I Ruined My Husband’s Thanksgiving

Okay, I know I might sound like a lunatic here, but after what my (now ex) husband Jake pulled, I think I was justified. Buckle up, because this Thanksgiving wasn’t about gratitude—it was about revenge.

So, Jake and I had been married for six years, and I thought things were fine. But two weeks before Thanksgiving, I found out he’d been screwing Megan, his coworker—a wannabe Instagram model with the personality of soggy bread. How did I find out? She left her lipstick in HIS jacket pocket. When I asked about it, Jake stammered something about a "group Halloween party."

Spoiler alert: They weren’t playing dress-up, unless "sleazy side piece" counts as a costume.

I did my homework. Dug through his phone when he “fell asleep early,” and bingo: texts, photos, even videos. Not only was he cheating, but he had been bragging about it to his friends. Stuff like, “She’s hotter than Sarah,” and “Finally found someone who doesn’t nag me.” Oh, but it gets worse—he invited her to OUR Thanksgiving dinner because “she doesn’t have family nearby.”

Instead of kicking him out right then, I smiled, kissed his lying face, and said, “Of course, babe. The more, the merrier.”

Thanksgiving was my Super Bowl now, and I was going all out. I prepped every dish with care, but I had a few secret ingredients to add some spice. Megan was all smiles when she showed up with her dollar-store wine, acting like she wasn’t sleeping with my husband. I played nice, complimented her dress (which screamed “clearance rack”), and made sure she got a front-row seat to the drama.

When everyone sat down for dinner, I kicked things off with a toast.

“I just want to say how thankful I am for family, for friends, and for clarity. You see, I’ve recently learned so much about myself and the people I thought I could trust. Jake, Megan…” I locked eyes with them. “This is really your moment.”

Cue the awkward silence. Then, I pulled out my laptop connected to the TV.

Oh yes, I made a PowerPoint. With screenshots of their texts, photos of them sneaking around, and a particularly spicy video of Megan doing… well, let’s just say something that made Jake’s mom scream, “Oh my GOD!”

The table exploded. Jake was yelling, Megan was crying, his parents were mortified, and my mom just sat there sipping her wine like she was watching her favorite soap opera. But I wasn’t done.

“Oh, and Megan,” I said, cutting through the chaos. “I wanted to make sure you felt special today. So, I made you something.”

I went to the kitchen and came back with a casserole dish. Everyone watched as I dramatically removed the foil, revealing a pile of raw turkey guts—the kind they pull out before selling.

“I call this ‘Homewrecker Surprise.’ Enjoy!”

Then I dumped the entire dish onto Megan’s lap. The sound she made was somewhere between a shriek and a gag. She bolted from the table covered in blood and slime.

Jake tried to follow her, but I stopped him. “Oh, you’re not going anywhere. You see, I packed your stuff. It’s in the garage. Also, I called your boss and let him know what a great team player you are. Don’t worry—he’ll be reviewing those videos personally.”

His face went pale. He didn’t even try to argue, just slunk out like the pathetic loser he is. His mom started crying, his dad apologized to me, and my mom raised her glass and said, “Best Thanksgiving ever.”