Two stubborn mothers arrive at Thanksgiving with their own plans, sparking a rivalry that fills the kitchen with smoke and tension. As surprises unfold, the family faces one unforgettable holiday where tempers flare, loyalties are tested, and a last-minute twist reminds them of what truly matters.
Thick, dark smoke swirled through the house, making it hard to breathe. Kira coughed, struggling to take in air as she pressed her hand over her mouth. Her other hand protectively rested on her pregnant belly, and she glanced at Michael with wide, anxious eyes.
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They moved cautiously toward the kitchen, where the thickest smoke seemed to gather. There, like two children caught in the act, stood Margaret and Rebecca, each looking as startled as the other.
Their faces were smudged with black soot, their eyes wide and guilty, while the oven door hung open, revealing a turkey charred beyond recognition.
“What is going on here?!” Michael yelled, his eyes darting from his mother to his mother-in-law, then to the smoky kitchen around them.
“This old woman—” Rebecca started, pointing an accusing finger at Margaret.
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“Old woman? Look who’s talking!” Margaret interrupted, her voice sharp as she crossed her arms.
Rebecca glared. “If you hadn’t barged in here—”
Margaret shot back, “Barged in? You’re the one who can’t cook!”
Their voices grew louder, words tumbling over each other, turning into a mess of jabs and shouts, each trying to talk over the other. Insults flew back and forth as if they’d forgotten anyone else was there.
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“Please, stop,” Kira whispered, clutching her belly, but they didn’t hear her.
Kira winced, feeling a sharp pain. “Stop! I’m in labor!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos.
Both women froze, their faces stunned. Then, suddenly, the turkey burst into flames in the oven. Margaret and Rebecca shrieked, grabbing towels to fight the fire, while Kira moaned in pain, and Michael stood there, helpless, eyes wide in shock.
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One Week Earlier…
Margaret drove up to her daughter Kira’s house, feeling a spark of excitement. She held a fresh-baked pie on her lap, proud of the surprise she had planned.
Without calling ahead, she parked, stepped out, and walked up the front steps, smiling at the thought of catching them off guard. She knocked firmly, and before long, Michael opened the door, blinking in surprise.
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“Margaret… what are you doing here?” he asked, blinking in surprise.
“I decided to surprise you,” Margaret replied cheerfully, holding out a pie. “I thought a little treat might be nice.”
Michael took the pie, glancing back toward the kitchen, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “Thanks, Margaret. Um, come on in.”
Margaret stepped inside, slipping off her coat, and instantly heard voices from the kitchen. She paused, recognizing the tone of Rebecca’s voice. With a raised brow, she followed the sound and found Kira seated, listening as Rebecca talked in her usual, commanding way.
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Rebecca was in mid-sentence, her words calm yet firm. “It’s important to establish good habits early. Babies need a routine, structure.”
Margaret felt a surge of irritation. “Why are you bothering my daughter?”
Rebecca looked over, blinking, and gave a tight smile. “I’m just giving her a little parenting advice.”
Margaret scoffed. “Parenting advice? And what do you know about raising kids?”
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Rebecca’s smile vanished. “Excuse me? Your daughter is married to my son, after all. I think that gives me some right to speak.”
“Oh, well, apologies accepted,” Margaret said with a dry laugh. “Though I recall your son didn’t even know how to wash his own dishes when he started dating Kira. I had to teach him myself!”
“How dare you!” Rebecca snapped.
Michael stepped into the kitchen. “Please, calm down. Let’s keep things peaceful, all right?”
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Kira gave a tired sigh. “There will be a little baby in this house soon,” she said softly. “We want a positive atmosphere here. No fighting.”
Margaret nodded, sitting down at the table. “You’re right, Kira. I want the best for this family. And, well, since we’re all here, even if some people weren’t exactly welcome…” Her gaze shifted pointedly to Rebecca. “Why don’t we talk about Thanksgiving? I’ll make my signature turkey—”
Rebecca cut her off. “Actually, I was going to suggest we celebrate at my place this year.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “We celebrate at my place every year. It’s tradition.”
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Rebecca crossed her arms. “Traditions can change. I’m tired of sneezing from your silly cat.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Better to have a cat than to celebrate in a snake’s den.”
Rebecca’s voice rose. “Who do you think you are?!”
