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.
My Husband’s Lover Came to Me for a Massage, Not Knowing I’m His Wife
You never think it’ll happen to you. I thought my husband and I had built a life that no one could touch. But then a young, beautiful woman walked into my massage studio and started talking about her life. What she said left me speechless, but my response left her paralyzed.
I never imagined that a routine appointment at my massage studio would unravel my entire marriage. The woman on my table that day had no idea who I was, and by the time she realized the truth, it was too late.
A young woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
If you asked anyone to describe me, they’d probably say I’m the typical hardworking mom. My life revolves around my two boys, Ethan and Leo.
At 10 and 8 years old, they’re at that stage where they want to be independent but still need their mom for everything. And honestly, I love being there for them. The morning rush to get them ready for school, the endless soccer practices, and those quiet moments at bedtime when they tell me about their day motivates me to keep going.
A woman standing in her living room | Source: Midjourney
But my life isn’t all about the kids.
Five years ago, I opened my own massage studio, and it quickly became my second home. There’s something incredibly fulfilling about helping people relax.
It’s my passion, and I’ve poured my heart and soul into that place.
A masseuse massaging someone’s hand | Source: Pexels
Then there’s Henry, my husband of 12 years.
I met him when I was a young, vibrant woman, full of dreams and energy. Back then, I’d dress up for him, wear makeup, and make sure my hair was perfect. And he loved it.
We were inseparable. Henry always found a way to make me laugh and I continued believing we’d be happy forever. But life doesn’t stay the same.
A woman sitting near a window | Source: Midjourney
Over the years, I’ve become more practical.
I don’t spend hours on my hair or makeup anymore. I wear comfortable clothes and don’t spend money on fancy stuff because I believe I’d rather invest my time and money in my kids.
Henry never complained about it, but sometimes I wondered if he noticed.
It wasn’t that our marriage was bad. Henry still did his part. He was a present father, always at the boys’ games and school events. He fixed things around the house and never missed a birthday or anniversary.
I thought we were solid.
A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
But over the past year, something felt… off. Henry started working late more often. At first, I didn’t question it. He’s a lawyer, and I assumed he was putting in extra hours to give us a comfortable life.
Still, there were moments that gnawed at me.
He’d get home late and head straight for the shower without saying much. Sometimes, he’d sit with us for dinner, but his mind seemed elsewhere.
I chalked it up to stress. After all, I was busy too. Running a business and raising kids wasn’t easy.
A woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
But deep down, a part of me knew something had changed. We weren’t the same couple we used to be.
I figured it was just part of being married for over a decade. You know, life gets busy, romance takes a backseat, and you fall into routines.
What I didn’t know was that my husband’s routine included someone else.
It was an ordinary Tuesday morning when Emily walked into my massage studio. She looked exactly like the kind of woman who turned heads without even trying.
A woman walking on a wooden floor | Source: Pexels
Everything about her screamed luxury. The way her sleek hair cascaded over her shoulders, the designer bag she casually set down on the chair, and her expensive perfume that filled the room.
“Hi, I’m Emily. I have a 10 a.m. appointment,” she said with a friendly smile.
I returned the smile, though something about her felt off. Maybe it was her confidence or the way she seemed so at ease as if she owned the place.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, so I brushed it off.
A woman standing in her massage studio | Source: Midjourney
“Welcome, Emily. Please, make yourself comfortable,” I said, gesturing toward the massage room. “You can hang your things there and lie down on the table. I’ll be right with you.”
Once she settled in, I started my usual routine. The room was calm and serene, with soft music playing in the background. As I massaged her back, she let out a deep sigh.
“Finally,” she said, her voice muffled by the table’s headrest. “I’m going to relax.”
I chuckled. “Much stress?”
“Too much,” she groaned. “I really needed this.”
A woman lying on a massage table | Source: Midjourney
I kept my tone light and conversational. “Work stress?”
“Relationship stress,” she corrected. “My boyfriend is… complicated.”
I stayed silent, letting her talk if she wanted to. Some clients like to open up during their sessions, and I’ve learned that listening can be just as therapeutic as the massage itself.
Emily sighed again. “He’s in the process of a divorce, and it’s been messy. I don’t know why he hasn’t just finalized it already. His wife is such a drag.”
A back-view shot of a man | Source: Midjourney
I felt a pang of sympathy. Divorce is never easy, especially when kids are involved. Still, something about the way she said “drag” didn’t sit right with me.
“I guess that’s always hard,” I said carefully. “Especially with kids in the picture.”
“Oh, they’re not my problem,” she said dismissively.
My hands froze for a split second before I forced myself to keep going. I was horrified. How could someone be so heartless?
But I reminded myself not to judge. I didn’t know the whole story.
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t know how his wife does it,” Emily continued. “She just works, looks after the kids, cooks, cleans… No wonder he’s leaving her. She’s boring. No makeup, no effort. Just a mom. And of course, he’ll get the house. It’s his. The kids can stay with her. I don’t want to raise someone else’s brats.”
Her words stung, though I wasn’t sure why. It was like she was describing me. I shook the thought away.
Pure coincidence, I told myself.
Emily’s phone suddenly buzzed on the side table. I glanced at it, and my heart nearly stopped.
A phone on a table | Source: Pexels
The screen lit up with a picture of her and… Henry.
