When Belinda jokes about skipping her SIL’s strict vegetarian Thanksgiving, her husband Jeremy’s reaction is anything but funny. His sudden anger and ultimatum for divorce leave her reeling. As tensions rise, Belinda uncovers secrets that hint at a far deeper betrayal hidden in plain sight.
Thanksgiving was supposed to be family time, right? But this year, it felt more like I was heading into a battle I didn’t sign up for.
A troubled woman | Source: Midjourney
It started with my sister-in-law, Amy’s text announcing that she’d be hosting Thanksgiving this year, and that it would be a strictly vegetarian meal. This wasn’t a suggestion, mind you, but a declaration.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I stared at the words on my phone screen: No meat or animal products allowed! Anyone who doesn’t respect this rule will be kicked out. Trust me, you won’t even miss them once you try my Tofurky roast!
Yeah, right. I’d choked down enough of her cardboard-flavored fake meat experiments since she decided to become vegetarian last year to know better.
A vegetarian burger | Source: Pexels
I could hear her voice in my head as I read the text, all high and haughty, the way she sounds when she’s convinced she’s right about something.
“Can you believe Amy’s Thanksgiving dinner message? Can’t she just make a lentil curry instead of forcing us all to eat that awful faux meat?” I turned to Jeremy, expecting him to chuckle along with me, but he just gave me a look that stopped my laughter dead in its tracks.
“It’s just one meal, Belinda,” he said in a low, tense voice. “You can handle it.”
A tense man sitting on a sofa | Source: Midjourney
“I know I can handle it,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “I just don’t want to.”
“Why does everything between you and Amy always have to be such a big deal?” he asked, running a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on some invisible spot on the carpet. “It’s a family holiday, and this is important to Amy. For once, can’t you just do something to make her happy?”
I don’t know whether it was the way he suddenly seemed so rigid, or how his voice took on that edge, but something in me snapped.
A woman with an angry glint in her eye | Source: Midjourney
I was tired of constantly bending to Amy’s needs and whims for every family gathering. Maybe it would’ve been easier if she weren’t so controlling and erratic, but I was tired of riding the roller coaster of being Amy’s sister-in-law.
“Because it’s not about the food, and you know it. Amy always steamrolls everyone else’s plans, and it’s not fair.” I crossed my arms, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. “Jeremy, we could just spend Thanksgiving on our own this year. Make a nice dinner, watch a movie…”
He shook his head like I’d just suggested setting the house on fire.
A solemn and serious man | Source: Midjourney
“We’re not skipping Thanksgiving at Amy’s. It’s… you’re not being supportive, Belinda.” He looked at me, then with tightness around his mouth and tension in his shoulders, he said, “If you can’t be there for my family, maybe… well, maybe you shouldn’t be a part of it anymore.”
My jaw dropped. I felt the blood rush to my face, a mix of shock and anger. “You’d really divorce me over one family dinner?”
“It’s not just dinner,” he muttered, looking away. “It’s about supporting each other.”
A stern-looking man | Source: Midjourney
Supporting each other. Right. Except the support only worked one way, and I always came off as second best to his sister.
But I bit my tongue and swallowed the one thousand things I wanted to shout at him, mostly about his unwavering dedication to Amy, which went beyond the typical brotherly concern.
I’d noticed the late-night calls, and the anxious glances when she was around. But I couldn’t quite figure out how to bring it up without sounding… petty and paranoid.
An emotional woman | Source: Midjourney
“Fine. We’ll go to Amy’s Thanksgiving,” I said, but the words tasted bitter.
I could feel the weight of his expectations pressing down, and that weight carried me straight into the storm I had no idea was brewing.
The days leading up to Thanksgiving felt like walking through quicksand — every step heavier than the last. Jeremy seemed to slip away right in front of me.
He was always out early and back late, his shoulders hunched under an invisible weight. I’d never seen him so preoccupied, so completely withdrawn, and the walls he’d put up between us grew thicker by the day.
A woman glancing at her husband | Source: Midjourney
It wasn’t just his absence. Money, too, had become strangely tight. I noticed him pulling our bank statements more often, scanning them with an intensity that seemed out of character.
He’d insisted on managing our finances when we first married, saying it made sense since he worked in accounting. Back then, I’d shrugged, trusting him completely.
But now, the way he pored over each line, his brow knitted with worry, stirred a growing unease in me. What was he hiding?
