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The Mothers of a Couple Turned Thanksgiving Into a Living Hell for Their Newlywed Kids — Story of the Day

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3m ago

Nov 29, 2024 / 4788 Views

Evan Walker

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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Woman Summoned to School Over Her Son’s Misconduct and Is Stunned to Discover Who His Teacher Is

It was a tough life for Molly. Her main concern was her son, Tommy. The constant changing of schools and towns wasn’t good for him. He started bullying other kids and starting fights. She never imagined that one call to the principal’s office would restore a part of her life she thought was lost.

Molly sat quietly across the table from her husband, Nigel, as they shared a tense lunch. The clinking of cutlery was the only sound breaking the heavy silence between them.

Nigel’s frustration was evident in the way he poked at his food, barely taking a bite. His brow was furrowed, and his mouth was set in a tight line.

Finally, he muttered under his breath, “This is overcooked,” pushing his plate away with a look of disdain.

Molly felt her heart sink at his words. She had tried her best with the meal, but it seemed nothing she did ever pleased Nigel anymore. His next words cut even deeper.

“And why can’t you get your son to behave? He’s always causing trouble, and it’s making our lives more difficult.”

The way Nigel referred to Tommy as “your son” stung. He never called Tommy “our son,” always distancing himself from the boy.

Despite being together for so many years, Nigel had never fully embraced Tommy as his own.

Tommy wasn’t Nigel’s biological child, but Molly had hoped that, with time, he would come to love him as a father should.

But instead, the constant moving and instability seemed to be tearing their family apart, with Nigel’s impatience growing more pronounced with each passing day.

Nigel had struggled to find stable work, bouncing from one city to another, taking on whatever part-time jobs he could find.

Each time he lost a job, they would uproot their lives again, packing up their belongings and moving to a new place.

Molly had tried to be supportive, taking care of Tommy and doing her best to keep their small family together. But for Tommy, who was only eight, the constant upheaval was taking a toll.

Every time they moved, Tommy had to adjust to a new school, new friends, and new teachers.

It wasn’t surprising that he had started acting out in school. He had changed schools three times in the past year alone, and it was becoming harder and harder for him to keep up.

The frequent relocations meant that he never had a chance to settle in, to feel like he belonged anywhere.

Molly worried about him constantly, knowing how much he was struggling but feeling powerless to help.

The phone rang suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the table.

Molly reached for it, dreading what the call might bring.

When she heard the voice on the other end, her heart sank further.

“Mrs. Jones, we need to talk about Tommy,” came the voice of Mrs. Kolinz, the school principal. Her tone was serious, and Molly knew what was coming.

“His behavior has been disruptive, and we’d like you to come to the school tomorrow to speak with his teacher.”

Molly sighed, her heart heavy. This conversation was inevitable. She agreed to meet with the teacher, hoping against hope that this wouldn’t lead to another expulsion.

If Tommy was kicked out of this school, finding another one willing to take him in would be nearly impossible.

The weight of the situation pressed down on her as she hung up the phone, feeling more alone and helpless than ever.

The next day, Molly walked into the school with Tommy’s small hand firmly in hers. The halls were quiet, but her heart pounded with each step they took toward the principal’s office.

The walls seemed to close in on her, amplifying her anxiety. She could feel Tommy’s grip tightening, a reflection of his own unease.

She wished she could comfort him, but her own nerves were too overwhelming.

As they approached the door at the end of the hallway, Molly noticed that it was slightly ajar.

She took a deep breath and peeked inside, seeing the familiar figure of Mrs. Kolinz, the school principal, seated behind her desk.

Standing next to her was a man with his back turned toward the door. Molly’s breath caught in her throat as she realized who it was.

It was him. Christian. Her ex-boyfriend from nearly nine years ago. The man she had once loved deeply and the man who left her.

Christian looked right into her eyes, and she knew he recognized her too. But they both understood it was better to keep it to themselves for now.

Molly quickly pushed her thoughts of Christian aside, forcing herself to focus on the situation at hand. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past.

Mrs. Kolinz glanced up as Molly and Tommy entered the room.

“Mrs. Jones,” she began, her tone professional and firm, “thank you for coming. Mr Rogers, the boy’s teacher, and I need to talk with you about Tommy’s behavior.”

“It’s been quite concerning lately, and we can’t tolerate any more disruptions in the classroom. If this continues, we may have to ask him to leave the school.”

Molly’s heart sank as she heard those words. She had been dreading this conversation, knowing that Tommy’s behavior had been getting worse with each move they made.

