twice, but it didn’t erase the lingering doubt. I kept replaying the moment I found that recipe card and the look on his face when I confronted him.
A man looking apologetic | Source: Midjourney
Patricia, of course, added fuel to the fire. She was staying with us for the weekend and naturally had heard everything.
“Well, at least he learned his lesson,” she remarked with a smug sip of her wine.
Jake had decided to take our dog for a walk, leaving Patricia and me alone, dissecting the entire turkey fiasco.
A man with his dog | Source: Midjourney
“Do you really think he went to her for help?” I asked my mother-in-law. “That there is nothing else going on?”
“Darling, Sarah cheated on him. She broke his little heart, so it can’t be anything more. I think our foolish man just wanted to impress the women in his life, so he reached out to the only other one he knew well.”
“I’m doubting everything.” I admitted, picking up Patricia’s glass of wine and taking a sip.
A woman holding a glass of wine | Source: Midjourney
“Jen, he adores you. He’s just a bit stupid sometimes. But if you think that a bigger and more important conversation needs to be had, then go ahead, darling. Do it.”
I nodded.
By Sunday night, I was exhausted — emotionally, mentally, physically. That Thanksgiving turkey didn’t just leave a bad taste in my mouth. It left cracks in something I thought was solid.
A woman sitting on a porch | Source: Midjourney
The truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever fully trust Jake’s judgment again. Not just in the kitchen but in everything. And as we lay in bed that night, his soft apology didn’t make those doubts disappear.
For now, I’m still here. But I can’t shake the feeling that something shifted this Thanksgiving, and once things crack, it’s hard to piece them back together again.
A couple standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
What would you have done?
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
At Christmas Dinner, My Daughter Stood up and Shouted, ‘And Where’s the Man Mom Keeps in Our Basement?’
Over a family dinner with his wife, daughter, and extended family, Quentin thinks everything will be perfect in the Christmas wonderland his wife has created. But during dinner, Daphne, his daughter, claims there’s a man hidden in their basement. Quentin has no choice but to uncover the truth.
Christmas dinner was supposed to be perfect this year. My wife, Ivy, had spent weeks transforming our home into a holiday wonderland, from garlands framing the doorways to twinkling white lights strung across the windows.
A house decorated for Christmas | Source: Midjourney
Our 8-year-old daughter, Daphne, had helped set the table, her chaotic but charming touch evident in the mismatched napkin folds and slightly tilted name cards.
Both sets of grandparents were with us, this being Ivy’s first Christmas with her stepfather, Patrick. Everyone was laughing, trading stories, and sipping mulled wine. For once, everything felt harmonious.
Until Daphne destroyed it all.
A smiling little girl | Source: Midjourney
I was mid-slice into the turkey, the knife gliding through the golden, crispy skin, when Daphne climbed onto her chair.
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.
Woman Starts Working as a Nanny and Finds the Shoes of Her Long-Lost Daughter — Story of the Day
While working as a nanny, Lori uncovered something she never thought she’d see again—a pair of shoes that once belonged to her daughter, who vanished 22 years ago. The shoes, a painful reminder of the past, were now inexplicably in the home where she was caring for a little girl.Lori sat on the living room floor, her hands trembling as she pulled the lid off another dusty box. Old memories flooded her mind, filling the air with a heaviness she couldn’t shake.
Three-year-old Marissa, the sweet little girl Lori was caring for, stood nearby, her wide eyes filled with confusion. Marissa didn’t understand why Lori was crying so hard. Lori was clutching a tiny child’s shoe in her hands, tears streaming down her face. This shoe had belonged to her daughter, who disappeared 22 years ago. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it, but nothing added up. Just then, the front door creaked open, and Lori heard footsteps. Emily, Marissa’s mother, entered the room, her face filled with concern.”Lori, are you okay?” Emily asked, her voice trembling with concern.Lori didn’t look up. Her voice cracked as she asked, “Where did you get these shoes?”Emily’s heart raced. She glanced at the small shoe, then at Lori. “I… ,” she stammered, struggling to find the right words. 22 years ago…Lori sat on the floor, carefully folding clothes and placing them into a small suitcase. She glanced at the list beside her, checking off items as she packed.It was Olive’s first trip without her, and Lori’s heart felt heavy. Olive’s father, Chris, was taking her to Scotland. Lori wasn’t sure if she could trust him to handle everything. Scotland seemed so far away, and the thought of being apart from her little girl made her anxious. As she zipped up the suitcase, four-year-old Olive came bouncing into the room. “Mom, why can’t you come with us?
