I Spent Every Thanksgiving with My Husband’s Family, but the One Time We Went to Mine Turned into a Nightmare — Story of the Day

Every year, Sarah had to devise a new excuse to explain to her family why they wouldn’t be visiting. “I won’t miss a single-family holiday because of your parents!” her husband Peter always insisted. But this time, Sarah stood her ground and defended her family values.

The end of autumn and the beginning of winter had always been my favorite time of year.

Сrisp air carried the smell of woodsmoke, and the golden leaves gave way to the first frost.

It was the season when my family would gather, no matter what, to share holiday dinners and exchange thoughtful gifts.

Those gatherings were the heart of my childhood, moments of warmth and laughter that felt like nothing else in the world.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

But since marrying Peter, those moments had become memories. Each year, I found myself on the phone, explaining to my parents why I couldn’t make it.

Why, once again, I’d be spending the holidays with Peter’s family instead of my own.

My mom would try to sound understanding, but I knew it hurt her. It hurt me too.

This year, though, things were going to be different. For the first time, Peter had agreed to spend Thanksgiving with my parents.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

It had taken weeks of discussion—if you could call the arguments discussions—but he finally relented.

And now, here we were, strolling through the grocery store, picking out a bottle of wine for my mom, a new roasting pan for my dad, and the ingredients for the pumpkin pie I wanted to bake.

I clutched a small bundle of festive napkins with turkeys printed on them and held them up for Peter’s opinion.

He shrugged. His lack of enthusiasm was obvious, and it had been simmering all day.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Are you okay, love?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

“Yeah. Couldn’t be better,” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

I sighed.

“Are you still upset about going to my parents’ house?”

He stopped walking and turned to me, his face tight with frustration. “Of course, I’m upset! Why should I skip my family’s holiday for your whims?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“My whims?” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “I’ve done this for you every single year since we started dating, Peter. Every. Year.”

“Oh, here we go,” he said with a bitter laugh. “It’s always about you, isn’t it? You didn’t like this, you didn’t like that. What about me? Why don’t you care if I’m happy?”

“Peter,” I said slowly, keeping my voice as steady as possible, “we’ve already talked about this. I just want one season with my parents. If that’s too much for you, maybe we should celebrate separately.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

His eyebrows shot up.

“Season? Are you saying you’re skipping Christmas with my family too?”

“Yes,” I replied firmly, though my stomach churned.

“This year, I’m spending the holidays with my parents.”

He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Fine. Then you can explain that to my parents.”

“I will,” I said, keeping my tone quiet and even.

I felt wrung out, as if every ounce of energy had been drained by this conversation. I just wanted it to be over.

We stood in the aisle for a moment, the silence between us louder than the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.

He grabbed the cart handle and pushed it forward without another word.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

I followed, clutching the napkins to my chest, trying to hold on to the excitement that had felt so real just hours ago.

The tension hung heavy in the car as we neared my parents’ house.

Peter gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set in a way that warned me not to push too hard. But I couldn’t let it go entirely.

“Peter,” I started softly, “please, just be kind to my parents. They’re excited to see us, and they’re nervous about making a good impression.”

He let out a sharp laugh.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Oh, great! Now you’re giving me instructions? Should I juggle for them too? Or maybe do a little dance?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “I’m not asking for much. I just want this to go well.”

“Well,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly, “maybe you should’ve just invited them to join us at my family’s house. Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

I shook my head, exasperated. “Peter, they’re old. Traveling for the holidays isn’t easy for them.”

“Great. Just perfect!” he muttered, throwing one hand up dramatically before gripping the wheel again.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The rest of the drive was silent except for the hum of the engine.

I focused on the frosty trees lining the road, trying to calm the knot in my stomach.

When we arrived, I forced a smile and rang the doorbell.

My mom, Charlotte, opened the door almost immediately, her face lighting up as she threw her arms around us.

“I’m so happy to see you! Finally, you’re here!” she exclaimed, her warmth like a balm to my nerves.

Behind her, my dad, Kevin, offered a small, reserved smile, his usual quiet presence grounding the moment.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Peter muttered a half-hearted “hello” and walked inside without eye contact.