Kira sighed heavily, covering her face with her hands. Michael gently patted her back. “I think we should celebrate here this year,” he offered quickly.
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“What?” Kira blurted, surprised.
“It’ll be fine, Kira. I’ll help you with the cooking,” Michael assured her.
Margaret shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“It’s better than all this arguing,” Michael replied.
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Kira nodded wearily. “He’s right. My head is pounding.”
Rebecca softened a little. “At least let me help. I can make the turkey.”
Kira sighed. “Fine.”
“But what about my signature turkey?” Margaret asked, hurt.
“Just this once, Mom,” Kira pleaded.
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Margaret paused, then gave in with a nod. “All right. For you, Kira,” she said, though a secret plan was already forming in her mind.
On Thanksgiving morning, Margaret rose early, her mind set on her plan. She was ready, having spent the entire week gathering the perfect ingredients. She packed up her turkey, herbs, spices, and everything needed to create her well-loved recipe.
She carefully tucked everything into a basket and drove over to Kira and Michael’s house. She knew Kira and Michael were out, so there was no time to waste.
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She reached their front door, taking out the spare key Kira had given her, meant only for emergencies. But today, Margaret felt this was important enough.
As she stepped inside, she paused, listening. A muffled noise drifted from the kitchen—pots clanging, cabinets closing. Margaret froze, her mind racing. Kira and Michael’s car wasn’t outside, so it wasn’t them.
Her eyes darted around, and she spotted an umbrella by the door. She grabbed it firmly and walked toward the kitchen, her heart pounding. She raised the umbrella as she peeked inside.
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There, bent over the counter, was Rebecca, elbows deep in turkey preparations. Margaret stopped short, barely holding back from swinging the umbrella.
“Are you completely insane?!” Rebecca shouted.
Margaret glared back. “I thought you were a burglar! What are you even doing here?”
Rebecca crossed her arms. “Kira gave me permission to cook here. But what are you doing here?”
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Margaret calmly set her basket on the counter. “I’m here to make my turkey.”
Rebecca scowled. “That wasn’t the deal.”
Margaret smirked. “What’s wrong? Afraid mine will taste better?”
Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “We’ll just have to see about that!”
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The kitchen was soon filled with the sounds of clanking pots and muttered complaints as Margaret and Rebecca worked side by side, each determined to make the best turkey.
They bumped elbows, snatched spices from each other’s reach, and exchanged pointed glares. Margaret sprinkled her herbs, pretending not to notice when Rebecca nudged her arm slightly, causing salt to spill. Rebecca hummed loudly, ignoring Margaret’s muttering about “rookie mistakes.”
Finally, Margaret finished her turkey, carefully placing it in the oven with a triumphant grin. She noticed the irritation in Rebecca’s eyes but ignored it, brushing her hands off as she headed to the living room to relax.
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After a while, a strange, burnt smell filled the air. Alarmed, Margaret rushed back to the kitchen, finding Rebecca desperately waving a towel, trying to fan away thick smoke billowing from the oven.
“What did you do?!” Margaret shouted, glaring at Rebecca.
Rebecca crossed her arms. “I didn’t do anything! Maybe you don’t know how to cook.”
Margaret stormed over to the oven, eyeing the controls. She noticed the temperature had been changed. “You did this! You’re trying to ruin my turkey!”
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Rebecca leaned in with a smirk. “I didn’t touch it. If it’s ruined, it’s your own fault!”
Margaret pulled open the oven door, only to be hit by a wave of thick, black smoke that poured out into the kitchen. She coughed and squinted, trying to see through the haze.
There, in the center of the oven, was her turkey—charred to a solid black lump. It looked nothing like the golden masterpiece she’d imagined.
Moments later, Michael and Kira walked through the door, both stopping short at the smoky mess. Instantly, Margaret and Rebecca began shouting, each blaming the other.
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But suddenly, Kira doubled over, clutching her belly. “Michael… it’s time!” she gasped, gripping his hand.
As Michael guided Kira to the car, Margaret watched, her heart pounding with worry for her daughter.
“Take a cab,” Michael said firmly. “I don’t want either of you stressing Kira out with more arguments.” With that, he helped Kira into the car, then got in and drove off without waiting for their reply.
Margaret huffed. “Well, we can take my car.”