” Olive asked, looking up at Lori with wide eyes.Lori knelt beside her and smiled. “I’d love to, sweetie, but this is a special trip for you and your dad.” Olive frowned. “What will I do without you?””You’ll have fun with your grandparents,” Lori said, brushing a curly strand away from Olive’s face. “You’ll see where your dad grew up and learn about Scotland. It’s a part of who you are.” Olive’s eyes filled with worry. “But I’ll miss you.”Lori’s heart ached as she pulled Olive into a hug. “I’ll miss you too, sweetheart. But it’s only five days, and we’ll be together again before you know it.” Olive pulled back a little, her face thoughtful. “Is five days a lot or a little?” “It’s a little,” Lori said, stroking her daughter’s cheek. “The time will fly by.”Olive nodded slowly. “Okay, but promise we’ll see each other soon. Promise you’ll miss me.” Lori smiled and kissed the top of Olive’s head. “I promise, baby. I’ll miss you so much.” She held Olive close, not wanting to let go. A few hours later, Chris arrived to pick up Olive. Lori knelt down, gently slipping Olive’s little shoes onto her feet. She had embroidered tiny flowers on them herself, making them special. “Be good for your dad, okay?” Lori said softly, hugging Olive tightly. Olive nodded and smiled, but Lori could still feel a tug in her heart as they left for the airport.Later, her phone buzzed. It was Chris, calling to let her know they had arrived safely. He sent a picture of Olive smiling at the airport. Lori smiled, feeling a small sense of relief, but deep down, a knot of worry still remained. Something didn’t feel right. Chris and Olive had been in Scotland for four days. They were supposed to return the next day. For the first three days, Chris had been good about sending Lori photos of Olive. Each picture showed Olive smiling, exploring new places, and it gave Lori some peace.But on the fourth day, nothing came. No messages. No pictures. Lori’s worry grew with each passing hour. She tried calling Chris, but her calls went straight to voicemail. She texted him, hoping for a quick response. Nothing. Her heart began to race. She called Chris’s parents, but there was no answer from them either. That’s when she knew something was wrong. Her hands trembled as she dialed again, but still no answer. Lori spent the entire day by the phone, her mind racing with horrible thoughts.Finally, in the evening, her phone rang. She saw Chris’s name on the screen. Without hesitation, she grabbed it and answered.”Chris, is everything okay? I was starting to worry,” Lori said, her voice tense.There was a pause. “Lori, are you sitting down?” Chris asked quietly. Lori frowned. “What? Why would I need to sit down?” she replied, her heart starting to race. “Just answer the question, Lori. Are you sitting down?” Chris repeated, his tone firm.Lori’s voice shook. “Yes, I’m on the couch. What’s going on?” “Alright. Listen carefully. Don’t panic,” Chris said. Lori’s breath caught in her throat. “What? Why would I panic? Chris, what’s happening?” “Olive is missing,” Chris finally said.Lori felt her world spin. “What? What do you mean, missing? How could she be missing?” she nearly screamed. “We were walking in the city this morning. I lost sight of her for a second. She was just gone. But I’ve already gone to the police, Lori. They’re looking for her,” Chris explained. Lori’s hands shook. “She’s been missing since this morning? And you’re only telling me now? You lost our daughter!” she yelled, tears streaming down her face.”I’m sorry, Lori. I didn’t know what to do,” Chris said, his voice weak. “I’m taking the next flight. I won’t stop until I find her,” Lori said, and without waiting for his response, she hung up the phone, her mind spinning. Lori flew to Scotland the very next day, determined to find Olive. She couldn’t rest, couldn’t think of anything else. She spent years in Scotland, pouring all her time and energy into the search. She walked the streets, put up posters, and talked to anyone who might have seen Olive.But it was as if Olive had vanished into thin air. No one knew anything. The police helped at first, but as time passed, they stopped looking. Lori refused to give up, continuing the search on her own. But with each year, her hope faded a little more.Then, a few years later, the police contacted her. They had