Thanksgiving morning began like any other: me in the kitchen, my husband glued to the TV. But when a surprise turkey arrived with a note thanking me for “sharing” my husband, I decided to serve up a dish of my own—revenge, right at the dinner table.
During my decade-long marriage to Ryan, hosting Thanksgiving was my responsibility. I’m Amelia, 35 at the time, a wife, a mom of two, and basically a chef-maid combo.
This particular holiday began at 6 a.m. as I prepped for a house full of guests. Ryan, meanwhile, woke up around 11 a.m., sprawled on the couch, and hollered at some football game.
By noon, the turkey was roasting, the green bean casserole was ready to go, and my daughters were busy drawing hand turkeys at the kitchen table. That’s when the doorbell rang. Frowning, I wiped my hands on my apron and muttered, “Who delivers on Thanksgiving?”
Outside stood a cheerful delivery guy holding a box that smelled divine. “Special delivery,” he said, thrusting it into my hands.
“I’m sorry. We didn’t order this,” I said, confused.
“Lady, I don’t care. I just want to finish this day quickly. Enjoy!” he replied before walking off.
I carried the box to the counter, wondering if Ryan had done something thoughtful for once in his life.
Inside was a perfectly roasted turkey, golden brown and magazine-worthy. My heart softened. Could he really have done this for me? Though I wished he would’ve told me before I put another turkey in the oven.
Then I saw the note.
Tucked beside the turkey was a card with sharp, cursive handwriting: “Thank you for sharing your husband with me! Happy Thanksgiving. XO, Kelsey.”
I read it twice, stunned. Sharing my husband? Was this some sick joke? I glanced at Ryan, still glued to the TV, shouting at the screen.
Taking advantage of his obliviousness, I picked up his phone from the counter. Just then, the lock screen lit up with a notification from someone named “Kelsey ❤️.”
My heart sank. I didn’t want to snoop, but I had to know. Ryan had never given me his passcode, but I knew it: the six digits of Peyton Manning’s birthday. Football trumped everything, even his family.
My hands shook as I unlocked his phone and opened the message. Until the last second, I clung to hope this was all a misunderstanding. But the texts confirmed my suspicions.
“Can’t wait to see you later,” read one message. “Did she get the turkey yet? LOL. Can’t wait to see her face. Happy Thanksgiving, babe,” read another.
So, that’s how I found out my husband was having an affair. And Kelsey? She was laughing at me. They both were. But not for long.
I took a deep breath to steady myself and plotted my next move. Thanksgiving wasn’t over yet, and I had a plan.
Dinner was always a big production. Ryan’s parents, sister, and some of my relatives gathered around the table. My daughters ran around, proudly showing off their hand turkey art. I kept my hostess mask firmly in place, smiling and greeting everyone as Ryan rambled about football.
As we sat down, Ryan leaned back with a smug grin. “You know, Thanksgiving wouldn’t be the same without Amelia. She works so hard every year. I really have the best taste in women,” he joked.
His mother nodded approvingly. “You’re so lucky to have her.”
I smiled sweetly and stayed silent. Once dinner was over, I stood up. “Excuse me for a moment. I have a little surprise for the girls in their room. I’ll be back with dessert.”
After settling the girls in their room, I returned with the mystery turkey in its fancy box. The room went quiet as I placed it in the center of the table.
“Amelia, we just ate a whole turkey. Why did you make a second one?” Ryan’s mother asked, confused.
“This arrived earlier,” I said. “A special delivery from Ryan’s mistress.”
Ryan froze, and everyone turned to him. “What are you talking about?” he stammered, trying to sound offended.
I held up the note. “It’s all here.”
His face turned pale. “No—this isn’t real. It’s a prank, Amelia!”
“Oh, really?” I said, pulling his phone from my pocket. I scrolled to Kelsey’s messages and handed it to his mother. “Care to explain these texts?”
His mother’s expression shifted as she read. “Ryan, what is this?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Ryan said nothing, flinching as his father slammed a fist on the table. “Answer your mother! Are you cheating on your wife? The mother of your kids?”
Ryan stared at the table, tears welling up. His sister shot to her feet. “You disgust me, Ryan. Amelia deserves so much better.”
I always liked her.
Ryan sniffled. “Amelia, w-we need to talk about this in private—”
“Oh, we’ll talk,” I interrupted. “But first, I have one more surprise.”
I reached under the table and pulled out a small bag containing a shiny new set of locks and a business card with a number on it.
“This,” I said, placing them in front of Ryan, “is what’s happening next. The card is for my divorce lawyer, who I’ll be calling tomorrow. The locks? Those are for the house. I’m changing them first thing in the morning. You have until then to pack your things.”
He sputtered. “You can’t do this!”
“Oh, I can. Happy Thanksgiving, Ryan. And take this turkey back to Kelsey. She can keep you. No more sharing.”
Ryan’s mother burst into tears as his father shook his head in disgust. His sister glared at him. “You need to leave.”
With his tail between his legs, Ryan left. Over the next few days, he called and texted nonstop, begging for forgiveness. I ignored every message. His family supported me completely, which was a relief.
I later learned from his sister that Ryan showed up at Kelsey’s house, only to be turned away. She didn’t want to live with him. She just wanted me to find out. While I didn’t like her, at least she freed me from Ryan.
By Christmas, I had filed for divorce. My daughters and I spent the holidays at my mom’s house, and while I missed my in-laws, we’d always be connected through my girls.
By the next Thanksgiving, I was with a wonderful new man who woke up early to prepare the feast himself. For the first time in years, I got to relax and truly enjoy the holiday.
Months later, we got engaged, but Ryan didn’t take it well. That’s a story for another time. If there’s one thing I learned from this, it’s that betrayal may sting at first, but it can also be the key to your freedom. Since leaving Ryan, my holidays have only gotten better—and that’s what I wish for anyone in my position.
