Every year, Sarah had to devise a new excuse to explain to her family why they wouldn’t be visiting. “I won’t miss a single-family holiday because of your parents!” her husband Peter always insisted. But this time, Sarah stood her ground and defended her family values.
The end of autumn and the beginning of winter had always been my favorite time of year.
Сrisp air carried the smell of woodsmoke, and the golden leaves gave way to the first frost.
It was the season when my family would gather, no matter what, to share holiday dinners and exchange thoughtful gifts.
Those gatherings were the heart of my childhood, moments of warmth and laughter that felt like nothing else in the world.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
But since marrying Peter, those moments had become memories. Each year, I found myself on the phone, explaining to my parents why I couldn’t make it.
Why, once again, I’d be spending the holidays with Peter’s family instead of my own.
My mom would try to sound understanding, but I knew it hurt her. It hurt me too.
This year, though, things were going to be different. For the first time, Peter had agreed to spend Thanksgiving with my parents.
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It had taken weeks of discussion—if you could call the arguments discussions—but he finally relented.
And now, here we were, strolling through the grocery store, picking out a bottle of wine for my mom, a new roasting pan for my dad, and the ingredients for the pumpkin pie I wanted to bake.
I clutched a small bundle of festive napkins with turkeys printed on them and held them up for Peter’s opinion.
He shrugged. His lack of enthusiasm was obvious, and it had been simmering all day.
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“Are you okay, love?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
“Yeah. Couldn’t be better,” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.
I sighed.
“Are you still upset about going to my parents’ house?”
He stopped walking and turned to me, his face tight with frustration. “Of course, I’m upset! Why should I skip my family’s holiday for your whims?”
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“My whims?” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “I’ve done this for you every single year since we started dating, Peter. Every. Year.”
“Oh, here we go,” he said with a bitter laugh. “It’s always about you, isn’t it? You didn’t like this, you didn’t like that. What about me? Why don’t you care if I’m happy?”
“Peter,” I said slowly, keeping my voice as steady as possible, “we’ve already talked about this. I just want one season with my parents. If that’s too much for you, maybe we should celebrate separately.”
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His eyebrows shot up.
“Season? Are you saying you’re skipping Christmas with my family too?”
“Yes,” I replied firmly, though my stomach churned.
“This year, I’m spending the holidays with my parents.”
He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound.
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“Fine. Then you can explain that to my parents.”
“I will,” I said, keeping my tone quiet and even.
I felt wrung out, as if every ounce of energy had been drained by this conversation. I just wanted it to be over.
We stood in the aisle for a moment, the silence between us louder than the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.
He grabbed the cart handle and pushed it forward without another word.
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I followed, clutching the napkins to my chest, trying to hold on to the excitement that had felt so real just hours ago.
The tension hung heavy in the car as we neared my parents’ house.
Peter gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set in a way that warned me not to push too hard. But I couldn’t let it go entirely.
“Peter,” I started softly, “please, just be kind to my parents. They’re excited to see us, and they’re nervous about making a good impression.”
He let out a sharp laugh.
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“Oh, great! Now you’re giving me instructions? Should I juggle for them too? Or maybe do a little dance?”
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “I’m not asking for much. I just want this to go well.”
“Well,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly, “maybe you should’ve just invited them to join us at my family’s house. Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
I shook my head, exasperated. “Peter, they’re old. Traveling for the holidays isn’t easy for them.”
“Great. Just perfect!” he muttered, throwing one hand up dramatically before gripping the wheel again.
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The rest of the drive was silent except for the hum of the engine.
I focused on the frosty trees lining the road, trying to calm the knot in my stomach.
When we arrived, I forced a smile and rang the doorbell.
My mom, Charlotte, opened the door almost immediately, her face lighting up as she threw her arms around us.
“I’m so happy to see you! Finally, you’re here!” she exclaimed, her warmth like a balm to my nerves.
Behind her, my dad, Kevin, offered a small, reserved smile, his usual quiet presence grounding the moment.
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Peter muttered a half-hearted “hello” and walked inside without eye contact.
I gave my mom an apologetic look, silently willing her to understand. Then, with a deep breath, I followed him into the house.
Inside the warm glow of the house, my mom and I moved around the dining room, setting the table with care.
The soft clatter of plates and the occasional hum of her voice filled the space as we arranged the dishes.
In the living room, Peter sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed, while my dad quietly flipped through a magazine beside him.
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Mom glanced toward Peter, her movements slowing. “Is Peter okay?” she asked softly. “He seems… upset.”
I hesitated, trying to find the right words.
“He’s just… frustrated, I think,” I said finally, keeping my voice low. “He wishes we were spending the holiday with his family.”
