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 completely stunned. I thought it was just one of those things kids say, but the look on my wife Megan’s face made me pause.
She was clearly upset, and I could tell there was more to the story than I was seeing. I had to find out what was really going on.
Thanksgiving had always been a time of happiness and togetherness in our family. It was my favorite holiday growing up. My mom used to go all out—roast turkey, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pies, and all of us gathered around the table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.
It felt magical, and when I married Megan, I wanted to carry on those traditions.
For seven years, we’ve hosted Thanksgiving in our home. It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it. Megan does most of the cooking while I help set the table and entertain Leo. Our house fills with the wonderful smell of food and the sound of chatter and laughter. It’s chaotic, but it’s the best kind of chaos.
This year, though, we decided to keep it simple—just the three of us. Life had been tough with all the stress at work, Leo’s school activities, and the never-ending list of little things that pile up. On top of that, I’d been working extra hours hoping to get a promotion, and I’d missed out on many small moments with Megan and Leo.
A quiet Thanksgiving felt like the perfect way for us to reconnect.
A few days before Thanksgiving, we were busy getting everything ready. Leo was buzzing around with excitement like only a six-year-old can. Then, out of nowhere, he stopped and said, “Can we save a seat for the man who always brings Mommy flowers?”
I froze. Megan, holding a stack of plates, looked stiff as a board.
“What man, buddy?” I asked, trying to stay calm.
“The one who gives Mommy flowers when you’re at work,” Leo said, grinning.
I looked at Megan, hoping she would laugh it off. But instead, her eyes widened, and she went silent.
“Oh, really?” I asked, forcing a chuckle. “What’s he talking about, Meg?”
“I—I don’t know,” Megan stammered. She turned to Leo with a nervous smile. “Sweetie, what do you mean?”
Leo shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The man with the flowers! I saw him at the door with roses. I wanted to see, but you told me to go to my room and not bother you.”
Megan’s face turned pale. “That’s… not true, Leo,” she said, trying to sound casual. “You must be imagining things, sweetie.”
“I’m not!” Leo crossed his arms, his little face serious. “He brought pink roses last time. You said they were your favorite!”
I could feel the tension rising, but I didn’t want to push too hard in front of Leo. That night, after we tucked Leo into bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
“Megan,” I said, sitting down beside her on the couch. “What’s going on? Is there something I need to know?”
She sighed deeply, looking uncomfortable. “It’s nothing, Tom. I don’t know where Leo is getting this from.”
But I didn’t buy it. Leo wasn’t the type to make up such detailed stories.
“Megan,” I pressed, my voice firm. “If there’s something you’re not telling me, now’s the time.”
Her silence stretched on for what felt like forever. Finally, she spoke. “Let’s just drop it,” she said quietly, avoiding my gaze.
I wanted to ask more, but I could tell she wasn’t ready to open up. So, I let it go—for the moment.
Thanksgiving morning came, and everything started out like any other year. Megan cooked while I set the table, and Leo watched his favorite cartoons. The house felt warm, and I was hoping the quiet holiday would help us reconnect.
Then, the doorbell rang.
“Who could that be?” Megan asked, confused.
Before I could answer, Leo jumped up, shouting, “It’s him! The man with the flowers!”
My heart pounded in my chest as I looked at Megan. Her face went pale, and she stared at the door as if it held all her secrets.
I quickly stopped Leo before he could reach the door. Standing on our doorstep was a man in his late forties, holding a bouquet of 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 looked at Megan, my voice tight. “Care to explain?”
Her shoulders slumped, and she motioned for the man to come inside. He put the flowers on the table and left without saying a word.
“Megan,” I said, turning to her once the door was closed, “who’s been sending you flowers?”
She took a deep breath. “It’s not what you think,” she began, her voice shaky. “I didn’t want to keep it a secret. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
I crossed my arms, feeling a mix of confusion and frustration. “What’s going on?”
Megan sank down onto the couch. “I’ve been seeing a therapist,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Leo must have seen the delivery guy because he brings flowers sometimes as part of my therapy.”
I blinked, processing her words. “Therapy?”
She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve been struggling, Tom. With you working late, the stress of bills, and feeling like I’m not doing enough as a mom. I needed help, and my therapist suggested small acts of kindness for myself, like getting flowers.”
A wave of guilt and relief washed over me. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t want to burden you,” she whispered.
I sat down next to her, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re never a burden, Megan. I wish I had noticed sooner. I should have been there for you.”
That Thanksgiving, we sat down as a family, more connected than we had been in a long time. Sometimes, the most unexpected moments can bring us closer, and that day was one I would never forget.
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