“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?”
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.
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.
“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…”
“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.
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.
“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.
“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.
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.
What would you have done?