Her hands paused mid-air, holding a serving spoon. “Oh,” she said, her tone tinged with confusion and sadness. “Did we do something wrong?”
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“No, Mom,” I said quickly. “It’s not you. It’s just—” I stopped, unsure how to explain the unspoken tension between Peter and me. “It’s complicated.”
She looked at me, her brows drawn together.
“We’re not family to him?” she asked quietly, almost to herself.
Her words hit me like a cold wind. I didn’t know how to respond.
Was that how Peter saw it? My family, my parents—were they nothing to him? The thought stung more than I wanted to admit.
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“I’m sorry,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. For Peter’s mood? For his indifference? For years I’d put my family on hold for his?
Mom placed a hand on my arm, her touch warm and steady.
“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart,” she said gently.
But her eyes still held a shadow of hurt, and it lingered in the air as we finished setting the table in silence.
The table was set beautifully, with crisp white linens, shining silverware, and the aroma of roasted turkey filling the room.
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My mom, Charlotte, stood back to admire her work before clapping her hands.
“Everything’s ready! Come and eat!” she said with cheerful warmth, her voice echoing into the quiet living room.
We all gathered around the table. My dad, Kevin, pulled out my mom’s chair for her, and I couldn’t help but smile at his small gesture of old-fashioned chivalry.
Peter followed sluggishly, barely making an effort to engage, and slumped into his seat with a sigh.
The meal began, but the air was tense like a storm waiting to break. My mom tried valiantly to spark a conversation.
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“So, Peter,” she started brightly, “how’s work going? Busy this time of year?”
He gave a noncommittal grunt, stabbing a piece of turkey with his fork.
“Dad’s been working on the deck in the backyard,” I chimed in, trying to fill the silence. “It’s really coming together.”
My dad nodded. “It’s slow, but it keeps me busy. Maybe you could come by and give me some tips, Peter.”
Peter didn’t even look up. “Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, flicking a crumb off the table.
I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Peter,” I said softly, leaning toward him, “what’s wrong? Can I help?”
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He dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter and leaned back in his chair. “Everything’s wrong!” he snapped, his voice loud enough to make my mom flinch.
“How is this even Thanksgiving without my mom’s chocolate pudding?”
“Pudding?” my mom echoed, her voice unsure, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for her glass of water.
“It’s fine,” I interjected quickly, trying to calm the situation. “His mom always makes it for him. It’s no big deal.”
Peter scoffed, his eyes blazing. “No big deal? Of course! Because nothing I want ever matters. It’s always about Sarah, isn’t it? What Sarah wants. What Sarah needs.”
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“Peter, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “This is supposed to be a happy day.”
He pushed his chair back, the chair’s legs screeching against the floor. “Listen, I’m done! We’re leaving. Get your coat, Sarah!”
“NO, YOU LISTEN!” my dad shouted after Peter, jumping up from his chair. But Peter just ignored him and walked right past! I saw my dad clutch his chest.
The weight of the moment pressed on me as I stood slowly. My mom’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, Mom,” I said, my throat tightening. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this.”
I walked to the doorway, where Peter stood waiting, arms crossed.
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“Put your coat on! We’re leaving!” he barked.
“No,” I said, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. “You’re leaving. I’m staying.”
“What? You’re my wife. You’re supposed to listen to me!”
I took a deep breath, meeting his glare.
“You don’t respect my parents, you don’t respect me, and behaving like this, you don’t even respect yourself. I’ve put up with your selfishness for years, hoping the loving man I married was still there. But now, I don’t believe he is.”
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“You want to talk about respect?” he sputtered, disbelief written all over his face.
“Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “Leave, Peter. It’s over.”
His mouth opened, but no words came. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
I returned to the dining room, my heart pounding, and found my parents sitting quietly, their faces a mixture of sadness and concern.
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“I’m sorry, Mom. Dad,” I said, my voice soft but resolute.
“I let this go on for too long. But not anymore.”
Charlotte stood and wrapped me in a warm hug. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters,” she whispered.
For the first time in years, I felt free. I had chosen the family that truly mattered and wouldn’t trade them for anything.
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Woman is Speaking to Her Boss on a Video Call When Her Angry Husband Bursts in – Story of the Day
When Amanda’s husband, Chris, interrupted a critical video call, she knew it was time to end things. But things only got worse when he showed up at an official meeting the next day and made a show in front of very important people.
Amanda stared at her laptop screen. She was finishing up with an important meeting with her supervisors at work. Her nerves grated along a knife’s edge, but not because of the video meeting. Her husband, Chris, was approaching the neat and cozy corner she used for working and taking on-camera calls.
