My Husband Took the Day Off to Cook Thanksgiving Dinner – but What I Saw on Our Kitchen Camera Ruined Everything

Cora’s husband surprises her on Thanksgiving morning by telling her to unwind while he prepares dinner.

Hours later, however, a terrifying revelation completely upends her world. While everyone assembles to applaud his flawless dish, Cora gets ready for her own reveal, which will be remembered forever.

The quietness, warmth, and perfection of Thanksgiving morning made it seem almost unreal. The smell of cloves and cinnamon filled the corridor when I woke up, and the biting taste of fresh coffee kept me grounded.

Eric, my husband, doesn’t get up early. He’s not a cook. He was barefoot and breaking eggs in front of the stove with a confidence I had never seen him display before, but I followed the aroma into the kitchen and found him there.

“Morning, babe,” he replied, smiling as he looked over his shoulder. “I took the day off. This year, I’m making Thanksgiving dinner. You just put your feet up and relax. Or go for a drive! Or get your nails done!”

Calm down? Enjoy your Thanksgiving!

I leaned in the doorway, halfway between sleep and astonishment, and asked, “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious, babe,” he uttered while holding a whisk. “No chopping, no basting, and no yelling at the oven when it ignores the time.”

“I don’t yell,” I raised an eyebrow.

“Sure you don’t,” my spouse said with a sly smile.

“Go to the café,” he said. “Take your books. Get that weird tea you like. Just… come back late, okay? I want it to be a surprise. I want to… make you proud of me.”

As I watched him walk around the kitchen as if he were supposed to, I stopped and placed my hand on the threshold. He was focused, relaxed, and self-assured in a way that didn’t appear contrived, unlike anything I had ever seen in him.

I said, “Are you sure?” “You know you don’t have to prove anything, right? It’s just our families for dinner tonight.”

“Cora,” Eric rolled up his sleeves and grinned. “You’ve cooked every Thanksgiving dinner since we got married. Let me give you a break this year. For once, just enjoy the day and trust me.”

“All right,” I replied. “I’m going to shower and then head out to the café. Just call me if you need me or anything for dinner.”

Eric waved a spatula at me as if it were a magic wand and said, “Have fun, honey,” “And get the window seat you like. The one where you pretend to read but you’re really just eavesdropping on everyone.”

I let out a loud laugh.

“Don’t tell on me, babe.”

The first clue should have been that only my mother refers to me as Coraline. All I could see, though, was the man I had been in love with since college, standing barefoot in my kitchen and feigning to be a chef.

I wanted to think that this was maturity and growth. Perhaps a bit late in our marriage, but sincere.

In an instant, I gave him the holiday.

I didn’t decide to check on Eric until two hours later, when my chai latte was getting cold on the table next to me and the words on the page were starting to get hazy.

After a string of break-ins in our area a few months prior, I checked the nanny camera and unlocked my phone.
My chest seized unexpectedly when it did load.

A woman entered our kitchen, which is my kitchen, as if she has been there a hundred times. She wasn’t perplexed or wary. Rather, she walked with the assurance of someone who knew the layout by heart. Not someone who had sneaked in, but someone who had been invited in numerous times previously.

She wore a form-fitting cream sweater that seemed to be molded to her body, and she had long, shiny brown hair.

She was quite comfortable and wasn’t hurrying in or skulking around.

Then, with a big smile on his face, Eric trailed behind her.

“Mel,” he murmured in a quiet voice.

She turned to face him and said, “This house always smells so good. It’s the cinnamon, isn’t it, babe?”

I sat motionless in the café, gazing at my phone as if it had also deceived me.

“Oh, Eric,” she finally said. “Where is the famous turkey? The one your wife thinks you’re cooking for your family dinner? Let’s get the cooking going so we can spend some… time together.”

Eric laughed and took out two turkeys from the refrigerator. “Cora practically cried when I offered to cook,” he said.

“Goodness, that’s rich,” Mel said with a laugh. “She’s too… trusting. Poor thing.”

With a nod toward one of the pans, Eric seasoned the turkey.

We own this one. That’s for dinner tonight.”

Mel pointed to his manicured finger and added, “Don’t mix them up,” adding that I dislike marinades with too much lemon. And tonight, Eric, I’m taking this home. for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving supper.

With one hand touching the counter as if to claim it, she leaned closer.

My spouse simply shrugged.

“She believes what I tell her, Mel,” he stated. “I’ve never given Cora a reason to doubt me before, so she trusts me.”

That woman strode into my kitchen like it was hers, so now she could have my anger too. I didn’t blink, I didn’t allow myself to feel, I just closed the app.

And I had never heard anything as deafening as the quiet that erupted inside my chest.

Everything got muted, as if someone had submerged my head, and I lost the ability to hear the street noise or the hiss of the espresso machine from within the café.

My hands trembled and my ears rang.

I hurried to my car, put my scarf over my lips, and yelled until my voice cracked and my throat hurt.

I then came to a standstill.

After I finished crying, I made the resolution that I would not call anyone or make any rash decisions.

The silence had become full and thick with shock and betrayal, overlaid with the clarity that only comes after something cracks inside you. It was no longer empty.

I took my time getting home.

Rather, I strolled through the botanical gardens, allowing the afternoon to slowly unfurl around me; the air was crisp, the trees were naked, and the silence was just what I needed.

For over an hour, I sat on a bench and watched a young child toss breadcrumbs to ducks as her father used his phone to take pictures.

While all of this was going on, I pictured Eric in the kitchen, carefully double-checking the recipe, tasting gravy with the back of a spoon, and keeping a close eye on the oven, all the while feeling certain that he had managed to pull it off—while still making time for his mistress.

I whispered to myself against the wind, “Let him believe he’s getting away with it. Let him think he’s fooled me.” Tonight during supper, he will receive a beautiful surprise.”

