The Mothers of a Couple Turned Thanksgiving Into a Living Hell for Their Newlywed Kids — Story of the Day

Two stubborn mothers arrive at Thanksgiving with their own plans, sparking a rivalry that fills the kitchen with smoke and tension. As surprises unfold, the family faces one unforgettable holiday where tempers flare, loyalties are tested, and a last-minute twist reminds them of what truly matters.

Thick, dark smoke swirled through the house, making it hard to breathe. Kira coughed, struggling to take in air as she pressed her hand over her mouth. Her other hand protectively rested on her pregnant belly, and she glanced at Michael with wide, anxious eyes.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

They moved cautiously toward the kitchen, where the thickest smoke seemed to gather. There, like two children caught in the act, stood Margaret and Rebecca, each looking as startled as the other.

Their faces were smudged with black soot, their eyes wide and guilty, while the oven door hung open, revealing a turkey charred beyond recognition.

“What is going on here?!” Michael yelled, his eyes darting from his mother to his mother-in-law, then to the smoky kitchen around them.

“This old woman—” Rebecca started, pointing an accusing finger at Margaret.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Old woman? Look who’s talking!” Margaret interrupted, her voice sharp as she crossed her arms.

Rebecca glared. “If you hadn’t barged in here—”

Margaret shot back, “Barged in? You’re the one who can’t cook!”

Their voices grew louder, words tumbling over each other, turning into a mess of jabs and shouts, each trying to talk over the other. Insults flew back and forth as if they’d forgotten anyone else was there.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Please, stop,” Kira whispered, clutching her belly, but they didn’t hear her.

Kira winced, feeling a sharp pain. “Stop! I’m in labor!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Both women froze, their faces stunned. Then, suddenly, the turkey burst into flames in the oven. Margaret and Rebecca shrieked, grabbing towels to fight the fire, while Kira moaned in pain, and Michael stood there, helpless, eyes wide in shock.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

One Week Earlier…

Margaret drove up to her daughter Kira’s house, feeling a spark of excitement. She held a fresh-baked pie on her lap, proud of the surprise she had planned.

Without calling ahead, she parked, stepped out, and walked up the front steps, smiling at the thought of catching them off guard. She knocked firmly, and before long, Michael opened the door, blinking in surprise.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Margaret… what are you doing here?” he asked, blinking in surprise.

“I decided to surprise you,” Margaret replied cheerfully, holding out a pie. “I thought a little treat might be nice.”

Michael took the pie, glancing back toward the kitchen, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “Thanks, Margaret. Um, come on in.”

Margaret stepped inside, slipping off her coat, and instantly heard voices from the kitchen. She paused, recognizing the tone of Rebecca’s voice. With a raised brow, she followed the sound and found Kira seated, listening as Rebecca talked in her usual, commanding way.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Rebecca was in mid-sentence, her words calm yet firm. “It’s important to establish good habits early. Babies need a routine, structure.”

Margaret felt a surge of irritation. “Why are you bothering my daughter?”

Rebecca looked over, blinking, and gave a tight smile. “I’m just giving her a little parenting advice.”

Margaret scoffed. “Parenting advice? And what do you know about raising kids?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Rebecca’s smile vanished. “Excuse me? Your daughter is married to my son, after all. I think that gives me some right to speak.”

“Oh, well, apologies accepted,” Margaret said with a dry laugh. “Though I recall your son didn’t even know how to wash his own dishes when he started dating Kira. I had to teach him myself!”

“How dare you!” Rebecca snapped.

Michael stepped into the kitchen. “Please, calm down. Let’s keep things peaceful, all right?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Kira gave a tired sigh. “There will be a little baby in this house soon,” she said softly. “We want a positive atmosphere here. No fighting.”

Margaret nodded, sitting down at the table. “You’re right, Kira. I want the best for this family. And, well, since we’re all here, even if some people weren’t exactly welcome…” Her gaze shifted pointedly to Rebecca. “Why don’t we talk about Thanksgiving? I’ll make my signature turkey—”

Rebecca cut her off. “Actually, I was going to suggest we celebrate at my place this year.”

Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “We celebrate at my place every year. It’s tradition.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Rebecca crossed her arms. “Traditions can change. I’m tired of sneezing from your silly cat.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Better to have a cat than to celebrate in a snake’s den.”

Rebecca’s voice rose. “Who do you think you are?!”

Kira sighed heavily, covering her face with her hands. Michael gently patted her back. “I think we should celebrate here this year,” he offered quickly.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“What?” Kira blurted, surprised.

“It’ll be fine, Kira. I’ll help you with the cooking,” Michael assured her.

Margaret shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“It’s better than all this arguing,” Michael replied.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Kira nodded wearily. “He’s right. My head is pounding.”

Rebecca softened a little. “At least let me help. I can make the turkey.”

Kira sighed. “Fine.”

“But what about my signature turkey?” Margaret asked, hurt.

“Just this once, Mom,” Kira pleaded.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Margaret paused, then gave in with a nod. “All right. For you, Kira,” she said, though a secret plan was already forming in her mind.

On Thanksgiving morning, Margaret rose early, her mind set on her plan. She was ready, having spent the entire week gathering the perfect ingredients. She packed up her turkey, herbs, spices, and everything needed to create her well-loved recipe.

She carefully tucked everything into a basket and drove over to Kira and Michael’s house. She knew Kira and Michael were out, so there was no time to waste.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

She reached their front door, taking out the spare key Kira had given her, meant only for emergencies. But today, Margaret felt this was important enough.

As she stepped inside, she paused, listening. A muffled noise drifted from the kitchen—pots clanging, cabinets closing. Margaret froze, her mind racing. Kira and Michael’s car wasn’t outside, so it wasn’t them.

Her eyes darted around, and she spotted an umbrella by the door. She grabbed it firmly and walked toward the kitchen, her heart pounding. She raised the umbrella as she peeked inside.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

There, bent over the counter, was Rebecca, elbows deep in turkey preparations. Margaret stopped short, barely holding back from swinging the umbrella.

“Are you completely insane?!” Rebecca shouted.

Margaret glared back. “I thought you were a burglar! What are you even doing here?”

Rebecca crossed her arms. “Kira gave me permission to cook here. But what are you doing here?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Margaret calmly set her basket on the counter. “I’m here to make my turkey.”

Rebecca scowled. “That wasn’t the deal.”

Margaret smirked. “What’s wrong? Afraid mine will taste better?”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “We’ll just have to see about that!”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The kitchen was soon filled with the sounds of clanking pots and muttered complaints as Margaret and Rebecca worked side by side, each determined to make the best turkey.

They bumped elbows, snatched spices from each other’s reach, and exchanged pointed glares. Margaret sprinkled her herbs, pretending not to notice when Rebecca nudged her arm slightly, causing salt to spill. Rebecca hummed loudly, ignoring Margaret’s muttering about “rookie mistakes.”

Finally, Margaret finished her turkey, carefully placing it in the oven with a triumphant grin. She noticed the irritation in Rebecca’s eyes but ignored it, brushing her hands off as she headed to the living room to relax.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

After a while, a strange, burnt smell filled the air. Alarmed, Margaret rushed back to the kitchen, finding Rebecca desperately waving a towel, trying to fan away thick smoke billowing from the oven.

“What did you do?!” Margaret shouted, glaring at Rebecca.

Rebecca crossed her arms. “I didn’t do anything! Maybe you don’t know how to cook.”

Margaret stormed over to the oven, eyeing the controls. She noticed the temperature had been changed. “You did this! You’re trying to ruin my turkey!”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Rebecca leaned in with a smirk. “I didn’t touch it. If it’s ruined, it’s your own fault!”

Margaret pulled open the oven door, only to be hit by a wave of thick, black smoke that poured out into the kitchen. She coughed and squinted, trying to see through the haze.

There, in the center of the oven, was her turkey—charred to a solid black lump. It looked nothing like the golden masterpiece she’d imagined.