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Rebecca nodded, looking tired herself. “Fine, let’s go.”
When they arrived at the hospital, the nurse informed them that only Michael was allowed in the room with Kira. Margaret and Rebecca found two chairs in the hallway and sat down, an uncomfortable silence stretching between them. They fidgeted, glanced around, and avoided each other’s eyes.
Finally, Margaret cleared her throat. “I think we need a truce,” she said quietly. “We almost ruined Thanksgiving, and if Kira hadn’t gone into labor… well, we would have ruined it for her.”
Rebecca nodded slowly, her face softening. “I agree. I don’t want my granddaughter thinking her grandma’s a nutcase.” She paused, then looked at Margaret directly. “So, peace?”
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Margaret nodded, extending her hand. “Peace,” she repeated.
Rebecca took her hand, giving it a firm shake.
Just then, Michael stepped out, smiling. “You can see your granddaughter now,” he said, motioning for them to come in.
Both women leapt up, hurrying to the room. Inside, Kira lay on the hospital bed, smiling, with a tiny bundle cradled in her arms.
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Rebecca leaned over, her eyes filling with tears. “She’s beautiful,” she said softly.
Margaret nodded, reaching out to touch the baby’s tiny hand. “And she looks like both of you,” she added with a smile.
A nurse walked in, carrying a tray. “Dinner for the new mom,” she announced, setting it on the bedside table. “Since it’s Thanksgiving, we went with a holiday-themed meal.” The tray held slices of turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green peas.
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Margaret chuckled. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new Thanksgiving tradition.”
“No way!” Kira exclaimed with a laugh. “I am not going through this every year!”
Everyone burst out laughing, and though it wasn’t the Thanksgiving they’d planned, it was the one they truly needed.
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If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When Rick returns to his small hometown after his grandmother’s passing, he inherits her old bookstore—a place full of memories from his childhood. But as he starts cleaning, he uncovers hidden secrets about his grandmother’s life that change everything. Read the full story here.
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I Cut Short My Business Trip upon Learning My Wife Was in the ER – Found Another Man by Her Bed When I Arrived
Ethan’s world turns upside down when he rushes back from a business trip to find his wife in the ER. His heart races with worry, but nothing prepares him for the sight of another man sitting by her bed. The man’s revelation threatens to unravel everything Ethan thought he knew about his marriage. Who is this stranger, and what secrets does he hold?
Life seemed perfect.
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I’d been married to Isabel for eight years. We had a beautiful home, and I thought we had an ideal life.
Every morning, I woke up early to head to work, making sure I did my best to provide for us. Isabel and I had built a comfortable life together, and I believed that my hard work kept her happy.
Isabel was more than just my wife; she was my best friend. We’d laugh together, share our dreams, and talk about our future. I tried to be a good husband, doing everything I could to make her feel cherished.
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One evening, as I sat on our porch, I watched the sunset and felt a wave of contentment.
“We really do have a great life, don’t we?” I said to Isabel as she joined me. She smiled and nodded, but there was something in her eyes I couldn’t quite read.
“Yeah, Ethan, it’s wonderful,” she replied softly.
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I didn’t press her. I figured she was just tired from the day. We had our ups and downs, like any couple, but I always believed we’d work through anything together.
I was wrong.
I was about 40 miles out of town on a business trip, driving down the highway, when my phone rang.
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I didn’t recognize the number, but something told me to answer it. “Hello?”
“Is this Ethan?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, who’s calling?”
“This is Nurse Karen from the local hospital. Your wife, Isabel, is in the ER. She’s unconscious.”
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My heart stopped. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“She was brought in a little while ago. I don’t have all the details yet, but you need to come to the hospital as soon as possible.”
Panic surged through me. “I’ll be there right away.”
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I hung up and immediately pulled off the road, my hands trembling as I tried to steady my breathing. Isabel was in the hospital, unconscious. My mind raced with worry. What could’ve happened? She was fine when I left this morning.
I turned the car around and started driving back to town, my foot heavy on the gas pedal. The usually scenic drive now felt like a nightmare. Every mile seemed longer than the last, my thoughts consumed with fear for Isabel.
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I kept imagining the worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.
“Please be okay, Isabel,” I whispered to myself, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The road ahead blurred as tears welled up in my eyes. I wiped them away, trying to focus on getting back as quickly as possible.
