Every Thanksgiving, My Fiancé ‘Traveled for Work’ – This Year, I Discovered the Terrible Truth

For three years, my fiancé disappeared every Thanksgiving for “work.” This year, I took a last-minute photography job and walked into a stranger’s home, only to find him there, carving a turkey with kids I’d never seen before. The truth waiting for me was something far more devastating.

I’ve been with Ethan for three years now, and honestly, life has been good. We live in a quiet neighborhood where everyone waves from their porches.

We’re engaged, wedding set for next June.

I’ve finally started to believe that maybe I’d get to have the steady, safe life I always wanted.

Except there’s this one thing that’s been eating at me.

Every single Thanksgiving, Ethan disappears.

The first year, he came to me with apologetic eyes. “Babe, I’m so sorry. A work emergency came up.

I have to fly out tomorrow morning. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

I believed him.

I mean, why wouldn’t I? He worked in corporate consulting, traveled occasionally.

It made sense.

The second year, same story. Different city, same apologetic tone, and the same promise that next year would be different.

I tried not to be upset.

But spending Thanksgiving alone while your fiancé is supposedly in some hotel conference room? It stings.

In the third year, something shifted inside me.

When he told me he had to leave again, a knot formed in my stomach.

Something felt off.

But I pushed it down. I trusted him.

This year (year four), I told myself I wouldn’t get my hopes up.

And sure enough, three days before Thanksgiving, he sat me down at the kitchen table.

“Anna, I know this sucks. I know I keep doing this to you.

But there’s this client situation, and I have to be there. I’ll be back Sunday night. Can you save me some leftovers?”

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I just nodded.

He kissed my forehead, grabbed his suitcase, and walked out the door.

I stood at the window and watched his car disappear.

“What are you hiding from me, Ethan?”

***

Thanksgiving morning, I woke up to an empty bed and rain pattering against the windows.

I made myself a small turkey breast, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce…the works.

If I were going to be alone, I wasn’t going to feel sorry for myself.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I set a single place at the table.

Around noon, my phone buzzed.

My friend Sophie’s name lit up the screen.

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