My husband. My Henry. Smiling with her. Holding her.
My heart pounded faster as I processed what I was seeing. My mind raced, replaying everything Emily had just said.
“Oh, I’ll answer later,” Emily said casually, reaching to silence the phone.
“No, dear,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. “Please, answer it.”
A woman in her massage studio | Source: Midjourney
She blinked, surprised by my tone. “What?”
I stepped back and crossed my arms. “It’s my husband—your boyfriend dreaming of divorcing me—calling you. Go ahead.”
For a moment, there was dead silence. Then she screamed, “What the hell did you do?! I CAN’T MOVE!”
I watched as Emily struggled to lift her head, her arms trembling as she tried to push herself off the massage table. But her body refused to cooperate.
For a moment, I panicked. Did I seriously paralyze her? But then I realized what had happened.
A worried woman | Source: Midjourney
I must’ve pressed on a nerve in her neck. It was something I’d seen before in my practice. Temporary paralysis, usually gone in a few minutes.
Still, I wasn’t about to waste this opportunity.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “It’ll pass in a bit. Meanwhile, let’s have a chat.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You did this on purpose!”
I shrugged. “Prove it.”
Emily tried to wiggle her fingers, but they barely twitched. She huffed in frustration, glaring at me like a trapped animal.
“You’re insane!” she hissed.
An angry woman lying on a massage table | Source: Midjourney
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just a woman who’s tired of being lied to.” I pulled over a chair and sat down calmly. “Now, about that house… You think it’s Henry’s?”
Her lips pressed into a tight line.
“Yeah, it’s not,” I continued. “It’s in my name. The kids? They’re staying with me. And guess what? Courts tend to favor the spouse who wasn’t sneaking around.”
“You’re bluffing,” she spat. “Henry said—”
“Henry said a lot of things, didn’t he?” I leaned forward. “Did he mention that I’ve supported him through job changes, sleepless nights with our kids, and years of marriage? Or did he just paint me as some boring wife?”
An upset woman | Source: Midjourney
Emily’s nostrils flared. “He loves me.”
“Does he?” I laughed. “Or does he love the idea of you? The fun, carefree fling who doesn’t remind him of his responsibilities?”
Her phone buzzed again. This time, I picked it up and held it out for her to see.
“Would you like me to answer? Should I tell him you’re… indisposed?”
Emily’s expression shifted from anger to fear. “Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, I dare.” I smirked. “But first, let me take a little souvenir.”
An upset woman | Source: Midjourney
I opened her phone and found a string of messages between her and Henry.
Sweet nothings. Promises of a future together. And a few photos that made my stomach turn.
I snapped pictures with my phone, making sure I had enough evidence to make my point clear. Then I locked her phone and set it back down.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Because you need to know what’s coming.” I stood up and leaned over her. “When you can move again, feel free to let Henry know I’ll be calling my lawyer today.”
A woman holding a phone | Source: Pexels
“You won’t win,” she muttered. “Henry won’t let you take everything.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, he’ll have no choice. I’ve got proof now. And when the courts see what he’s been up to, he’ll be lucky if he walks away with his clothes.”
Emily finally managed to lift her head. Her arms were still weak, but she was starting to regain movement.
“Don’t worry,” I said with a smile. “You’ll be fine in a few minutes. But your relationship with Henry? That’s done.”
A worried woman | Source: Midjourney
She glared at me as she swung her legs off the table, struggling to stand.
“You think you’ve won?” she raised an eyebrow. “He’ll come crawling back to me.”
“If you say so,” I laughed.
She grabbed her bag and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. I took a deep breath, letting the tension leave my body.
But I wasn’t done yet.
That evening, I waited for Henry to come home. He walked through the door like nothing had happened, kissed me on the cheek, and sat down at the dinner table.
A man standing in his house | Source: Midjourney
“Henry,” I said, setting my phone on the table between us. “We need to talk.”
His eyes flickered to the phone, and I could see the color drain from his face.
“I know everything,” I said quietly. “The texts. The calls. Your little plan to divorce me.”
He opened his mouth, but I held up a hand to stop him.
“No excuses, Henry,” I said. “You want a divorce? You’ll get one. But you’re leaving with nothing. The house is mine. The kids stay with me. And if you try to fight me, I’ve got plenty of evidence to bury you in court.”
A man talking to his wife | Source: Midjourney
His face paled, and he slumped in his chair. “Sophia…”
I leaned in, my voice steady. “You should’ve thought about this before you lied to me. Now? You’re on your own.”
The next day, I filed for divorce.
Soon, Henry moved out, and Emily realized he couldn’t give her the life she wanted.
To be honest, leaving my husband wasn’t easy. But after thinking about what he’d been doing behind my back, I knew I had no other option.
I left Henry and promised to never look back again. Not even on days when I felt lonely.
A woman standing in her house | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed reading this story, here’s another one you might like: When Brooke returns home from a weeklong work trip, she’s eager to unwind with her favorite snack. But her peanut butter jar is mysteriously half-empty. Her husband, Aaron, is allergic, so who ate it? Determined to uncover the truth, Brooke turns to their security cameras and discovers a shocking secret: Aaron had been hiding a guest. What starts as suspicion unravels into an emotional journey neither of them expected.
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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