Moments later, Michael and Kira walked through the door, both stopping short at the smoky mess. Instantly, Margaret and Rebecca began shouting, each blaming the other.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

But suddenly, Kira doubled over, clutching her belly. “Michael… it’s time!” she gasped, gripping his hand.

As Michael guided Kira to the car, Margaret watched, her heart pounding with worry for her daughter.

“Take a cab,” Michael said firmly. “I don’t want either of you stressing Kira out with more arguments.” With that, he helped Kira into the car, then got in and drove off without waiting for their reply.

Margaret huffed. “Well, we can take my car.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Rebecca nodded, looking tired herself. “Fine, let’s go.”

When they arrived at the hospital, the nurse informed them that only Michael was allowed in the room with Kira. Margaret and Rebecca found two chairs in the hallway and sat down, an uncomfortable silence stretching between them. They fidgeted, glanced around, and avoided each other’s eyes.

Finally, Margaret cleared her throat. “I think we need a truce,” she said quietly. “We almost ruined Thanksgiving, and if Kira hadn’t gone into labor… well, we would have ruined it for her.”

Rebecca nodded slowly, her face softening. “I agree. I don’t want my granddaughter thinking her grandma’s a nutcase.” She paused, then looked at Margaret directly. “So, peace?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Margaret nodded, extending her hand. “Peace,” she repeated.

Rebecca took her hand, giving it a firm shake.

Just then, Michael stepped out, smiling. “You can see your granddaughter now,” he said, motioning for them to come in.

Both women leapt up, hurrying to the room. Inside, Kira lay on the hospital bed, smiling, with a tiny bundle cradled in her arms.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Rebecca leaned over, her eyes filling with tears. “She’s beautiful,” she said softly.

Margaret nodded, reaching out to touch the baby’s tiny hand. “And she looks like both of you,” she added with a smile.

A nurse walked in, carrying a tray. “Dinner for the new mom,” she announced, setting it on the bedside table. “Since it’s Thanksgiving, we went with a holiday-themed meal.” The tray held slices of turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, and green peas.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Margaret chuckled. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new Thanksgiving tradition.”

“No way!” Kira exclaimed with a laugh. “I am not going through this every year!”

Everyone burst out laughing, and though it wasn’t the Thanksgiving they’d planned, it was the one they truly needed.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

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

If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When Rick returns to his small hometown after his grandmother’s passing, he inherits her old bookstore—a place full of memories from his childhood. But as he starts cleaning, he uncovers hidden secrets about his grandmother’s life that change everything. Read the full story here.

This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only. Share your story with us; maybe it will change someone’s life.

My 4-Year-Old Son Got Extremely Upset Every Time My MIL Babysat Him – When I Found Out Why, I Got Revenge


Working as a nurse, Zoe often relied on her mother-in-law, Denise, to babysit Leo, her son. But when the little boy becomes visibly shaken by his grandmother’s presence, Zoe has to question the old woman’s actions, only to discover that Denise has a hidden agenda.

I had always thought that my mother-in-law, Denise, was a little overbearing, but I chalked it up to her just being protective of my son, her only grandson, Leo.

A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney

She was one of those women who carried herself with a certain authority that made you straighten your back and rethink your words. This had become more pronounced when Jeremy, her husband, passed away a few years ago, allowing Denise to reclaim her role as head librarian of the local library.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she asked Andrew, my husband, one day. “I have time now, so there’s no need to just have my part-time role there. And I can have my book club meetings at the library, too.”

“Okay, Mom,” Andrew said. “You do whatever you want.”

A smiling librarian | Source: Midjourney

A smiling librarian | Source: Midjourney

She wasn’t mean, exactly, but Denise had a way of making you feel small without even trying. But still, she lived two roads away and was always willing to babysit Leo whenever I had a shift at the hospital, and considering Andrew’s unpredictable hours at the law firm, Denise usually had to step in often.

“It’s what grandmothers are for, right, Zoe?” she would say whenever I asked her to come over.

And despite how her moods could shift without a moment’s notice, she was reliable and didn’t complain about it once.

