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 thought he must be imagining things. But the look on my wife Megan’s face told me there was something more to it, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to find out what was really going on.
Thanksgiving had always been one of my favorite holidays. Growing up, it was a time for big family gatherings, with my mom cooking up a feast and the whole house smelling like turkey and pumpkin pie. It was chaotic, but in the best way possible. When I married Megan, I was excited to carry on that tradition with her.
For the past seven years, we had hosted Thanksgiving at our house. It was always a lot of work, but it felt so worth it. Megan worked magic in the kitchen, I set the table and entertained Leo, and the house was filled with laughter, warmth, and love. It was a busy, happy time of year.
But this Thanksgiving, we decided to keep things small—just the three of us. Life had been hectic lately. I’d been working long hours, chasing a promotion, and missing so many little moments with Megan and Leo. We thought a quieter Thanksgiving would be the perfect chance to reconnect.
Then, just a few days before the holiday, Leo had said something that caught me completely off guard. While we were talking about the dinner plans, he suddenly stopped, looked up at us, and said, “Can we save a seat for the man who always brings Mommy flowers?”
I froze. Megan, holding a stack of plates, stiffened too.
“What man, buddy?” I asked, trying to sound calm.
“The one who gives Mommy flowers when you’re at work,” Leo said with a big grin, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I looked at Megan, hoping she would laugh it off. But instead, she stared at Leo with wide eyes. Her silence was telling.
“Oh, really?” I asked, trying to make it seem like a joke. “What’s he talking about, Meg?”
Megan shifted nervously. “I-I don’t know,” she stammered. She turned to Leo, her voice shaky. “Sweetie, what are you talking about?”
Leo shrugged like it was no big deal. “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 quickly responded, “That’s… not true, Leo,” but there was a tremble in her voice. She tried to laugh it off. “You must be imagining things, sweetie.”
“I’m not!” Leo insisted, crossing his arms like he was telling the truth. “He brought pink roses last time. You said they were your favorite!”
That night, after we tucked Leo into bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Megan had been distant all evening. Something didn’t feel right.
“Megan,” I said softly as we sat down on the couch. “What’s going on? Is there something I should know?”
She sighed deeply. “It’s nothing, Tom. I don’t know where Leo is getting this from.”
But Leo wasn’t the type to make up stories, especially ones with such detail.
“Megan,” I pressed, “if there’s something you’re not telling me, now’s the time.”
Her silence stretched out for what felt like forever. Finally, she looked away. “Let’s just drop it,” she said, avoiding my gaze.
The tension lingered as Thanksgiving drew closer, but I decided not to press her any further. I had to trust that everything would be okay.
Then, Thanksgiving morning arrived. It started like any other holiday—Megan worked her magic in the kitchen, I set the table, and Leo watched his favorite show. It felt almost normal until the doorbell rang.
“Who could that be?” Megan asked, glancing toward the door.
Before I could answer, Leo jumped up excitedly. “It’s him! The man with the flowers!”
My heart skipped a beat. I looked at Megan, and her face drained of color. She stared at the door like she was frozen in place.
I quickly stopped Leo before he could open the door. Standing on the doorstep was a man in his late forties, holding a bouquet. His shirt had the logo of a local flower shop on it.
“Hi,” the man said, looking nervous. “I know she asked for no deliveries today, but this was a last-minute order.”
I turned to Megan, my heart pounding. “Care to explain?”
Megan’s shoulders slumped, and she motioned for the man to come inside. He placed the flowers on the table and left without another word.
“Megan,” I said, my voice tense. “Who’s been sending you flowers?”
She took a deep breath, then sat down on the couch. “It’s not what you think,” she began, her voice shaking. “I didn’t mean for it to be a secret. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
I crossed my arms, waiting for the truth.
“I’ve been working with a therapist,” she confessed, tears welling up in her eyes. “Leo must’ve seen the delivery guy because she sends flowers occasionally as part of my therapy.”
I blinked. “Therapy?”
Megan nodded, her voice cracking. “I’ve been struggling, Tom. With you working so late, the stress about money, and feeling like I’m failing as a mom. I didn’t know what else to do. My therapist suggested small acts of kindness for myself, like receiving fresh flowers. It helps me feel better, even just for a little while.”
Relief washed over me, but guilt followed close behind. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you,” she whispered, looking down at the floor.
I pulled her into a hug. “You’re never a burden, Megan. I wish I had noticed sooner. I wish I’d been there more for you.”
That Thanksgiving, we sat down to dinner as a family, feeling more connected than ever before. Sometimes, the most unexpected moments—like a simple comment from our son—can bring us closer together. And in the end, it was that moment that helped me realize that the greatest gift we can give each other is understanding, love, and support.
And so, we gave thanks not just for the food on the table, but for the new honesty and closeness that had bloomed between us.
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