I gave my mom an apologetic look, silently willing her to understand. Then, with a deep breath, I followed him into the house.

Inside the warm glow of the house, my mom and I moved around the dining room, setting the table with care.

The soft clatter of plates and the occasional hum of her voice filled the space as we arranged the dishes.

In the living room, Peter sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed, while my dad quietly flipped through a magazine beside him.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mom glanced toward Peter, her movements slowing. “Is Peter okay?” she asked softly. “He seems… upset.”

I hesitated, trying to find the right words.

“He’s just… frustrated, I think,” I said finally, keeping my voice low. “He wishes we were spending the holiday with his family.”

Her hands paused mid-air, holding a serving spoon. “Oh,” she said, her tone tinged with confusion and sadness. “Did we do something wrong?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“No, Mom,” I said quickly. “It’s not you. It’s just—” I stopped, unsure how to explain the unspoken tension between Peter and me. “It’s complicated.”

She looked at me, her brows drawn together.

“We’re not family to him?” she asked quietly, almost to herself.

Her words hit me like a cold wind. I didn’t know how to respond.

Was that how Peter saw it? My family, my parents—were they nothing to him? The thought stung more than I wanted to admit.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. For Peter’s mood? For his indifference? For years I’d put my family on hold for his?

Mom placed a hand on my arm, her touch warm and steady.

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart,” she said gently.

But her eyes still held a shadow of hurt, and it lingered in the air as we finished setting the table in silence.

The table was set beautifully, with crisp white linens, shining silverware, and the aroma of roasted turkey filling the room.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

My mom, Charlotte, stood back to admire her work before clapping her hands.

“Everything’s ready! Come and eat!” she said with cheerful warmth, her voice echoing into the quiet living room.

We all gathered around the table. My dad, Kevin, pulled out my mom’s chair for her, and I couldn’t help but smile at his small gesture of old-fashioned chivalry.

Peter followed sluggishly, barely making an effort to engage, and slumped into his seat with a sigh.

The meal began, but the air was tense like a storm waiting to break. My mom tried valiantly to spark a conversation.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“So, Peter,” she started brightly, “how’s work going? Busy this time of year?”

He gave a noncommittal grunt, stabbing a piece of turkey with his fork.

“Dad’s been working on the deck in the backyard,” I chimed in, trying to fill the silence. “It’s really coming together.”

My dad nodded. “It’s slow, but it keeps me busy. Maybe you could come by and give me some tips, Peter.”

Peter didn’t even look up. “Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, flicking a crumb off the table.

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Peter,” I said softly, leaning toward him, “what’s wrong? Can I help?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

He dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter and leaned back in his chair. “Everything’s wrong!” he snapped, his voice loud enough to make my mom flinch.

“How is this even Thanksgiving without my mom’s chocolate pudding?”

“Pudding?” my mom echoed, her voice unsure, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for her glass of water.

“It’s fine,” I interjected quickly, trying to calm the situation. “His mom always makes it for him. It’s no big deal.”

Peter scoffed, his eyes blazing. “No big deal? Of course! Because nothing I want ever matters. It’s always about Sarah, isn’t it? What Sarah wants. What Sarah needs.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Peter, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “This is supposed to be a happy day.”

He pushed his chair back, the chair’s legs screeching against the floor. “Listen, I’m done! We’re leaving. Get your coat, Sarah!”

“NO, YOU LISTEN!” my dad shouted after Peter, jumping up from his chair. But Peter just ignored him and walked right past! I saw my dad clutch his chest.

The weight of the moment pressed on me as I stood slowly. My mom’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, Mom,” I said, my throat tightening. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this.”

I walked to the doorway, where Peter stood waiting, arms crossed.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Put your coat on! We’re leaving!” he barked.

“No,” I said, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. “You’re leaving. I’m staying.”

“What? You’re my wife. You’re supposed to listen to me!”

I took a deep breath, meeting his glare.