A smiling nurse | Source: Midjourney

A smiling nurse | Source: Midjourney

But lately, Leo had been acting strange whenever Denise came over. At first, it was small things. He would cling to my leg a little longer than usual when I tried to leave or hide behind the couch when he heard her car pull up in the driveway.

I thought that my son was just going through a phase, or maybe even a bit of separation anxiety. I had seen it all the time with the kids in my ward, especially when they woke up and their parents weren’t in sight.

But then, last week, right before I was about to leave for a night shift, he started crying.

An upset little boy | Source: Midjourney

An upset little boy | Source: Midjourney

“I don’t want Grandma to stay with me!” he blurted.

Big, fat tears rolled down his cheeks, and he clutched my scrub with a grip that seemed stronger than a grown man’s.

I knelt beside him, brushing a lock of his blonde hair from his forehead.

A concerned woman | Source: Midjourney

A concerned woman | Source: Midjourney

“But why, sweetheart?” I asked gently. “Grandma loves you. And she always brings you treats. Remember the brownies and ice cream from last week?”

My son’s eyes darted to the doorway as if expecting her to walk in at any moment.

“Because… Grandma acts strange,” he said, his eyes wide.

I was about to press him further because I needed to know what was going on. But moments later, Denise’s familiar, clipped footsteps echoed down the hallway. Leo bolted off to his room.

An upset little boy | Source: Midjourney

An upset little boy | Source: Midjourney

“What’s going on?” Denise asked as she set her purse down on the hallway table. “Where’s my grandbaby?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “He ran to his room to play with his toys. Andrew is away for the next two days. He’s meeting with a client and running through a case.”

Denise nodded.

A little boy running down the hallway | Source: Midjourney

A little boy running down the hallway | Source: Midjourney

I left for work, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in my stomach. I spent the entire night running between patients and thinking about Leo’s words.

“Grandma acts strange.”

What did that even mean to a four-year-old?

When I got home the next morning, I found my son sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the TV. His favorite cartoons were playing, but he wasn’t watching them. Instead, his eyes were red and puffy, like he had been crying all night.

An upset little boy sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

An upset little boy sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

“Leo?” I said slowly. “Did you sleep at all?”

He shook his head.

“No, Mommy,” he said. “I stayed up. I didn’t want to sleep.”

“Why not?” I asked, even though I could already feel my heart sinking.

I pulled one of the blankets under the coffee table and wrapped Leo in it, hoping if he felt safer, he would talk.

A woman wrapping her son in a blanket | Source: Midjourney

A woman wrapping her son in a blanket | Source: Midjourney

“Because Grandma scares me,” he said, his hands clutching his teddy bear tightly.

I felt a wave of panic wash over me.

“Scares you? What happened, honey? What did Grandma say or do?”

“She keeps trying to put something into my mouth,” he said. “She chases me with it, and it’s scary.”

An upset little boy | Source: Midjourney

An upset little boy | Source: Midjourney

“What is she trying to put into your mouth, sweetheart?” I asked, my voice tight as I strained to show my emotions.

Leo hesitated.

“Cotton buds,” he said. “You know, what you clean my ears with? She said that she wants to put my spit in the tube. I don’t like it. I don’t want it.”

A jar of cotton buds | Source: Midjourney

A jar of cotton buds | Source: Midjourney

My blood ran cold. Ever since Leo’s accident a few months ago, where he fell off his bike and landed himself with a broken arm, he’s been terrified of doctors, needles, and anything that reminded him of his time in the hospital.

The thought of Denise running around the house with a cotton swab and a test tube made my blood boil. Why was she trying to get my son to take a DNA test?

“Where’s Grandma?” I asked Leo.

A close up of a little boy | Source: Midjourney

A close up of a little boy | Source: Midjourney

“In the guest room,” he said.

I marched to the guest room and found Denise sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the screaming match that was about to come. Without hesitation, I shook her awake.

“Wake up, we need to talk,” I said.

A sleeping woman | Source: Midjourney

A sleeping woman | Source: Midjourney

“What’s going on?” she asked, blinking away her sleep.

“Leo just told me that you’ve been trying to swab his mouth for a test? Why are you traumatizing my son? Why do you want him to have a DNA test?” I demanded.

