The Unseen Rivalry

It was my first year hosting Thanksgiving dinner, and I was determined to make it special. My husband’s family was coming over, and I had spent days planning the meal—turkey, stuffing, pies, the works. I wanted everything to be perfect, and most importantly, I wanted them to feel welcome.

My mother-in-law, Linda, had always been… tricky. To others, she seemed charming, the perfect hostess. But to me, there were these subtle digs, little actions that made me feel less than. Still, I never had any concrete proof of her mischief, and to the outside world, she was the epitome of grace.

The day arrived, and the house was filled with the warm scent of roasted turkey and baked goods. I was nervous but excited. My husband’s family trickled in, exchanging pleasantries, and I ushered them toward the dining table, eager to showcase my efforts.

But as the dinner started, something strange happened. Plate after plate remained untouched. No one was eating. They’d pick at the food a little, and give me polite smiles, but no one dove in like I had expected. At first, I thought maybe something was wrong with the food. Was it undercooked? Over-seasoned?

The embarrassment weighed on me, but I kept a smile plastered on my face, determined not to let it ruin the evening. When the dinner ended, I felt defeated, watching as most of the dishes returned to the kitchen, practically full. No one had even asked for seconds, let alone complimented the meal.

Later that night, after everyone had left, I finally learned the truth. My husband, who had been oblivious to the awkwardness, casually mentioned, “Oh, Mom made a big lunch for everyone before they came over. She didn’t want them to be too hungry.”

I was stunned. My mother-in-law had cooked an entire meal before my Thanksgiving dinner, and no one had the appetite to eat what I’d prepared. It wasn’t a coincidence—it felt intentional, a quiet power play to ensure that my dinner would fall flat.

Should I say something? Confront her? I wrestled with the thought all night. But deep down, I knew Linda would only act innocent if I brought it up. “Oh dear, I didn’t mean any harm,” she’d say, batting her eyes. To everyone else, she’d seem so sweet, and I’d look like the petty one for making a fuss.

Now, with next year’s Thanksgiving looming, I’m left wondering how to handle it. Should I host again and risk another sabotaged dinner? Or do I let her take control, playing her games in silence? One thing is for sure—I’ll need to be more prepared next time, both in the kitchen and for whatever subtle schemes Linda has up her sleeve.