“You’re amazing, Amanda,” Mr. Anders said.
For illustration purposes only | Source: YouTube/DramatizeMe
Amanda would’ve hoisted up her biggest and brightest smile, but Chris’s heavy footsteps were closer now; he was almost upon her. She froze. Like a squirrel cornered by a bear, there was nowhere for her to run and no place where she could hide.
Chris slammed his beer down on the writing pad she’d used to take notes, stepping right into her space and her laptop camera’s range. Amanda shrank away from him.
“What are you doing?” Chris asked. “Where’s my food?”
“I’m so sorry,” Amanda said to her supervisors before tilting her head to answer Chris. “I’m just finishing up my meeting, honey.”
She looked on in dismay as her supervisors, Claire and Mr. Anders, looked at each other in confusion. Amanda could still save this. Chris might go away if she could find just the right words or precisely the right way to look at him (once she gathered the courage to look at him at all.) Once he left, she could play the whole thing off as a mistake.
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“Honey, I’m hungry,” Chris said. “You don’t want to upset your hubby, do you?”
His tone of voice was soft, silky, and laden with threats Amanda knew full well he wouldn’t hesitate to follow through on. She looked up at him now—she couldn’t avoid it any longer—and bravely spoke to him as though he were a normal person, not a monster disguised as a human being.
“I just need a few more minutes, honey. Please?” Amanda pleaded. “I’m on a call with my supervisors. We should be finished soon.”
She turned back to face her laptop squarely, but Chris clearly wasn’t done.
“Supervisors?” He chuckled and reached around to grab her chair. “Come on, off you go,” Chris said, giving her chair a little shake. “You know what happens when you work too hard.”
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Indeed, Amanda knew all too well what Chris would do to her for what he perceived as ‘working too hard.’ She smiled at her screen even as her mind filled with howling terror. Some part of herself that felt like it might be vital tore loose inside of her.
Amanda let Chris shoo her away from what might be the most vital meeting of her career because she ultimately had no choice. She never had a choice. A familiar darkness closed in around her as she walked to the kitchen.
“And get everything on the table in fifteen minutes,” Chris called after her.
“Of course, honey,” Amanda chirped as her auto-pilot persona took over.
“I will talk to your supervisors myself,” Chris said.
Mr. Anders, one of Amanda’s supervisors, spoke to him. “Chris, Amanda is indispensable for the meeting tomorrow. Her presence is crucial for our success, do you understand?” he stated firmly.
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Chris’s demeanor faltered slightly. “Oh, yeah, yeah, sure thing,” he dismissed.
As Amanda left to attend to Chris’s demands for food, Chris remained on the call, his disruptive behavior leaving an indelible mark of chaos that tainted the professionalism of the meeting.
***
Amanda found herself in the sanctuary of her kitchen a few hours later, the remnants of dinner scattered across the countertops. The clinking of dishes filled the air as she diligently washed and dried them, methodically moving through the routine chores.
How did it come to this? Amanda’s mind raced as she scrubbed a stubborn stain off a plate. My career hanging by a thread because of my husband.
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The clatter of plates faded into the background as Amanda’s thoughts tugged at her. I’ve worked so hard for this and sacrificed so much…
She dried a glass, the transparency reflecting the chaos she couldn’t quite see through. Where do I draw the line? Why am I still with him?
The dishes gleamed at last. Yet, Amanda’s inner conflict lingered, simmering beneath the surface, unresolved and weighing heavily on her conscience.
***
The following day, Mr. Anders attempted to maintain decorum, apologizing to the investors immediately. “Apologies for the delay. Amanda will be here shortly. Thank you for being so patient.”
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Mr. Whitney, a composed figure among the investors, nodded understandingly. “We’ll wait. We’re eager to hear from Amanda,” he reassured, his gaze flickering toward the entrance.
Finally, Amanda rushed in, her chest moving rapidly. Determination glinted in her eyes, though the darkness below her eyes showed her fatigue. “Thank you for waiting. I’m so sorry,” she managed, still breathless.
Chris barged into the room before she could collect her thoughts.”What’s the fuss about? Mind if I join?” he interjected, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced around.
He strolled over to Mr. Whitney, fixating on the watch adorning his wrist. “Fancy watch. How much did you spend on that?” Chris prodded, ignoring or unaware of the shocked and confused faces around him.
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The investors exchanged bemused glances as Chris continued, his demeanor unapologetic. “Money talks, right? Let’s get to it,” he declared.
Amanda tried to rein him in. “Chris, not now, please,” she implored, sweat beading on her forehead.
