Thanksgiving had always been a time of togetherness and warmth in our home. But this year, my six-year-old son Leo’s innocent question turned everything upside down. “Can we save a seat for the man who always brings Mommy flowers?” I froze. So did my wife, Megan. Leo described a man who had delivered pink roses when I wasn’t home—how Megan had sent him to his room that day. Megan quickly brushed it off, but her unsteady voice and nervous glance told a different story. I trusted her without question—until that moment. That night, I confronted her, but she insisted Leo was just confused. Yet, the doubt gnawed at me.
Then came Thanksgiving morning. As we were setting the table, the doorbell rang. Leo bolted to the door, shouting, “It’s him!” I got there first and opened it to find a man holding a bouquet, the logo of a local flower shop on his shirt. “I was told not to deliver today, but this is a last-minute special order,” he explained. Megan’s face drained of color. Inside, I pressed her for the truth. Finally, she broke down and admitted it: she’d been secretly arranging flowers and selling them through the shop to make extra money. She hadn’t told me because she didn’t want to add more stress to my plate. Relieved but still shaken, I took the card from the bouquet and handed it to her.
Megan opened it and gasped. “To Megan, the best wife and mother. Thank you for everything you do. Love, Tom and Leo.” I had sent the flowers. After uncovering what she’d been doing, I wanted her to hear the truth from me. So, I arranged the delivery to gently bring everything into the open. Megan laughed through her tears as I told her I’d gotten a raise and that she didn’t need to keep her side hustle a secret anymore—unless, of course, she wanted to keep doing it because she enjoyed it. Leo beamed and asked for a bouquet to give to Grandma. And just like that, our Thanksgiving became a day of renewed trust, love, and unexpected joy.