Caroline got a job as a cleaning lady in New York and went to her first assignment. It was a beautiful house in Manhattan, but she was shocked to find a picture of her mother in the office. Then, a man walked in.
Caroline had recently moved to New York with her friend, Melissa, to chase their Broadway dreams. Before they could find an apartment, they needed jobs. Melissa got a position at a clothing store, and Caroline was hired by a domestic cleaning agency.
The job was perfect for her. It wasn’t too demanding, and she enjoyed cleaning because it helped her relax. Plus, if no one was home, she could practice her singing.
Caroline couldn’t stop thinking about her mother before starting her first job. Her mother, Helen, had never wanted Caroline to follow her dreams or live in New York.
Caroline grew up in Philadelphia and didn’t have a father, as Helen never talked about him. Helen also had a strong dislike for New York and had always been overprotective of Caroline, which made her feel trapped.
When Caroline and Melissa planned their move, Caroline knew her mother would not approve. She worried Helen might even fake being sick to make her stay. But Caroline was determined to pursue her dreams, so she left a short note on her mother’s dresser while Helen was asleep and left.
It had been a few days, and Helen hadn’t called, which felt strange, but Caroline thought her mother was probably just angry. She hoped Helen would come around once she made it on Broadway. For now, Caroline focused on her cleaning job.
The agency director had told her that an older man lived in the house alone, so it wasn’t very messy. Following the instructions, Caroline used the key under the mat to enter the house and started cleaning right away, beginning with the kitchen, then the living room, and finally moving to the bedroom.
Caroline was nearly finished with her cleaning when she noticed a photo of her mother on the office mantelpiece. She hesitated before asking, “I’m almost done, sir. But may I ask a question? Who is this woman?”
She was standing at the entrance of the serious-looking office. There were no instructions against entering, so she carefully continued her work, avoiding the desk area.
The office was impressive, with a beautiful fireplace, a mantelpiece, and large bookshelves lining one wall. It looked like something from a movie.
Caroline quickly and thoroughly cleaned the office but stopped when she saw the photo on the mantelpiece. The woman in the picture looked like her mother, but much younger. She wondered aloud, “Why is my mother in this man’s pictures?”
Just then, she heard footsteps, and an older man entered the room. “Oh, hello there! You must be the new cleaning lady. I’m Richard Smith. I own this house,” he said with a friendly smile. “Are you finished in here?”
Caroline replied, “I’m almost done, sir. But may I ask a question?” She hesitated, hoping he wouldn’t mind her asking about the photo. “Who is this woman?”
Richard put on his glasses and looked at the photo. “Ah yes. That’s Helen. She was the love of my life,” he said.
Caroline’s curiosity was piqued. “What happened to her?” she asked.
Richard sighed, “She died in a bus crash. She was pregnant at the time. I couldn’t even go to her funeral because her mother hated me. It was a tough time. I tried to move on, but I never really did. I still love and miss her.”
Caroline felt a chill. “Sir, I’m sorry to intrude, and thank you for sharing that. But this woman… she looks so much like my mother. It’s incredible.”
Richard looked confused. “What do you mean?”
Caroline explained, “Well, my mother, also named Helen, looks just like this woman. Of course, she’s older now, but the resemblance is striking. I’m almost sure this is her,” she said, pointing to the photograph.
Richard asked Caroline, “Helen? Your mother’s name is Helen? Where did you grow up?”
“Philadelphia,” Caroline replied, shrugging. She suddenly realized that if the woman in the photo was her mother, this man might be her father.
Richard put his hands over his mouth in shock. “This can’t be possible…” he whispered. “Can I have your mother’s phone number?”
“Sure,” Caroline said and gave it to him.
“Can you stay here while I call her?” Richard asked. Caroline agreed.
Richard made the call from his office phone. After a few rings, her mother’s voice came on the line. “Hello? Is it you, Caroline?”
Richard glanced at Caroline but spoke first. “Is this Helen Geller?”
“Yes. Who am I speaking to?” Helen responded from the other end.
Richard’s voice wavered with emotion as he said, “Helen, it’s Richard.”
“Helen, who? Wait a minute. Richard Morris? What do you want after all these years?” Helen’s voice became cold.
Caroline and Richard looked at each other, puzzled. Richard pressed on, “What do you mean after all these years? I thought you were dead!”
“What?” Helen replied, confused.
Richard explained that he had lost Helen and their unborn baby in an accident. He told her how her mother had kept him away from the funeral and didn’t tell him anything afterward. But Helen was baffled and told him her side of the story.
“My mother said you called and decided you wanted nothing to do with me. So I raised my daughter on my own,” Helen explained. Caroline was stunned by this unexpected twist.
Richard continued, “Helen, I would never have left you. I never moved on. I’ve thought about you and our baby every day. I’ve been in pain for almost twenty years.”
Helen was silent. Then she said, “I can’t believe Mom would do this. But that was her way. I don’t know what to do now. Wait. How did you find out I’m still alive?”
Caroline spoke up, “Mom, I’m here.” She quickly explained what had happened and assured her mother that she was okay in New York.
Helen was in disbelief. “I can’t even ask my mother why she did something so cruel. She passed away years ago. But anyway, when are you coming back home, Caroline?”
Caroline replied, “I’m not coming back until I make it on Broadway. And now, I have another reason to stay here.” She glanced at Richard with a small smile.
Helen said, “Fine, but I’m coming to New York soon,” and then hung up. Richard and Caroline stared at each other in silence for a moment before speaking.
“So, I guess you’re my dad,” Caroline said with a smile. Richard laughed, and that helped them start to connect.
What can we learn from this story?
1. Let your children follow their dreams. Caroline left because her mother was too protective. It’s important to guide your children but let them make their own choices.
2. Sometimes, parents don’t always have your best interests at heart. Helen’s mother did something awful to both Helen and Richard, and they might never know why.
3. Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
My Husband Insisted on Cooking the Turkey This Year – What He Did to It Made Me Question Our Marriage
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.
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