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 Son Lifted Saleswoman’s Skirt Screaming: ‘Mommy, Look! That’s Why She’s Angry’
When Madeline and Ryan decide to go shopping for a new vacuum cleaner, their four-year-old son reveals that he knows the saleswoman—a woman that he had seen in his father’s office, the tattoo on her leg a dead giveaway.
It was an ordinary Saturday morning—the kind that held a promise of simple pleasures and family time.
“Madeline,” my husband said as he poured himself some coffee, “we’ll leave after breakfast, okay?”
Coffee being poured into a cup | Source: Pexels
I nodded as I cracked eggs into a bowl, ready to make breakfast for Ryan, my husband, and Sam, our four-year-old son.
It wasn’t anything special—we were just going to go out and get fruit for the week, and replace our broken vacuum cleaner. But what I didn’t know was that beneath the surface of this ordinary outing, a story was brewing, one that would shatter my reality of life as I knew it.
A couple with a young boy | Source: Pexels
“What’s for breakfast, Mom?” Sam asked, bouncing into the kitchen.
Later, when we were finally out of the house, I realized how grateful I was for the little life that we were living together as a family of three. I had always wanted a small family and a soft life—little outings, getting fresh fruit and vegetables from a farmer’s market, and so on.
An omelet on a plate | Source: Unsplash
I always thought that by marrying Ryan, I had gotten just that.
As we entered the store, Ryan veered off to examine some electronics, leaving Sam and me in the vacuum aisle. Ben held tightly onto my dress. He was always nervous when we ventured out.
A little boy with his parents and a balloon | Source: Pexels
I approached a saleswoman to inquire about a high-end vacuum I had spotted online.
“Don’t worry about the prices,” Ryan had said the night before when I sat at the dining room table with my laptop, looking through the latest brands and models of vacuums.
A person touching a vacuum cleaner | Source: Pexels
“Really?” I asked him. My husband wasn’t one to hold onto his pockets tightly, but recently he had become more liberal with spending in general.
“Yes,” he said, kissing my forehead before heading to read Sam a bedtime story. “Choose whatever you want.”
A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels
At the store, however, the saleswoman looked me up and down.
“This vacuum?” she asked, pointing to the one I was inquiring about.
“Yes,” I replied. “And does it come in any other colors?”
A woman wearing a pink shirt | Source: Pexels
“It’s extremely expensive, you don’t look like you can afford it,” she sneered, looking me up and down with disdain again. She eyed my son, too. It was like she had seen him before, but couldn’t quite place him.
Her words stung, but before I could even muster a reply, Sam let go of my dress and darted to the woman.
A close-up of a little boy | Source: Pexels
Then he did something very out of character. Sam reached out to touch the saleswoman’s skirt, and slowly lifted it to a point just above her knee. There on her thigh was a large, distinctive tattoo.
“Look, Mom, look!” Sam exclaimed, pointing excitedly.
A woman revealing her tattoos | Source: Unsplash
The saleswoman’s face turned a fierce shade of red as she scrambled to cover herself.
“How dare you!” she yelled, her voice filled with indignation.
Panicking, I grabbed my son, pulling him back.
A shocked woman with her hands up | Source: Pexels
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m sure he was just joking!”
But Sam was insistent, his little face screwed up in confusion.
“No, Mommy!” he said. “I’m not joking, Mommy! Look at that tattoo! I know it!”
My son looked like he was on the verge of tears.
A sad little boy | Source: Unsplash
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” I asked him.
My voice trembled, dreading the answer that I somehow already knew.
For a few weeks now, I had had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I just felt that something was off with Ryan. We barely spent time together. Usually, when we put Sam to bed, it was our time. Just for us to sit together and catch up.
A couple sitting together on a couch | Source: Pexels
But recently, we haven’t done any of that. Instead, Ryan would jump at the opportunity to put Sam to bed—something that involved at least an hour of playtime and a few bedtime stories later.
So, I would end up doing laundry and dishes, and then just go to bed.
A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels
And Ryan’s new thing was that he was obsessed with getting a tattoo.
“I just think that I’m old enough to settle on something,” he said when I dug into a bar of chocolate.
“What are you planning on getting?” I asked him, suddenly confused by the new interest in tattoos.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “But I have options.”
A person getting a tattoo | Source: Pexels
“I saw her in Dad’s office. Daddy was holding her leg, and said that he was treating it. And that the tattoo was very sore,” Sam said matter-of-factly.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. Ryan wasn’t a doctor; he was a lawyer. There was no need to ‘treat’ anyone.
A man reading a document | Source: Pexels
There was no innocent explanation for what Sam had described. I glanced at the saleswoman, her earlier arrogance replaced by a mask of fear.
Just then, Ryan’s voice cut through the tense air.
“Maddie,” he said. “I finally found…” he trailed off as he rounded the corner and saw the tableau before him—his wife, his son, and his mistress in a standstill of awkwardness and shame.
A shocked man | Source: Pexels
Silence enveloped us. Ryan stuttered, attempting to concoct some plausible excuse, but the truth was glaringly obvious in the panic etched across his face.
I silenced him with a raised hand.
Sam gripped onto my hand, and swung it backward and forward a few times. He eyed his father nervously.
A woman with her hand raised | Source: Pexels
“We’ll discuss this at home,” I said quietly, my heart breaking inside.
The saleswoman slipped away, her part in this domestic drama over for the moment.
Before heading home, Ryan took us to Sam’s favorite fast food place. I knew that he was trying to get on Sam’s good side again. I ordered some tea to calm my nerves.
“Can we eat at home?” Sam asked me, his eyes wide with emotion.
A little boy sitting with his parents | Source: Pexels
That night, after putting Sam to bed and ensuring that he was sound asleep, I confronted my husband.
The façade of our happy marriage crumbled entirely as he confessed to an affair that had started over a year ago.
The details poured out, each one a dagger in my heart. The trust we had built over years was obliterated in just a few minutes.
A shadow of a couple | Source: Pexels
“Sasha and I were just friends,” Ryan said, putting the kettle on for me. “But then we needed to get new computers for the office. So I went to that store—and we got talking. That’s how it started.”
“And you just continued it? Did you even think about Sam and I?”
Ryan shook his head at my words.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just needed something new.”
Office computers on a table | Source: Pexels
He sat down on the couch and looked at me, as if waiting for me to lose my temper. But I was beyond it. I didn’t want to react in any other manner than calm.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was a fight I didn’t want to have. Ryan had been with this woman for over a year. He had chosen this woman for that long.
He had made his bed.
But the only thing that I wanted to know was why Sam had witnessed the entire interaction.
A man sitting on a couch | Source: Unsplash
“Why was Sam there?” I asked him.
“It was that day that the daycare needed us to pick up the kids early and you were stuck in meetings. So, I took him to the office for a while. He was supposed to be sitting in the reception and drawing with Nick, but then he came running into my office.”
I filed for divorce soon after. The process was painful—there were tears shed, lawyers were called, and a family was broken.
A table at a daycare facility | Source: Unsplash
I grappled with the betrayal, struggling to understand how the man I loved could have deceived me so thoroughly.
In the end, it was Sam’s innocent revelation that had brought the painful truth to light. While the knowledge devastated me, it also offered a strange sort of relief.
“Take his money,” my lawyer said. “We’re going to take him for everything he has.”
And I did.
A person signing a document | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
Juliet, a single mom, loves raising her nine-year-old daughter, River, by herself. River pushes her to be better. But after a while, Juliet begins to notice fierce independence taking over River—wanting more responsibility and autonomy. But then Juliet discovers a secret that comes with River’s backpack, and a hidden friend comes to light.
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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