“You don’t respect my parents, you don’t respect me, and behaving like this, you don’t even respect yourself. I’ve put up with your selfishness for years, hoping the loving man I married was still there. But now, I don’t believe he is.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“You want to talk about respect?” he sputtered, disbelief written all over his face.

“Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “Leave, Peter. It’s over.”

His mouth opened, but no words came. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I returned to the dining room, my heart pounding, and found my parents sitting quietly, their faces a mixture of sadness and concern.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“I’m sorry, Mom. Dad,” I said, my voice soft but resolute.

“I let this go on for too long. But not anymore.”

Charlotte stood and wrapped me in a warm hug. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters,” she whispered.

For the first time in years, I felt free. I had chosen the family that truly mattered and wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.

Velho pede ao filho que o leve para uma casa de repouso em vez de morar com sua família – História do dia

Donald teve que se mudar com seu filho Peter depois que sua casa pegou fogo. Mas ele começou a pensar que estava sobrecarregando seu filho porque eles ficavam fora até tarde todas as noites. Portanto, o homem mais velho decidiu se mudar para uma casa de repouso. Mas seu filho tinha a mais linda surpresa reservada.

“Estou lhe dizendo, Donald. Seu filho vai perder a cabeça em breve e vai pedir para você se mudar. É melhor ser proativo e encontrar outra coisa por conta própria antes que isso aconteça e seu relacionamento sofra”, Donald ouviu Mary dizer mais uma vez. Ela estava falando sobre isso desde que começaram a tomar chá na varanda do filho dele.

A casa de Donald pegou fogo há dois meses enquanto ele estava no supermercado, e ele sofreu um ataque cardíaco quando chegou em casa. Ele foi levado para o hospital, e seu filho, Peter, e sua esposa insistiram em levá-lo com eles quando ele se recuperasse. Mas eles eram um casal na faixa dos 30 anos com três filhos pequenos, e agora tinham que lidar com um homem mais velho em casa.

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Donald estava preocupado em ser um fardo por um tempo, mas eles insistiam que amavam tê-lo por perto, e os netos sempre ficavam felizes em ouvir suas histórias. Mas a vizinha de Peter, Mary, que tinha mais ou menos a idade de Donald, estava dizendo o contrário.

“Você acha que Peter e sua esposa são educados demais para me dizer para me mudar?” Donald se perguntou, sua mão direita segurando a xícara de chá em seus lábios e bebendo lentamente.

Mary fez o mesmo enquanto balançava a cabeça veementemente. “Claro! Aconteceu comigo, e eu fiquei com minha filha por apenas três semanas. Ela me culpou por tudo que deu errado. Ela disse que eu era muito barulhenta de manhã e fazia com que sua conta de luz subisse. Minha casa estava apenas sendo dedetizada, mas eu juro, eu queria apenas voltar para casa”, ela continuou. “Nós não nos falamos há um tempo por causa disso.”

Donald cantarolou e assentiu, pensando que Mary poderia estar certa. Obviamente, seu filho era muito mais educado porque eles não tinham uma palavra ruim para dizer sobre Donald.

Ele também notou que Peter e sua esposa, Sandra, estavam chegando em casa cada vez mais tarde a cada dia. Ele estava feliz em cuidar das crianças para eles, mas talvez, ele pensou, eles estivessem infelizes em vê-lo em sua casa. Ele decidiu que talvez fosse hora de se mudar.

O homem mais velho puxou o filho de lado naquela noite quando chegou em casa e sugeriu que ele fosse transferido para uma casa de repouso, mas Peter disse que eles deveriam revisitar essa conversa mais tarde. “Papai, agora não é hora para isso. Falaremos sobre isso mais tarde.”

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Vários meses se passaram, e Donald estava preocupado. Peter e sua esposa pareciam exaustos toda vez que chegavam em casa, embora sempre sorrissem para ele. Ele não havia falado sobre o assunto da casa de repouso novamente, mas era hora de tentar mais uma vez. Ele tinha economias suficientes para pagar por uma residência assistida decente, então não seria horrível.

Ele até tinha ido online para procurar lugares, e havia um perto, no bairro deles em Chesapeake, Virgínia, que ficava a apenas alguns minutos da casa de Peter. Ele tinha impresso as informações e estava pronto para mostrá-las a Peter.