A man drinking coffee and working on his laptop | Source: Pexels
One evening, after he’d gone to bed, I gave in to my instincts and pulled up the details for our joint account on my laptop. Guilt whispered that I was crossing a line, but my need for answers drowned it out.
As I scrolled, my breath hitched. Regular withdrawals, small but persistent, were labeled under a vague “medical expenses.” Doctor’s names cropped up every month, one more than the rest.
I typed the name into my browser. The last thing I expected was to find out that the only doctor in the area with that name was a psychologist.
A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels
My heart pounded. During dinner the next night, I worked up the nerve to ask, “Jeremy, are you… are you in therapy?”
His eyes widened, a flicker of something unnameable darting across his face.
“Yeah, sometimes,” he mumbled, too quickly. His hand fumbled for the edge of the table as if anchoring himself. “It’s just… uh, it’s been a rough year. So much stress.”
My stomach twisted. He was lying. My steady, unflinching husband was lying to me, and I didn’t know why.
A frowning woman | Source: Midjourney
A few nights before Thanksgiving, I woke to the soft murmur of his voice drifting from the living room. Tiptoeing to the doorway, I held my breath, listening.
“I told you I’d handle it,” he whispered, his voice warm and tender. The way he spoke — so careful, so… intimate — it sent a shiver through me.
“You don’t have to worry,” he assured, the words almost a caress. Then there was a long pause, thick and lingering, before he murmured, “Goodnight, Amy.”
A woman eavesdropping from a doorway | Source: Midjourney
As he hung up, my heart plummeted, thudding painfully in my chest.
Amy. Of course.
I wanted to demand answers, to press him until every last hidden truth unraveled before me, but the words stuck in my throat, a bitter knot of suspicion and fear.
If I pried too far, would I even recognize what I found? Or would the truth change everything I thought I knew about my husband and his relationship with his sister?
A worried woman | Source: Midjourney
Jeremy was so different now, a stranger masquerading in the familiar face I’d trusted for years. I could feel the edges of something larger, a whole tangled mess of secrets he’d worked tirelessly to keep buried. But there it was, just beneath the surface, waiting to be exposed.
Thanksgiving Eve dawned gray and somber, casting a dull light over the kitchen where I sat, my stomach a knot of nerves and questions.
I couldn’t stomach the idea of sitting across from Amy, pretending nothing was wrong, stuffing my face with tofu roast while my husband’s lies swirled around us. No, I needed to know what they were up to before I walked through that door.
A determined woman | Source: Midjourney
Jeremy entered, his face blank with that practiced calm of his, but I could see a flicker of something when he met my gaze. I waited until we were both settled at the table. The fridge hummed in the background, filling the space between us.
“Jeremy, I need to know.” I kept my voice steady, though inside I was anything but. “Why are you so…committed to Amy?”
His face shifted, and for a moment I saw something raw flicker in his eyes before he blinked it away.
A secretive man | Source: Midjourney
“What are you talking about?” He tried for nonchalance, but his hands were clenched tight, his knuckles white against the tabletop.
“All the secrets, the money, the phone calls in the middle of the night.” My voice wavered as the words spilled out, no longer restrained. “Are you hiding something… something I need to worry about?”
He opened his mouth as if to deny it, then shut it again, his gaze darting around the room like he was searching for an escape. But there was none.
A stunned man | Source: Midjourney
Trapped, he let out a small sigh, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his secrets.
“It’s… complicated,” he murmured.
“Try me,” I said, my voice rising with a mix of desperation and anger. “Whatever it is, I deserve to know.”
A thick silence stretched between us, heavy and unyielding. Finally, Jeremy looked away, his face shadowed, haunted by memories he’d kept hidden from me.
A man avoiding eye contact | Source: Midjourney
“Amy has had a lot of issues. Mental health things. She has bipolar disorder. It was bad a few years ago. Really bad.” He paused, his eyes far away. “She was hospitalized for months and when she got out, I was the only one she trusted. So I was there for her. I made sure she was taken care of and felt supported.”
His words sank into me, each one heavy, each one unraveling my understanding of him a little more. So this was the burden he’d been carrying, alone, without letting me in.
A woman looking at her husband in shock | Source: Midjourney
My anger surged, not at Amy’s demands, but at him. At the lie he’d been living and the betrayal that came from not being trusted enough to share his truth with me.