found a body in the river and said it most likely belonged to Olive, but it was hard to identify. Lori’s world fell apart in that moment. It was as if her heart had shattered.She knew then that she had lost her daughter forever. With no hope left, Lori returned home, broken and defeated.Present Day… Lori, trying to control her tears, looked at Emily, who stood silent, not knowing what to say. After a long moment, Emily finally spoke. “These are the shoes my family found me in,” Emily said softly. “I was very young then, and I don’t remember much. I just know that I got lost somehow. I remember arriving in a strange city by bus, where my family found me. They adopted me later.”Lori could hardly breathe. “That’s… impossible,” she whispered, disbelief filling her voice.Emily hesitated before continuing. “I didn’t know where I came from, or my parents’ full names. My adoptive parents tried to find them, but no one came forward. After a while, they gave up,” she explained. “When I was six, we moved here, and I’ve been here ever since.” Lori wiped her face, her hands shaking. “Is Emily your real name?” she asked quietly. Emily looked confused. “No. I had a different name when they found me. But they changed it when I was adopted,” she replied.Lori’s heart ached. “Your name was Olive, wasn’t it?” Lori asked, staring at her. Emily’s eyes widened in shock. “How… how do you know that name?” Lori’s voice shook as she raised the little shoes. “These were my daughter’s shoes. She was wearing them when she disappeared in Scotland.” Emily stared at her, tears forming in her eyes. “I lived there before we moved here.”Lori’s voice cracked as she said, “I can’t believe you’ve been so close all this time. I never should have stopped looking.” Emily’s voice broke. “So… you’re my mother?”Lori nodded, her tears falling again. “Yes.” Emily threw her arms around Lori, who held her daughter tightly, just as she had done 22 years ago when she was little. The feeling of finally being reunited filled Lori’s heart with both joy and disbelief.They sat there, not saying a word, just holding each other. Time seemed to stop for them. After a few moments, little Marissa wandered over, curious. She looked at them with big eyes, then wrapped her small arms around both of them. Emily laughed softly, her eyes still teary, and kissed Marissa’s head. So, you’ve already met your granddaughter,” Emily said, her smile softening as she looked down at Marissa, who was now sitting between them.”Yes, I have,” Lori replied, a warm smile spreading across her face. “I can’t believe I’ve been her nanny for two whole years without realizing she was my granddaughter.” Lori gently ran her fingers through Emily’s hair. “You used to have such bright red hair as a child. Marissa’s hair is the same color. What happened to yours?”Emily chuckled. “I started dyeing it in high school. I wanted a change, and I guess I just never stopped.” “That’s a shame,” Lori said with a hint of nostalgia. “You had such beautiful hair, just like Marissa’s.” Emily’s eyes welled up with tears again. She leaned in and hugged Lori tightly, overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment. Lori, still in disbelief, held her daughter close, marveling at the fact that after all these years, she was finally able to hug her little girl again.”If you hadn’t asked me to go through these old boxes, I might never have known you were my daughter,” Lori said, her voice soft. Emily wiped her eyes and grinned. “So, does that mean I don’t have to pay you extra for organizing them?” “I’m ready to give you all the money I have, just promise me you’ll never disappear again,” Lori said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I promise,” Emily replied softly. She hugged her mother, feeling the weight of all those lost years. Lori held her daughter tightly, her arms wrapped around her as if she could protect her from ever disappearing again. She closed her eyes, taking in the familiar warmth she had longed for over so many years. The fear that Emily might vanish once more lingered in her heart. This was truly her daughter—no longer the little girl Lori had lost so many years ago, but now a grown woman, with her own life and even a child of her own. Yet, to Lori, she was still her little Olive.
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