Mr. Anders beckoned Claire urgently, guiding her to the corridor outside the meeting room where Chris lingered, an unsettling air of disruption trailing him. “We need to contain this,” he whispered urgently before calling out Amanda’s husband. “Chris, how about a tour of our facilities? We’ll show you around while Amanda continues the meeting.”
Chris’s expression shifted, a smug grin playing on his lips. “Sure thing, boss. Lead the way!” he mocked, his eyes darting mischievously.
Mr. Anders led Chris along the corridor. “Claire here will assist you,” he explained, turning to Claire with a forced smile.
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Claire nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Of course, Chris. Let’s start with the main office area,” she suggested, pretending this was perfectly normal. Mr. Anders returned to the meeting, and Chris’s expression shifted from sarcastic and smiley to something else.
Claire noticed the change quickly but had to pretend. The investor meeting was crucial. “Show me around, girl,” Chris demanded, his voice like a sharp knife. “Huh-huh, do what your boss said. You know what to do if you want things to run smoothly, sweetheart.”
***
Amanda battled to maintain her professional facade despite the sweat beading her entire body and the heavy weight of her eyes. She glanced at the investors, trying to forge ahead with the presentation. “Apologies for the interruption,” she began and tried to direct everyone’s attention to the projection on the wall.
But as Amanda lifted her hand to point at something, her body gave up. She staggered slightly, her vision blurring. The room spun around her, a nauseating dizziness enveloping her senses as she finally fell onto the meeting room carpet.
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“Give her some water,” Mr. Whitney commanded, concerned. The investors exchanged concerned glances, their murmurs of worry filling the air.
Mr. Anders’s composure snapped. “This is unacceptable!” he barked, his frustration palpable as he blamed Amanda, his voice resonating with visible anger. “Get up, Amanda! We need to proceed!”
“She needs help,” Mr. Whitney insisted, frowning at Mr. Anders. Mr. Morgan helped Amanda get up and seated on the table, but before they could move on, the familiar dial tone of a video call interrupted everyone.
It came from Mr. Anders’s private office computer. He hesitated but answered the call. “What’s happening there?” he asked, his anger momentarily diverted, replaced by shock.
The screen flickered to life, revealing Chris’s overbearing presence in Mr. Anders’ office, standing imposingly close to Claire, who was cowering on a couch, trying to dislodge the heavy man’s hands from her face.
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The investors’ faces twisted in outrage, and all stood, calling for security and Mr. Anders to do something. But it was Amanda who acted first despite her earlier collapse. “I need to stop this,” she declared, raising her chin.
This has gone too far, Amanda thought, her heart racing with concern for Claire’s safety. The investors followed behind her.
“Wait, what’s going on?” Mr. Anders asked, his voice far behind everyone else. “We need to get back to the meeting!”
“Chris, leave her alone!” Amanda’s sharp command cut through the tension as she entered Mr. Anders’s office. Mr. Whitney and Mr. Morgan hurried after her.
Chris stood there, hands at his side, now subdued in the face of his audience. “I didn’t do anything!”
“You’ve gone too far this time!” Amanda’s voice echoed through the office, her eyes blazed daggers at her husband.
Mr. Whitney and Mr. Morgan swiftly intervened, taking control of the situation, their focus restraining Chris until security arrived. Chris was escorted out, but his voice boomed through the corridor. “I didn’t do anything wrong! You all know they want me! Especially her!” He pointed a shaky finger at Amanda, a manic smirk contorting his features.
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“Enough, Chris!” Amanda’s voice cut through the air, firm and unwavering. “You’ve done enough. It’s over.”
Once her husband was finally out of earshot, Amanda noticed Mr. Anders’ angry face. Smoke was almost coming out of his ears. “This is an outrage! You two have ruined everything! You—” His tirade was abruptly interrupted as Mr. Whitney and Mr. Morgan intervened.
“Mr. Anders, enough!” Mr. Whitney’s barked, one hand raised to stop him. “Your lack of leadership exacerbated this situation.”
“Exactly,” Mr. Morgan chimed in, his eyes unwavering. “Amanda and Claire did everything to salvage the meeting despite the chaos caused by your neglect. This is on you, not them.”
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Mr. Anders, seething with indignation, glared at the investors. “How dare you interfere in my business!”
Mr. Whitney shook his head, unfazed. “This isn’t how you treat your employees. We value their dedication and professionalism, something you’ve failed to recognize.”
“Furthermore,” Mr. Morgan added sternly, “they’re too good to work for you. We’re offering Amanda and Claire positions at our investment fund. They deserve better.”
Mr. Anders, his face flushed with anger, stormed out of the office. In the wake of his departure, the investors turned their attention to Amanda and Claire, commending them for their resilience and offering them opportunities in a more supportive and appreciative work environment.
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