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I called the hospital again to get more information, but they could only tell me that she was still unconscious and being treated. The uncertainty was killing me. My thoughts kept jumping to what could’ve gone wrong. Was it an accident? A sudden illness?
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached the town limits. The hospital was just a few minutes away now. I prayed silently, hoping and begging for Isabel to be okay. I couldn’t lose her. Not like this.
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As soon as I arrived, I raced through the hospital doors, my heart pounding.
“Where is my wife?” I asked frantically at the nurse’s station. “Isabel Williams. I got a call that she’s here.”
The nurse looked puzzled. “That’s odd. I thought her husband brought her in. He’s with her now.”
A confident nurse | Source: Midjourney
My confusion grew. “I’m her husband,” I insisted, my voice rising with panic.
She pointed down the hall. “Room 12.”
I hurried to the ward, my mind spinning. When I entered the room, I saw a man sitting next to Isabel’s bed, holding her hand. He looked up as I approached.
A man sitting beside an unconscious woman | Source: Midjourney
“Who are you?” I demanded, my voice shaking with anger and fear.
“I’m Logan,” he replied calmly. “Her… lover. We’ve been dating for a year. We got into an accident while you were on your business trip. I brought her here and asked the nurse to call you.”
My fists clenched, and I felt a surge of anger. I wanted to hit him, to yell, to do something. But I forced myself to stay calm. “You’re her lover?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.
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“Yes,” Logan said. “But I know she loves you. She just felt neglected because you were always so busy with work.”
I stood there, trying to process what he was saying.
Isabel had a lover? She felt neglected? I couldn’t believe it. I looked at her lying there, unconscious, and my heart ached.
An unconscious woman in hospital bed | Source: Midjourney
As we waited for Isabel to wake up, Logan continued to talk. “I care about her a lot, Ethan. But she always talked about you, how much she missed the way things used to be. She felt like you were drifting apart, and she didn’t know how to tell you.”
His words cut deep. I had been working so hard, thinking I was doing the right thing for our family. But I had been blind to Isabel’s feelings. I glanced at Logan, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, and felt a mixture of anger and guilt.
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“Why didn’t she talk to me?” I asked, more to myself than to him.
Logan shrugged. “Maybe she was afraid. Maybe she thought you wouldn’t listen. I don’t know. But she’s here now, and she needs you.”
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my emotions. I had to focus on Isabel and getting her through this.
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“She wanted attention and affection,” Logan confessed, his voice soft. “That’s why she cheated.”
A deep pain pierced my heart. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“I love her,” I said quietly, my voice barely a whisper. “I thought working hard was the best way to take care of her. I was wrong.”
“I get it, Ethan. You were doing what you thought was right. But she needed more than that.”
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I looked at Isabel, lying there so still, and my heart ached. How had I missed it? How had I not seen what she needed? The guilt and sorrow weighed heavily on me.
Logan sighed. “I’m the one who told the nurse I was her husband. I didn’t want to complicate things when I brought her in. I’m sorry for the confusion.”
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I shook my head, trying to process everything. “I appreciate that you brought her here,” I said, even though it was hard to get the words out. “But this is something Isabel and I need to face together.”
Logan nodded again. “I understand. I’ll step back. She needs you now.”
Suddenly, Isabel’s eyes flutter open, her gaze unfocused at first. Then, she looked around with confusion before her eyes settled on me.
A woman in the hospital bed | Source: Midjourney
“Ethan,” she said, smiling weakly. Relief washed over me.
“I’m here, Isabel,” I said, squeezing her hand gently.
She turned her head and saw Logan. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice soft.
Logan smiled gently. “I’m your husband’s work colleague,” he lied smoothly. Then, leaning close to me, he whispered, “Make her happy.”
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I nodded, appreciating his understanding. Logan gave Isabel one last look before leaving the room. His words echoed in my mind. Make her happy. It felt like a second chance, a fresh start.
I turned back to Isabel, who was watching me with a mix of confusion and trust.
“How are you feeling?” I asked softly.
“A bit disoriented,” she admitted, “but I’m okay. What happened?”
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“We’ll talk about it later,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Right now, just rest. I’m here with you.”
She nodded, her eyes closing again as she relaxed.
What should I do? Should I tell her the truth?
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