“And all those expenses? They’re for her, aren’t they?”
He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to look at me. “Yes. Therapy, sometimes groceries… whatever she needs.”
A chill settled over me as I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of his confession suffocating. “So, you’ve been lying to me for our entire marriage. About our money, about everything.”
A woman with her arms crossed | Source: Midjourney
“It wasn’t lying, Belinda,” he insisted softly, his voice breaking, barely above a whisper. “It was just… keeping the peace. I’m her big brother and Amy’s life has been hard enough without having to face people treating her differently because of her illness. I didn’t think you needed to know about any of this.”
I wanted to scream at him, shake him until he understood the cost of his silence. Instead, I sat there, silent, as the reality of what he’d done washed over me like a tidal wave.
I shook my head, feeling the tears rise, hot and unforgiving.
A tearful woman | Source: Midjourney
“But what about us? Keeping this secret has been tearing us apart, Jeremy. And you’re so focused on Amy and protecting her from everything that you’re willing to lose your wife over Thanksgiving dinner.”
He stared at me, his face a mix of sorrow and regret. “I… I didn’t know it would come to this.”
“Well, here we are.” I took a shaky breath, gathering the last of my resolve. “And Jeremy, you need to make a choice.”
A woman frowning sadly | Source: Midjourney
“Not between Amy and me,” I added. “I would never ask you to abandon your sister. But you need to choose between hiding things and being honest. Between enabling Amy’s controlling behavior and setting healthy boundaries. Between being her caretaker and being my partner.”
The silence that followed felt endless. When Jeremy finally spoke, his voice was thick with tears.
An emotional man | Source: Midjourney
“I’m scared,” he admitted. “What if setting boundaries makes her worse? What if she can’t handle it?”
“What if she can?” I countered gently. “What if she’s stronger than you think? What if she needs the chance to stand on her own two feet?”
“I… I don’t know if I can risk losing her.”
A sad man | Source: Midjourney
I stared at Jeremy and sighed. It felt like we were at an impasse with no obvious way forward. Amy couldn’t keep running our lives, but I understood Jeremy’s reluctance to confront his sister.
One thing is clear: we can’t carry on like this. After everything I’d uncovered over the past few days, I wasn’t even sure our marriage was built on a solid enough foundation to be worth saving.
What should I do now?
A conflicted woman | Source: Midjourney
Here’s another story: Ten years after vanishing without a trace, Sara’s ex-fiancé, Daniel, reappears on her doorstep with a lawyer, demanding custody of the son he’d abandoned. Secrets unravel as Sara fights to protect the life she built with Adam, and the true reason behind Daniel’s sudden return threatens everything.
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.
My Neighbor Copied Everything I Did Until I Discovered the Heartbreaking Reason – Story of the Day
I moved to a broken-down farm I’d just inherited, hoping for peace. But when my neighbor copied my yellow fence, I had no idea it was just the beginning of something much deeper and personal.
I grew up in a foster family that did their best. They were kind and patient, always packed my lunch, and clapped at my school plays, even when I stood in the back wearing a cardboard tree costume.
But real love is more than warm meals and polite claps. It’s… knowing where you come from.
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No one ever told me anything about my biological parents. The papers said they’d asked for complete confidentiality. No names. No birthdays. No stories. Just a blank space where something big should’ve been.
I used to dream that maybe they were spies. Or rock stars. Or lost somewhere in the jungle. Anything was better than the thought that they didn’t care.
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I grew up fast. By 15, I was already handing out flyers outside strip malls.
At 16, I walked dogs for people who barely remembered my name. At 18, I poured coffee for grumpy regulars who tipped in nickels and gave life advice I didn’t ask for.
“You should marry rich, sweetheart. You’ve got kind eyes.”
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By 19, I was an official barista with a crooked name tag and memorized drink orders. Then came more jobs. Caregiver. Mail carrier. Gardener. For a while, I even collected roadkill off the highway.
Don’t ask. No, really—don’t.
I knew how to survive. But it felt like bad luck ran in my DNA.
By 27, I landed my dream office job. A stable paycheck. Weekends off. It felt like winning.
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On the same day, I got sick. Six months of tests, doctors shrugging.
“Could be stress.”
Yeah, no kidding.
