My sister-in-law had always held a grudge against me, but this time she crossed a line that ruined my Christmas. While everyone else was distracted, she cranked up the oven temperature, turning my beautiful turkey into a charred mess. My heart sank. But just as she reveled in my misery, karma struck back in an unexpected way.
I never imagined I’d find myself at the center of a Christmas Day debacle, yet here I was. Josh and I had been married for six months, and I knew his family’s holiday traditions were a big deal—immense, in fact. Every ornament had to be perfectly placed, every dish had to be traditional, and every detail meticulously arranged.
“Sam, quit fussing with the tablecloth,” Josh said, placing his hands gently on my shoulders. “Everything looks perfect.”
I smoothed my apron for the umpteenth time. “I just want it to be right. This is our first time hosting Christmas dinner.”
“And it will be great!” he assured me with a kiss on my temple. “Remember how we met at the office Christmas party? You organized everything, and it was amazing!”
I smiled at the memory of that night two years ago, when I was the new marketing director and he was the CFO who couldn’t take his eyes off me.
Our relationship had been a whirlwind—two years of dating, a romantic sunset proposal, and a stunning summer wedding that even his sister couldn’t criticize.
“Your sister hates me,” I muttered, rearranging the silverware once more.
Josh sighed. “Alice doesn’t hate you. She’s just… passionate about family traditions.”
“Passionate is an understatement,” I said, glancing at my phone. “They’ll be here in an hour, the turkey’s in the oven, and everything is on schedule. I’m so nervous.”
“What I love about you, Samantha,” Josh said, wrapping his arms around my waist, “is that you always find a way to make things work. Remember last month’s presentation when the projector died?”
I laughed. “And I managed to deliver the whole thing from memory while the IT team scrambled to fix it!”
“Exactly! You’ve got this, babe. What’s the worst that could happen?”
The doorbell rang, causing my heart to race. Josh’s parents arrived first, his mother fussing over the garland I’d hung while his father headed straight for the eggnog. Then came the cousins with their kids, transforming our usually quiet home into a lively mix of laughter and conversation.
“Did you hear about Grandma’s announcement?” Josh’s cousin Maria whispered as she helped me arrange appetizers. “Alice has been calling her every day for weeks.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes. Flowers, lunch, even offering to redecorate her entire house. Talk about obvious.”
The doorbell rang again, and in walked Alice, impeccably styled as always, carrying a store-bought pie that probably cost more than my entire dinner spread.
“Sam, sweetie,” she air-kissed my cheeks. “How bold of you to host Christmas this year, especially with Grandma’s big announcement coming up.”
I forced a smile. Everyone knew Grandma Eloise was finally retiring and choosing which grandchild would inherit her successful catering business—and Alice had been not-so-subtly campaigning for months.
“Alice, you look lovely,” I said, taking her coat.
She brushed past me into the living room. “Let’s hope your turkey turns out better than that disaster breakfast you made at the family reunion three months ago.”
“Don’t let her get to you,” Maria said, squeezing my arm. “We all remember she switched the salt for sugar in your pancake batter.”
The evening continued smoothly until Grandma Eloise arrived. At 82, she still commanded attention, her silver hair perfectly styled and her gaze sharp.
“Something smells delicious,” she announced, wrapping me in a warm hug.
I beamed with pride. “The turkey should be perfect. I followed your recipe from Thanksgiving!”
“Did you know?” Alice interrupted, swirling her wine glass. “Interesting choice, considering your… limited experience with family traditions.”
Josh shot his sister a warning look. “Alice—”
“What? I’m just saying. Some of us have been cooking these recipes since we were little, right Grandma?”
Grandma Eloise raised an eyebrow but remained silent, settling into her favorite armchair as the children eagerly showed her their Christmas presents.
Just as I was about to check on the turkey, Alice’s voice pierced through the chatter. “Does anyone smell something funny? Like something BURNING?!”
My stomach dropped. I raced to the kitchen, flinging open the oven door. Smoke billowed out, revealing my once-perfect turkey, now charred black as coal. The oven display read 475 degrees—nearly 200 degrees hotter than I had set it.
“Oh no,” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. “This can’t be happening. I checked it just twenty minutes ago. It was… perfect.”
Alice appeared in the doorway, a smirk dancing on her lips. “Every hostess messes up from time to time,” she called out, her voice carrying through the room. “But I can’t recall anyone in our family making a mistake qui