But this school was their last hope, the only place that had agreed to take Tommy in after so many rejections. If he got expelled from here, she didn’t know what they would do.

“Please, Mrs. Kolinz,” Molly pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion. “Tommy just needs more time to adjust.

“We’ve moved so much, and it’s been really hard on him. He’s not a bad kid; he’s just struggling to find his place. This school is our last hope. If he has to leave, I don’t know where we’ll go.”

Mrs. Kolinz softened slightly, her eyes showing a hint of sympathy, but she remained firm in her stance.

“We understand that Tommy has been through a lot, Mrs. Jones. But we have to think about the other students as well. We’ll give him one more chance, but if there’s another incident, it will be his last.”

Molly nodded, her heart heavy with worry. She knew the odds were stacked against them, but she had no choice but to hope that Tommy could turn things around.

As the meeting ended, she gently guided Tommy out of the office and down the hallway toward the car.

Her mind was racing, filled with fears about the future and the challenges that lay ahead.

Just as they reached the car, she heard a voice call out to her, a voice that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Molly, wait.”

She turned around slowly, her heart pounding as she faced Christian.

“Tommy, get in the car and wait for me,” she said softly to her son, who obediently climbed into the backseat.

Molly watched him shut the door before turning back to face the man she never expected to see again.

Christian’s voice was soft, but the weight of his words hit Molly like a ton of bricks.

She could see the genuine concern in his eyes, a concern she hadn’t expected to find after all these years.

He had always been a caring persson, but hearing him now, admitting his regrets, was something she hadn’t prepared for.

“Christian…” Molly began, her voice barely above a whisper. She struggled to keep her emotions in check.

“You made it very clear back then that you didn’t want the responsibility. You walked away without looking back. What’s different now?”

Christian’s expression softened, and he took a deep breath, as if trying to gather the right words.

“I was scared, Molly. I was young and stupid, and I didn’t realize what I was giving up. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you… about what we could have had.”

He exhaled.

“When I saw Tommy, it all clicked. I see so much of myself in him, and it made me realize what I missed out on. I can’t undo the past, but I want to make things right now.”

“Nigel is Tommy’s father now,” Molly said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“I’ve made a life with him, and I can’t just throw that away.”

“I’m not asking you to throw anything away, Molly. I just want to be there for Tommy. He deserves to know his real father, and I want to help him in any way I can.”

He came closer.

“I’ve seen kids like him before—kids who are acting out because they’re missing something important in their lives. I know I can be that for him, and maybe… maybe we can find a way to make this work.”

Molly’s heart ached with the weight of the decision she faced. She knew Christian was right—Tommy needed more than what Nigel was providing. But admitting that felt like betraying the life she had tried so hard to build.

“Please, just think about it,” Christian said, his voice gentle but pleading.

“I’m not asking for an answer right now. But I want you to know that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere this time.”

Molly nodded slowly, her mind racing. “I’ll think about it,” she whispered, her voice filled with uncertainty.

Christian gave her a small, hopeful smile. “That’s all I ask. Take your time, Molly. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Molly returned home with Tommy later in the evening. She decided to take her son for a ride after school and have dinner out. As she opened the door, the familiar sight of Nigel sprawled on the couch greeted her.

His shirt was rumpled, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey sat on the table beside him. The room was dim, and the air smelled of alcohol and stale air.

Nigel had lost yet another job, and rather than facing his problems, he had chosen to numb himself with drink.

Molly sighed deeply, her heart heavy. This wasn’t the life she had envisioned for herself or her son. She walked him to the bed; he was already sleepy, and as soon as he touched the sheets, he closed his eyes.

She glanced around the small, cluttered apartment, filled with items they had collected over years of moving from one place to another, never really settling.

The decision she had been avoiding for so long suddenly became clear. It was time to leave, to give Tommy a better life, one where he could feel stable and loved.

Quietly, Molly packed a few bags, gathering Tommy’s clothes and his favorite toys. She checked if Nigel woke up, and after seeing that he was still asleep she went for her son.

She moved with a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in years. When everything was ready, she gently shook Tommy awake.

“Come on, Tommy. We’re leaving,” she said softly.

Tommy rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep. “Where are we going, Mom?”

Molly smiled, her heart swelling with a newfound sense of hope. “We’re going to stay with someone who cares about us. Someone who wants to be part of our lives.”

As they left the apartment, Molly felt an enormous weight lift off her shoulders.

For the first time in a long while, she felt like they were on the right path, heading toward a future that held promise and happiness—a new beginning for both of them.