erve a mummy.”

Candace’s smile grew tighter. “Oh, I—I don’t know what happened,” she said, her voice pitching higher. “Maybe the turkey brine was too strong?

Or the seasoning mix was bad?”

That was my cue. I stood, clearing my throat. “Well,” I said, raising my glass of sparkling cider, “let’s not worry too much about one little mishap.

Cooking for a big crowd is no small task, after all.”

Brad smiled, relieved. “That’s true, Mom. Let’s toast to Candace for all her hard work today.”

“Oh, absolutely,” I added with a sweet smile.

“Candace really outdid herself. And since everyone’s still hungry, I have a little surprise of my own.”

Candace’s smile froze. “You do?” she asked, her voice higher than usual.

“Oh, yes,” I said, setting my glass down.

“I had a feeling we might need a backup plan, so I prepared some extra dishes. They’re out in the garage fridge. Brad, could you give me a hand?”

The room buzzed with murmurs as Brad followed me out.

I opened the fridge, revealing my carefully prepared Thanksgiving dishes still in their containers, untouched.

“Wow, Mom,” Brad said, lifting the heavy pan of turkey. “You really went all out this year.”

“Just wanted to be prepared,” I said lightly, though my heart was racing with satisfaction.

We returned to the dining room, and I began setting my dishes on the table: the golden turkey, fluffy mashed potatoes, savory stuffing, and my famous pecan pie. The guests’ faces lit up.

“This looks amazing,” Aunt Linda said, her hands clasped in delight.

“Finally, real food!” Uncle Jim said with a chuckle, earning a few laughs.

Candace sat stiffly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Oh, you didn’t have to go to all that trouble, Margaret,” she said, her voice tight.

Later, after the guests had gone, I stood in the kitchen, wrapping leftovers in foil. Candace walked in, her heels clicking softly against the tile.

She cleared her throat. “Margaret, I just wanted to say… I’m sorry about earlier.

I don’t know what came over me when I threw your food out. I just thought, you know, it might be too… old-fashioned.”

I looked at her for a moment, taking in her discomfort. “I appreciate the apology, Candace,” I said finally, keeping my tone even.

“I know you were trying to help in your own way.”

She nodded, but I could tell she wasn’t used to admitting fault.

As she left the kitchen, Chloe appeared, her hands full of pie plates. “Grandma, your food saved Thanksgiving,” she said, grinning.

I laughed softly. “I think you had a hand in that, sweetheart.”

“Mom’s never going to forget this,” she said, her grin widening.

“Well,” I said, pulling her into a hug, “the important thing is that you stood up for me.

That means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

Chloe beamed. “Anything for you, Grandma.”

As I turned out the kitchen lights that night, I felt a deep sense of gratitude. The day hadn’t gone as planned, but it had reminded me of something far more precious than tradition or perfect meals: the fierce, loyal love of my granddaughter.

Source: amomama