I spent two days cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Before tasting anything, my mother-in-law m0cked my food and homemade rolls. I smiled, packed every dish into my car, and left. Four hours later, their calls wouldn’t stop.

“Honestly, these look cheap.”

Brooke laughed.

Eric finally spoke.

“Mom, come on.”

But there was a smile on his face.

That smile hurt more than anything Diane had said.

I had spent forty-eight hours shopping, chopping vegetables, preparing desserts, brining the turkey, cleaning, organizing, and cooking because Eric had begged me to rescue Thanksgiving after Diane’s caterer canceled.

Now his family was using the meal I had created as entertainment at my expense.

I slowly untied my apron.

Diane raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

I smiled.

“If the food doesn’t meet your standards, you don’t have to eat it.”

Her expression changed.

Then I began packing everything.

The turkey.

The casseroles.

The vegetables.

The desserts.

The rolls.

Every dish I had brought.

Brooke laughed nervously.

“You’re seriously doing this? That’s a little dramatic.”