“Ok, pai. Vamos visitá-lo amanhã”, Peter concordou naquela noite, e Donald ficou aliviado. Mary estava martelando novamente sobre sua estadia prolongada, e Donald estava preocupado que isso arruinasse seu vínculo com seu filho e a família.

Então, na manhã seguinte, Donald entrou no banco do passageiro do carro de Peter, e eles começaram a dirigir em direção à casa de repouso que ele sugeriu. Por algum motivo, Peter deu várias voltas, e Donald franziu a testa. “Você tem certeza de que este é o caminho certo? Sinto que você vai dar a volta de volta para sua casa”, disse o homem mais velho ao filho.

“Oh, não se preocupe, pai. Temos que pegar uma coisa primeiro no 7Eleven,” Peter respondeu, suas mãos movendo o volante e seus olhos focados na estrada.

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Donald assentiu e não pensou em nada. Ele pegou a papelada que havia impresso e leu em voz alta alguns dos benefícios listados no site da casa de repouso.

Ele se concentrou tanto na leitura que não percebeu quando Peter parou o carro. “Oh, me traga um saco de batatas fritas, por favor,” Donald disse distraidamente.

“Não estamos no 7Eleven, pai. Olhe para cima”, Peter interrompeu. Donald levantou a cabeça e olhou para o filho, que gesticulou em direção à janela do passageiro. O homem mais velho se virou e percebeu que estavam na sua antiga rua, bem em frente à sua casa.

A última imagem que ele lembrava daquele lugar era pura cinza e dor. Ele tinha comprado aquela casa com sua esposa, e foi lá que eles criaram Peter. A surpresa de vê-la sumir depois de um enorme curto-circuito na cozinha tinha sido demais para seu coração mais velho.

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Mas a imagem que ele via agora não era nada parecida com a que ele se lembrava. A casa estava em forma novamente. Estava completamente remodelada. Donald ergueu as sobrancelhas para o filho. “Não, você não fez isso”, ele sussurrou.

“Claro que sim. Bem, nós fizemos. Sandra trabalhou para encontrar os melhores orçamentos disponíveis”, Peter acrescentou com um sorriso enorme no rosto.

“É muito dinheiro, Peter. Deixe-me pagar de volta”, Donald disse enquanto lágrimas começavam a se acumular em seus olhos.

“Absolutamente não. Você achou que eu deixaria meu pai morar em um asilo? Não sei de onde você tirou essa ideia maluca. Além disso, você e a mamãe me criaram naquela casa. Não podemos perdê-la de jeito nenhum, mesmo que eu tenha uma só minha a apenas alguns quarteirões de distância. Eu amo esta casa, e isso é mais do que você merece por tudo o que fez por mim enquanto eu estava crescendo,” Peter disse enquanto seus olhos também lacrimejavam.

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Apenas para fins ilustrativos. | Fonte: Pexels

Donald começou a chorar abertamente, e seu filho o puxou para um abraço apertado. Eles fizeram um tour pela nova casa que Peter e Sandra também tinham mobiliado, embora ela fosse mais moderna agora.

Donald não conseguia acreditar que seu filho tinha feito isso, e agora ele entendia por que eles sempre chegavam tarde em casa. Ele também percebeu que não deveria ter dado ouvidos à vizinha intrometida, Mary. Claramente, ela estava errada.

O que podemos aprender com essa história?

  • A jornada de uma pessoa não precisa ser a sua. Mary disse a Donald que seu filho se cansaria da presença dele em sua casa, a julgar por sua própria experiência, mas ela estava completamente enganada. Porque o que aconteceu com ela não aconteceria necessariamente com Donald.
  • Cuide dos seus pais na velhice deles. Às vezes, colocar seus pais em um asilo é inevitável, mas cuide deles se puder, porque a família é tudo o que importa neste mundo.

Compartilhe esta história com seus amigos. Pode alegrar o dia deles e inspirá-los.

Se você gostou desta história, talvez goste desta sobre uma criança abandonada em frente a uma igreja.

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