Thanksgiving in the dark

Ten years ago, I celebrated Thanksgiving in what felt like a dream. The Smoky Mountains were blanketed in snow, and the air was crisp and magical. My family and I gathered in warmth and laughter, enjoying a meal I had lovingly prepared. It was everything I thought a holiday should be—peaceful, joyful, and full of promise for the future.

But that dream was built on illusions.

Beneath the smiles, the laughter, and the “I love you’s,” there was a secret—one that would eventually shatter everything I believed about love, trust, and family. At the time, I had no idea. I was blissfully unaware of the betrayal that hid behind affectionate gestures and flattering words.

For years, I thought I was the glue that held that family together. I believed I was valued, that I mattered. But looking back, I see now that my worth to them was tied to a role I didn’t even know I was playing: the one who kept him “in line.”

The irony is, even after everything, I’m still the glue. The family that was once so divided has found unity—but not in love. No, nothing bonds people quite like a common enemy. And I am that enemy. If I were removed from their lives, their fragile harmony would crumble. I know this, and yet, I wish I could walk away completely, untethered from their dysfunction.

It took nearly a year for the secret to surface. By then, God had already begun preparing me for the discovery. Piece by piece, the truth unfolded—small events and revelations that felt too intentional to be coincidence. When the final blow came, I was no longer surprised.

I still remember the moment vividly. I was sitting in the parents’ area at my daughters’ gymnastics practice, watching them leap and tumble with carefree joy. My phone buzzed with a Facebook message from a stranger. I opened it, and the words hit me like a physical blow.

The world around me seemed to blur. The sounds of laughter and conversation dulled to a faint hum. My body went cold, and for a moment, it felt as though I had left it entirely, floating outside myself as the enormity of what I had just read sank in.

The secret? A baby.

That Thanksgiving I had cherished so much, the one where I cooked and served a meal with love and care, was not what it seemed. While I busied myself creating a perfect holiday, there was another reality unfolding. A woman—someone I didn’t know—was pregnant with his child. She wasn’t there at Thanksgiving, but the family knew. They sat at my table, ate my food, and smiled at me as if everything were normal, while carrying the weight of this secret.

Over the next few weeks, I spoke with the child’s mother, trying to piece together the details. Surprisingly, many of our conversations turned into moments of compassion. I prayed for her, consoled her even. She didn’t owe me loyalty. The betrayal wasn’t hers, and her child was blameless.

The baby wasn’t the reason I left. It was simply confirmation of everything I had already felt but hadn’t been able to name. For months, I had known in my spirit that something was deeply wrong. God had been whispering truths to my heart, truths I was too afraid to accept. But through prayer and the wise counsel of my church, I found the courage to break free.

Leaving wasn’t easy. Divorce with kids is terrifying. Starting over in a new place, letting go of everything familiar, and walking away from people I had known my entire life felt like a free fall into the unknown. But I knew God was leading me, and even in my brokenness, my motives were pure.

Today, my life looks nothing like it did back then. I live in a place I’ve always dreamed of, married to a man who loves me and my daughters deeply and unconditionally. I’ve built a community of people who inspire and uplift me, who remind me every day that I’m stronger than I ever believed.

Yes, there were moments of loneliness along the way. There were nights when the weight of starting over felt unbearable. But those moments were outnumbered by the blessings—by the joy of new friendships, the kindness of strangers, and the overwhelming sense of peace that comes from living in truth.

Looking back, I can see that God’s hand was in every step of my journey. The betrayal that once felt like the end of my world was actually the beginning of a new one. It forced me to shed relationships that were toxic and step into the light of God’s best for me.

Here’s what I want you to take from my story: No matter how deep the darkness, no matter how painful the betrayal, there is always a way forward. You deserve to live in the light. It’s the only place where healing, joy, and love can truly thrive.

I’m living proof that God’s purposes are better than anything we can imagine. He doesn’t just repair what’s broken—He builds something entirely new. So, if you’re in a place of pain or uncertainty, know this: The light is waiting. Step into it.