Her Thanksgiving feast

Everyone believed Solène was just a quiet, virtuous wife; the woman who stood behind her husband’s success and asked for nothing in return. But they were wrong. At a Thanksgiving dinner meant to celebrate family, Solène’s marriage is shattered when her husband, Lewis Crawford, introduces another woman and claims she is carrying his child. In front of those who benefited from her sacrifice, Solène is asked to accept the unthinkable with grace because a medical report said she can no longer conceive. She does not scream nor protest. She just smiled and accepted it, knowing fully well she held her husband's future in his hand. When she took the step to ruin him, she never expected that the satisfaction of watching him suffer would open doors to many more betrayals, and an obstacle she never saw coming. **** She scoffed bitterly, turning to him once more. “The first man I helped off his feet was you, Lewis. I vowed never to do it again.”

Mindy Horton and I got married on Thanksgiving. Coincidentally, her assistant went abroad to further his studies that day. I did not pay much attention to it until the eve of another Thanksgiving three years later. I was browsing TikTok and came across Mindy, who was in a street interview about couples. The reporter stopped her and asked, "Excuse me. Could I have a second of your time? Who would you like to spend today with?" Mindy paused for a moment. She struggled to answer after a long while, "With my lover." "Call him now. He should know how you feel!" I smiled as I sat up, ready to pick up Mindy's call. However, when I looked up, I saw Mindy sobbing to another man on the screen. "I know you've returned, and I still can't forget you after all these years. Do you know how much I regret not marrying you and marrying another man? We missed our chance with each other three years ago. Let's spend Thanksgiving together this year!" I sat in bed all night and booked a flight out of the country the next morning. "When are you leaving?" my assistant asked. I replied, "On Thanksgiving."

During the holiday break, my wife, Jayda Glover—the hospital's star surgeon and Chief of Cardiac Surgery—suddenly "had to work overtime." Our third-anniversary hot springs trip? Canceled. That night, I was scrolling social media when a post from her intern, Dillon Tripp, popped up. My ice-queen wife always said her "golden hands" were only for patients. Apparently, they cook now too. She was in a cartoon apron, calmly chopping vegetables. The caption read: [Thank you, Dr. Glover, for personally cooking to comfort me after I was bullied by a patient's family!] I tapped like and left a comment. [White coat to apron. Very domestic.] Ten minutes later, the whole hospital knew Cardiac Surgery's untouchable beauty had broken her rule—just to cook for a younger guy. Jayda called. Dishes clattered in the background. "You really had to embarrass me in public? He got hot water thrown on him by a patient's family today. I was just doing my duty as his mentor! "A pampered professor's kid like you wouldn't know the first thing about how hard broke med students have it. "Apologize to Dillon right now. Otherwise, no matter how much you beg later, I'm not going on that trip with you!" Beg her? I looked at the divorce papers that had just arrived on the coffee table and let out a quiet laugh. I wasn't begging anymore. From this moment on, we were strangers.

I knew perfectly well that people from the Emirates do not eat pork. Yet this time, I watched in silence as my husband's childhood sweetheart insisted on placing a pork dish on the table. In fact, I even supported her decision. In my past life, when our company hosted a welcome banquet for powerful investors from the Emirates, she had been desperate to flaunt her cooking. Against all reason, she forced a pork dish onto the menu. I stopped her then. I explained that pork was forbidden by religious belief, and that offending the investors could cost us everything. If they withdrew their funding, the company's finances would collapse overnight. She took my warning as jealousy. In a fit of rage, she ran out of the banquet hall and was struck by a car, leaving her in a permanent vegetative state. I thought my husband would break down. Instead, he remained calm, stayed through the dinner, and secured the investment in surprisingly calmness. The truth revealed itself later. After the company went public, he brought me abroad under the guise of business, only to drag me onto a medical ship in international waters. As my kidney was cut from my body, I cried and asked him why. His answer came with a slap. "If you hadn't been jealous back then... If you hadn't tried to sabotage her, she wouldn't have ended up like that." I died in agony on the operating table. After my death, he used the money from selling my organs to cure his beloved childhood sweetheart, and the two of them went on to live rich, comfortable lives together. And then I opened my eyes again, back to the very day she decided to serve pork to the clients.

Even though I knew cows were sacred to the Indorians, I still supported their biological daughter in her plan to serve beef at the dinner table of Indoria's wealthiest man. In my previous life, the wealthiest man in Indoria had held a nationwide contest to choose a wife. My sister had fought her way to the final round and planned to make a beef and veggie stew for the ultimate cooking challenge. I rushed to stop her, warning that in Indoria's religion, cows were considered holy, and eating beef could have serious legal consequences. However, my sister thought I was deliberately humiliating her for being "uncultured." In a fit of anger, she ran out, only to be struck and killed by a car. My adoptive parents tried to console me, telling me it was not my fault, that it was simply bad luck. Later, thanks to my exceptional cooking skills, I became the wife of Indoria's wealthiest man. Yet on the very day of my wedding, my adoptive parents sold me to the slums. That night, as eight men assaulted me one after another, I cried and demanded to know why. They kicked me viciously and spat: "If you hadn't made things difficult for Janet, she wouldn't have died. You owe her this!" By the end of that night, I had bled to death. Meanwhile, my adoptive parents used the money given by Indoria's wealthiest man to build a lavish tomb for their biological daughter. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my sister was about to serve her beef and veggie stew to Indoria's wealthiest man.

On Christmas night, my husband, Finnick Carson, can't spend the holidays with me because he's on a business trip. In order to make it up to me, he's specifically ordered a Christmas feast from a fancy restaurant and has it delivered to our home. But when I open the box containing the feast, I'm shell-shocked by what I see. Not only an array of seafood—that I'm allergic to—is arranged in containers, but there's also a kid's meal set included in the feast. When the deliveryman sees the food, he apologizes to me and tells me that he's mixed up the two meals that Finnick has ordered. This leaves me feeling uneasy. Why would my husband order two meals? So, I decide to find my way to the delivery address that the other meal is meant for. Shockingly enough, I see Finnick standing in a villa's backyard while picking candies from a Christmas tree with a mother and a son. The little boy then rushes into his arms happily. "Daddy, I'd like an amusement park for my birthday gift this year!" Finnick pinches his cheek gently. "Okay. I'll give your mommy a set of jewelry, too." The woman cuddles with him happily. "You're so nice to us, honey!" Having recorded the entire scene quietly, I send it to my lawyer. "Help me expedite my divorce so that my husband can reunite with his family as soon as possible."