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 was stunned. At first, I thought it was just a child’s imagination. But the look on my wife Megan’s face told me there was something more to it. I had to get to the bottom of it.
Thanksgiving has always been a special time for our family. I grew up with big family gatherings, and the memories of my mom preparing a huge feast filled with turkey, mashed potatoes, and way too many pumpkin pies have stayed with me. When I married Megan, I wanted to keep that tradition alive. For the past seven years, we’ve hosted Thanksgiving dinner at our home. It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it. Megan does most of the cooking, I help with the table setting, and we make sure Leo is entertained. The house is always full of love and laughter. It’s chaotic in the best way possible.
But this year was different. With everything going on in our lives—work stress, Leo’s school activities, and my long hours at the office—I suggested that we keep it small. Just the three of us. It felt like the perfect way to reconnect. We needed a quiet Thanksgiving to remind ourselves what really mattered.
Then, just days before the holiday, as we were finalizing our plans, Leo came bounding over to us, bubbling with excitement. Out of nowhere, he said, “Can we save a seat for the man who always brings Mommy flowers?”
I froze. Megan, holding a stack of plates, suddenly stopped moving too.
“What man, buddy?” I asked, trying to sound calm, though my heart had already started to race.
“The one who gives Mommy flowers when you’re at work,” Leo explained, grinning like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I looked at Megan, expecting her to laugh it off, but she didn’t. Her face was pale, and she looked at Leo as if she was hearing a secret she wasn’t ready to confront.
“Oh, really?” I said, forcing a chuckle. “What’s he talking about, Meg?”
“I-I don’t know,” Megan stammered. She turned to Leo, her voice shaky. “Sweetie, what are you talking about?”
Leo just shrugged and said, “The man with the flowers! I saw him on the doorstep with roses. I wanted to come see, but you told me to go to my room and not bother you.”
Megan’s face turned an even deeper shade of pale. “That’s… not true, Leo,” she said weakly, trying to brush it off. “You must be imagining things, sweetie.”
“I’m not!” Leo insisted, crossing his arms. “He brought pink roses last time. You said they were your favorite!”
The room fell silent. My mind raced. I had to know what was really going on.
That night, after we put Leo to bed, I couldn’t let it go. Megan had been distant all evening. As we sat on the couch, I decided to confront her.
“Megan,” I said softly, “What’s going on? Is there something I should know?”
She sighed deeply and looked at the floor. “It’s nothing, Tom. I don’t know where Leo is getting this from.”
But Leo wasn’t the type to make things up, especially not with such detail. Something was going on.
“Megan,” I pressed again, my voice more serious, “if there’s something you’re not telling me, now’s the time.”
She hesitated, her eyes avoiding mine. The silence between us stretched on, and I could feel the tension building. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s just drop it,” she said, looking away.
The rest of the days before Thanksgiving passed in a blur, but the unease lingered. I decided not to push further. I didn’t want to cause a bigger rift, but I knew something wasn’t right.
Then, Thanksgiving morning arrived. It started like any other Thanksgiving. Megan was in the kitchen, preparing the meal, while I set the table. Leo was watching his favorite cartoons. Everything felt almost normal… until the doorbell rang.
“Who could that be?” Megan wondered aloud, looking up from the stove.
Before I could answer, Leo shot up from the couch, his eyes wide with excitement. “It’s him! The man with the flowers!” he exclaimed.
My heart skipped a beat. I looked at Megan, and her face went completely white. She stared at the door like she was frozen.
I rushed over and stopped Leo before he could open the door. When I looked outside, I saw a man in his late forties standing there, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers. He wore a shirt with the logo of a local flower shop.
“Hi,” he said nervously. “I know she asked for no deliveries today, but this was a last-minute order.”
I turned to Megan, my voice low and serious. “Care to explain?”
She hesitated, then sighed deeply and motioned for the man to come inside. He placed the flowers on the table and quickly left, closing the door behind him.
“Megan,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “who’s been sending you flowers?”
She sank onto the couch, her eyes filled with tears. “It’s not what you think,” she began, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean for it to be a secret. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
I stood there, waiting for her to explain. “I’ve been working with a therapist,” she said softly. “Leo must’ve seen the delivery guy because she sends flowers occasionally as part of my therapy.”
I blinked, confused. “Therapy?”
Megan nodded, her voice breaking. “I’ve been struggling, Tom. With you working late, the financial stress, and feeling like I’m failing as a mom… I needed help, and my therapist suggested small acts of kindness for myself, like fresh flowers.”
A wave of relief washed over me, but guilt followed quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face.
I sat beside her and pulled her into a hug. “You’re never a burden, Megan. I should’ve noticed sooner. I’m sorry.”
That Thanksgiving, we sat down together, our hearts open and our family closer than ever. Sometimes, the most unexpected moments can bring you closer to the ones you love.
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