The house smelled as the holidays should by the time I entered just before four o’clock; cloves, cinnamon, garlic, rosemary, butter melting into roasted skin, and the sweetness of something baked.

I should have started crying at the warmth of it all.

Rather, I stood in the doorway and gazed at the kitchen tiles as golden light spilled over them.

The table was wonderfully arranged, the candles flickered like something from a magazine, and the turkey sat in the middle, shining, so I gently put my suitcase down and entered.

I murmured softly, “Eric,” “This is really… fantastic. Honey, I’m amazed that you accomplished all of this. You have my utmost admiration.

He came up and, with experienced ease, kissed my cheek; his garments still carried the scent of his mistress, whether he realized it or not.

I examined the stuffing next to the bird, the cutting knife, and the turkey itself. Eric wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t being completely honest.

My mom, Gina, came through the front door first, carrying jars of homemade cranberry chutney tied with twine and labeled with flawless handwriting. Our families arrived shortly after six, all bundled up and beaming from the cold.

She was immediately looking at clothes, glancing at my footwear, and muttering that my lipstick was too light.

With two boxes of pie and a half smile, my dad, Eddie, came up behind me and gave Eric a pat on the back as if they were old sports buddies.

Eric laughed and continued, “I’m full of surprises, Ed,” taking in the compliments immediately.

With a six-pack of beer in his hand and a doubtful expression on his face, my brother Chad entered last.

“If this turkey is dry, I’m walking out, man,” he replied.

Next to arrive were Eric’s parents, Doris and Walter, who clutched a bottle of bourbon in one hand and another pie in the other, while Doris, wrapped in a knitted poncho, held her sweet potato casserole as if it were made of gold.

“Son, you did all of this?As she surveyed the space, Doris said, “Impressive.”

He said, “Every bit, Mom,” looking at me as if I should be impressed.

Eric performed the role of the ideal host, topping off drinks and wiping flour from his apron like he was born to it. Everyone sat down, grinning, talking, and praising the aroma of the meal, the golden roast, and the gentle lighting.

“Cooking just comes naturally to me, I guess.”

“Mom, we could have saved many horrible dinners if I’d tried cooking sooner.”

And my own favorite:

“I just wanted to spoil my wife.”

The screen-recording I had shot earlier, the one from the botanical gardens, when I sat trembling under a tree, was still on my phone, so I reached into my coat pocket to check it as everyone else talked, passing bowls and complimenting Eric’s stuffing.

Queued, saved, and prepared.

I got up and cleared my throat after dessert, which included a variety of pies including my mother’s crustless apple tart.

With a smile, Eric raised his glass of wine.

“Well, you can’t be pregnant if you’re drinking,” Chad remarked with a smile.

Disregarding him, I grabbed the controller.

The room was quiet save for the movement of chairs, and the TV screen behind me lit up with a paused image from earlier that day.

I grinned as I glanced at my hubby.

“It’s just a little behind-the-scenes look at how the Thanksgiving magic really happened here today.”

I hit play after that.

At first, the only sounds were my mother’s quiet gasp and the faint hum of the television.

When he believed he was being clever, Eric always wore that easy smile when he walked into the kitchen on TV.

Mel came next.

Unmistakable, familiar, and confident, the kiss had the ease of something well-practiced rather than the unpleasant tension of a fresh error.

The double turkey revelation, their hilarity, and Eric’s preparations for tomorrow’s Thanksgiving meal were all captured on camera.

Eric got to his feet so fast that his chair clattered noisily on the floor and his wine glass fell, dripping red liquid across the linen table runner.

Switch it off!”Switch it off, Coraline, now!” he yelled.”

However, I didn’t.

When it was over, I turned to him with a sense of earned and alien peace.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Eric.”

“It’s not, Cora… It is not what it appears to be!Eric yelled.

Doris took a deep breath and got up, her cheeks flushed with either rage or shame, most likely both.

Her words were tight. “It looks exactly like what it looks like,” she murmured.

After a moment more of staring at the TV, Walter turned to face his kid.

“You entered your wife’s kitchen with another woman. Into your house? And you believe that you can talk your way out of this?”

Chad tightened his fists at his sides and pushed his chair back, its legs slapping the wooden floor.

Eric raised his hands, palms facing up.

“I was just… It wasn’t serious. Mel is merely a friend.

“Get out,” yelled Walter.

“What?”You can’t be serious, Dad,” Eric said, glancing around the room in a state of near confusion.

Eric gestured to the table, where the pie was still cooling on the sideboard and the turkey was expertly plated.

“This is my house, and I cooked this whole dinner,” he stated.

“No,” I responded, taking a step forward, “I own this house. Prior to our marriage, my parents assisted me in purchasing it. You are aware that the deed does not contain your name.

“You’re going out tonight,” I stated unequivocally. “Didn’t your mistress take the second turkey away for your private dinner? Go on, have it right now.”

Eric was so shocked that he nearly wanted to quarrel.

All he could utter was “Cora, please —”.

At last, he grabbed his coat and made his way out the door.

Sneering at Eric the whole time, Chad opened it for him. Without saying anything further, he departed.

Behind him, the door clicked shut.

Doris gripped my hand and murmured, “I’m so sorry, Cora,” her voice breaking. “I didn’t raise him like this.”

There was a quiet, startled hush as everyone started to pack up. To assist me in clearing the table, Chad stayed behind. The sound of the faucet and the clinking of plates filled the room as we quietly put away leftovers and cleaned the dishes.

Later, we just wanted to add some warmth to the atmosphere, so we turned on a Christmas movie.

However, they never did. Because I hadn’t lost anything valuable in the end.

I should never have given up anything in the first place, but I did gain it.

My dignity. And really?