At 30, I became a nanny. The other nanny claimed I stole money from the family. I didn’t, but I got fired. I stood outside the building with one suitcase, my emergency fund stuffed in my jacket pocket, and a thousand-yard stare.
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Then my phone rang.
“Ellie? It’s Jake, your father’s attorney,” a warm voice said.
“My who?”
“Your father, Henry. He passed away recently. You’ve been named the sole heir of his farm. It’s about 30 kilometers out of town. You can pick up the keys tomorrow.”
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“A farm?” I repeated. “A father?”
“Biological,” he said gently. “I’ll explain more in person.”
I didn’t sleep a minute that night. I had a father. He left me a home. For the first time in my life, something belonged to me.
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***
When I pulled up to the farm, I sat there for a minute, staring at the house, the fields, the silence. One question circled in my head like a fly that wouldn’t leave me alone.
Why did he leave it to me?
The house looked tired. Chipped paint peeled away from the walls, and weeds covered the yard. But then I saw the barn. It was clean. The red paint was fresh, and the doors were straight and solid. It looked proud.
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Curious, I stepped inside. The scent of hay hit me first. The floor was swept. Neat stacks of hay lined the walls.
A row of fresh eggs sat in a basket like someone had just collected them. A bucket of water glistened in the corner, clean enough to drink.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
And then there were the animals. Chickens clucked softly, pecking the straw. A big brown-and-white cow stood calmly, blinking at me.
The dog was the strangest part. He sat by the door like he’d been waiting for me. His fur was a little shaggy. I crouched.
“Come here, boy…”
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He trotted over and licked my hand like we’d known each other for years.
“Okay, weird,” I said softly, glancing around. “Who’s been feeding you?”
It had been a week since my father had passed away.
So… who’s been taking care of all this? Must’ve been the neighbors.
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I dropped my bag by the door and looked around inside the house. Dust floated through the sunlight like lazy snowflakes.
On the wall hung a single photo. A man in his 50s. His eyes were warm. My chest ached just looking at him—my father.
I sat on the floor and looked around. I didn’t know that man. Didn’t know that farm. But somehow, I wasn’t scared. I stayed.
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***
Each morning, I woke up with a purpose. I fixed the fence, painted the porch, and learned how to collect eggs without getting pecked.
I wasn’t sure how, but I just knew what to do. It was like something inside me had clicked—a secret switch.
“Farmer Mode ON.”
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But just as I started to feel at home, she showed up.
Linda. My neighbor.
At first, I thought she was just shy. Then, I thought she was a little odd.
Then, she… started copying everything I did. That’s when things started to get weird.
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***
“What the…?”
I froze by the kitchen window, a spoonful of cereal halfway to my mouth.
Just the day before, I had painted my fence bright yellow. It was the only can of paint I found in the shed, and I was on a budget. The paint smelled awful, but the fence looked cheerful.
At that moment, staring across the property line, I saw Linda’s fence. It was also yellow, the same shade.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Maybe just a coincidence.”
The next day, I built a new mailbox. I was proud of it—wooden, with a tiny sloped roof and a carved little bird sitting on top. It took me all afternoon and three Band-Aids.
I stepped back and said aloud, “You nailed it, Ellie.”
The following morning, I stepped outside… and there it was. Linda’s mailbox. Same shape. Same roof. The exact same bird.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, clutching my coffee cup.
I tried to be polite and waved to Linda when I saw her outside. She never waved back—just scurried into her barn like I’d caught her doing something illegal.
But then came the daisies. They were my favorite. I planted them in a curved line near my front steps.
The next morning?
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Linda had the same daisies. Same curve. The same little row of stones was around them. I walked outside and just stared at her yard.
Is she watching me? Copying me on purpose?
I tried to brush it off until yoga.
One sunny morning, I rolled my mat on the grass and started my usual routine. Just some stretches to loosen up.
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When I looked over, Linda was wobbling in my exact pose.
She was wearing jeans and a floppy hat. She was copying again.
That was it. My patience was gone. I marched across the yard and knocked on her wooden gate.
“Hey, Linda! We need to talk!”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
The door creaked open slowly. She stood there, still, silent. Her dark eyes met mine. Wide. Serious. A little scared.
“Why are you copying everything I do? What do you want from me?!”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped back and nodded slightly.
I followed her into the house. That’s when I saw them.
Letters. Dozens of them. Scattered on the table. All addressed to me.