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like she was going to deny it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sitting up. “I didn’t mean to frighten Leo. I’ve just been wondering about something…”

A home DNA kit on a counter | Source: Midjourney

A home DNA kit on a counter | Source: Midjourney

“What? What would possibly be so important that you’d do this behind my back?”

“His hair,” she said simply. “Nobody has had blonde hair like that.”

“You think that my son isn’t Andrew’s because of his hair color?” I asked.

“I know it sounds crazy, but it’s been gnawing at me. I just needed to know, but I didn’t want to accuse you…”

A newborn baby | Source: Midjourney

A newborn baby | Source: Midjourney

“I can’t believe that you would go to such lengths, Denise.”

“I didn’t know what to think. I’m sorry, Zoe,” she said.

“Please leave, Denise,” I said. “I need time to process this. And I need to focus on Leo.”

She nodded, looking defeated.

A close up of an older woman | Source: Midjourney

A close up of an older woman | Source: Midjourney

Over the next week, things were tense between Andrew and me. While she drove home on the day of the confrontation, she had phoned Andrew and told him everything, firmly securing some seeds of doubt.

“I think we should do the test,” he quietly said one day, not meeting my eyes.

I stared at him, hurt.

“You really think that’s necessary? You believe what your mother is implying?”

A couple sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

A couple sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

“It’s not that I believe it,” he said. “But if we do the test, we can put this all to rest. No more doubts, no more accusations. What if Leo was switched at birth?”

“I had a home birth!” I exclaimed. “You would have remembered if you were here and not in court.”

I sighed.

“Alright,” I said after a moment. “I’ll do the test for Leo, but on one condition.”

A close up of a frowning woman | Source: Midjourney

A close up of a frowning woman | Source: Midjourney

“What condition?” he asked.

“If I’m going to do this to prove our son is yours, then you’re going to do a test too. To prove that your father is really your father. Denise needs to know what this feels like.”

Andrew’s eyes widened, shock registering on his face from my request. “What? Why would you even suggest that?”

I could feel his brain overthinking it, but I also knew that he was trying to view the situation from my point of view.

I leaned forward, my voice firm, “Because your mother is the one who’s throwing accusations around. If she’s so obsessed with bloodlines, then maybe she should be sure of her own. So, if you want me to take a test, then you’re going to take one too.”

A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney

A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney

Andrew hesitated, clearly taken aback by my demand. But after a moment, he nodded. “Okay. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”

A few days later, the test results came back. As expected, the test confirmed that Leo was indeed Andrew’s son.

But there was also another revelation that nobody saw coming.

It turned out that the test results for Andrew showed that his biological father wasn’t the man he had called Dad his entire life.

“What the hell, Zoe?” he said out loud.

“This is a conversation for you and your mother,” I said offhandedly.

A close up of a shocked couple | Source: Midjourney

A close up of a shocked couple | Source: Midjourney

As much as I wanted to know the truth and to know about Leo’s biological grandfather, I didn’t want to get caught up in Denise’s drama any further. No, thank you. I had a son to focus on. And there was just something about how Denise acted that I wasn’t going to forgive soon.

But eventually, my curiosity gave in and I asked Andrew about his conversation with his mother. It turned out that she had an affair in her youth, resulting in Andrew.

“She said that she had always suspected it, but she didn’t dare do a DNA test while my father was alive. Just imagine, I’ve gone my entire life thinking that my father was just that, my father. But he wasn’t, not biologically. I can’t forgive her, Zoe.”

An upset man | Source: Midjourney

An upset man | Source: Midjourney

My heart broke for him.

“So, what does this mean?” I asked.

“It means that we take our time and space away from my mother. And we focus on our son. She’s the one who betrayed our family. Not us,” he said.

I nodded, ready to move on and focus on our family.

Apparently, Denise’s guilt had eaten away at her for decades, leading her to project her insecurities onto me and our son.

A smiling mother and son duo | Source: Midjourney

A smiling mother and son duo | Source: Midjourney

What would you have done?

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