The Thanksgiving Revelation
When my six-year-old son, Leo, asked if we could save a seat at Thanksgiving dinner for “the man who always brings Mommy flowers,” I thought he was imagining things. But Megan’s reaction—her sudden stillness—told me there was more to it, and I couldn’t ignore it.
Thanksgiving had always been my favorite holiday, filled with tradition, joy, and family. For seven years, Megan and I hosted a lively feast, but this year we decided to keep it quiet—just the three of us. It was a chance to reconnect amidst the chaos of work and life.
But Leo’s innocent comment shifted everything.
A Child’s Remark
As we discussed dinner plans, Leo suddenly blurted out, “Can we save a seat for the man who always brings Mommy flowers?”
I froze. Megan, balancing plates, went pale.
“What man, buddy?” I asked carefully.
“The one with the flowers when you’re at work,” Leo said, smiling like it was the most normal thing.
I turned to Megan, expecting her to laugh it off. Instead, she stood frozen, her silence deafening.
“Megan?” I prompted.
“I-I don’t know what he’s talking about,” she said weakly, avoiding my eyes.
But Leo wasn’t done. “Last time, he brought pink roses. You said they were your favorite!”
Megan’s forced smile didn’t convince me, and that night, I couldn’t shake the unease.
Unanswered Questions
After Leo went to bed, I confronted her. “What’s going on? Is there something I should know?”
“It’s nothing,” she insisted, her voice unsteady. “Leo must’ve misunderstood.”
But I knew Leo—he wasn’t one to make up such detailed stories.
“Megan,” I pressed, “if there’s something, tell me now.”
She sighed but didn’t answer. “Let’s drop it,” she muttered, avoiding my gaze.
The tension lingered, but I decided to wait.
Continue reading on next page…