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“What are these?”
She picked up the top one and handed it to me. Her fingers shook. I opened it.
“My dear Ellie,
I don’t know how to talk to you. I don’t know if you’d even want to listen.
But I am… your mother. I lived near your father. We were never officially divorced, but we lived apart. When you were born, I was… different.
I have autism.
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Life overwhelmed me. Your father decided it would be best if a stable, loving family raised you. But I always knew about you. And when he died, I took care of the farm. And then you came…
I didn’t know how to approach you or how to speak.
So I started doing what you did.
It was my way… of being close.”
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I reread the letter. And again.
“You…” I looked up.
She stood still, barely breathing. I reached for another letter—an older one. A photo fell out. Young Linda was holding a toddler, both smiling.
“Is this…?”
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“That’s my daughter. Ellie.”
“Me?”
“My daughter,” she repeated softly. “You’re Ellie.”
Suddenly… I don’t know why, but… I turned and ran. Back to my yard. Past the daisies. Past the mailbox.
And I cried. I didn’t know how to fix anything, and I didn’t know if I was ready for it.
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***
A few days passed.
I stayed inside. No reading, no coffee, no watering the daisies. I just lay on the couch, watching shadows crawl across the ceiling, hoping they’d spell out something that made sense.
I wasn’t sick. Not in a way any doctor could fix. It was the kind of ache that fills your chest and makes everything feel… weightless and heavy at the same time.
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I thought that knowing the truth would bring peace.
But instead of closure, I found a mother. And somehow, that unraveled me more than all the years I’d spent wondering.
Then, one morning, I opened the front door. A stack of letters—thick envelopes tied with string—sitting quietly on my doorstep.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
I took them inside with trembling hands. Each envelope was marked with a year. One letter for every year of my life. Thirty letters.
I read the first. Then, the second. Then, all of them.
Each one was handwritten in a neat, careful script. Some had drawings. Others had dried petals tucked inside. All were full of emotion, wonder, sorrow… and love.
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So much love.
Linda wrote to me every year—for birthdays, first days of school I never told her about, and college she didn’t even know I’d never finished. She imagined it all, sending wishes into the void.
I cried over every single page. Sobbed. Because for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel forgotten.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
On the third morning, I opened the door again.
The flowerbeds had been watered. The animals were fed. The yard looked freshly swept.
A folded note was tucked under a jar of jam left on the porch.
“Saved the milk in my fridge.
Love, Mom”
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Mom.
I held the note in my hands and stared at that one word.
For the first time, it didn’t feel imaginary. I had a mother—a quiet, complicated, awkward woman who showed love not through words but through letters and gestures.
And I realized… maybe it wasn’t her who had failed me. Perhaps it was the situation. The way life broke apart before either of us could hold it together.
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Dad’s guilt now lives with me: in these walls, in this land, in the silence he left behind. But I have the power to rewrite the ending.
Right then, I made a decision. I stepped out into the morning sun. Barefoot, like always.
Linda was in her yard, wobbling in a half-hearted yoga pose, her sunhat nearly falling over her eyes. But she was trying—still trying.
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My heart ached. I walked toward the fence.
“That’s… the warrior pose. I’m not a huge fan either.”
She froze, then slowly turned. A small, shy smile tugged at her lips.
“You’re doing great,” I added. “But you’ll do better without the hat.”
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She took it off, smoothed the brim with her fingers, and laid it gently on the grass. Then, she moved into the tree pose. She wobbled and fell over sideways.
I really laughed—for the first time in days.
“Okay,” I said, stepping closer to the fence. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll show you one pose, and you try it. But… no more mailbox copying.”
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“Okay,” she whispered.
“You’ll do better if you relax your fingers.”
And we stood there—both of us—finally on the same side of the yard, under the same sky. A little clumsy. A little unsure. But no longer alone.
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Later, we made tea at my place. I pointed to the photo from her letter.
“That photo… that’s you?”
She nodded.
“And my daughter Ellie. It’s you and me.”
“I’ve read all the letters. Thank you, Mom.”
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She clutched her teacup with both hands.
“Can I… try that one pose tomorrow? The one with the leg in the air?”
I nodded. We both smiled. Then we laughed. And somehow, it felt like life was finding its color again.
And you know what?
That yellow fence didn’t seem so weird anymore. Maybe it was the beginning. Just like us.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
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