“Oh, Eric. Where’s the famous turkey? The one your wife thinks you’re cooking for your family dinner? Let’s get it in the oven so we can spend some… time together.”
Eric opened the fridge and pulled out two turkeys.
“This one’s ours. That one’s for tonight.”
“Don’t mix them up,” she laughed. “Your wife is clueless, huh? She actually buys this whole ‘surprise dinner’ thing?”
He shrugged.
“She believes what I tell her, Mel. I’ve never given Cora a reason to doubt me.”
Then he smacked her backside and she squealed.
I closed the app. That woman walked into my home like it was hers — she could have my rage, too.
The silence inside my chest was louder than the entire café. My ears rang. My hands shook. Coffee spilled across the table, soaking the napkins, and I didn’t even flinch.
I walked to my car, pressed my scarf to my mouth, and screamed until my throat burned.
Then I stopped.
This wasn’t going to be a panic story. It was going to be a strategy story.
I steadied my breathing, opened the nanny-cam app again, and calmly screen-recorded the entire scene from start to finish. Then I saved it in three different folders.
Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t going to be a shared meal anymore. It had become a stage, and Eric had no idea he’d already stepped into the role of the fool.
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