Carol, her husband, Rob, and their son Jamie have a Saturday routine of errands and treats. As the day unfolds, everything turns out exactly as Carol planned for it. Until they get to a fabric store, where Carol looks for material to make Jamie’s Halloween costume, only to uncover secrets that she didn’t know lay in the foundation of her family. She is left trying to pick up the threads of grief that she didn’t know she had.
The day began like any other Saturday morning — errands and grocery shopping with my husband, Rob, and our six-year-old son, Jamie. But I didn’t know that by the end, everything I understood about my life would be questioned.
A smiling little boy sitting on a stool | Source: Pexels
“Mom,” Jamie called from the backseat while we were at the car wash. “Can I get some ice cream?”
“If you’re a good boy in the grocery store, then yes, we can get some ice cream on the way home,” my husband said.
Jamie’s face lit up and he beamed at his father.
“Are you sure about your costume for Halloween?” I asked him.
A car going through a car wash | Source: Pexels
Halloween was a few weeks away and I was going to make his costume by hand, as I had always done. But this time around, Jamie had changed his mind many times before deciding on which costume he wanted.
We had discussed him being a wizard, a tree, a spider, the ocean, and finally, he seemed to like the idea of being a ghost.
A child wearing a costume | Source: Pexels
“It’s cool, Mom,” he told me while I poured milk into his cereal one morning. “Like, I’d be a friendly ghost. Not a scary one.”
Up until this morning, my son seemed fine with being a ghost.
I just hoped that when we got to the fabric store, he would keep that in mind.
“Yes,” he said. “A ghost. Should I be called Casper?”
Rob chuckled beside me.
Children in ghost costumes | Source: Pexels
“Sure,” I said, laughing at my child.
After the car wash, we went grocery shopping with Jamie on his best behavior. I knew him — if he had been promised ice cream, he wouldn’t stop until he got it.
We walked up and down the aisles, Rob adding items to our cart as he spoke about meals he wanted me to cook.
A woman at a grocery store | Source: Pexels
“Grilled fish tonight, Carol,” he said. “That’s the way to go.”
Everything had gone along perfectly, especially Jamie who hummed to himself the entire time.
“One more stop, buddy,” I said to him. “And then it’s time for ice cream.”
Grilled fish on a plate | Source: Pexels
We got to the fabric store and I wandered through the aisles, trying to decide on the best material for my son’s ghost costume.
Rob was nervously checking his phone, texting someone every few minutes. I chalked it up to the baseball game later that day — my husband had many flaws, and gambling on sports was one of them.
A man using his phone | Source: Unsplash
I picked up my phone, ready to check the measurements that I had noted down when I saw a saleswoman walking toward us.
Rob looked at her and turned pale — which was strange in itself. But then it got even stranger.
My son, seeing the woman at the end of our row of fabric, suddenly sprinted off toward her, his little legs carrying him faster than I’d have thought possible. He stopped in front of the woman, staring up at her with wide innocent eyes.
Different types of fabric | Source: Unsplash
“Are you my mommy?” he asked earnestly.
The saleswoman’s face went pale, her eyes darting around, finally landing on a similarly shocked Rob.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”
The woman looked from Rob to me, to Jamie.
A shocked woman standing against a wall | Source: Pexels
“Come on,” Rob said, picking Jamie up.
We took Jamie to an ice cream shop, we had promised him after all.
The entire time we sat there, Rob refused to meet my eye.
My mind raced. I couldn’t understand what had happened. There was no way that Jamie would just run up to a stranger and ask a question of that nature. He knew something. Jamie had to have overheard or seen something. There was no other explanation for it.
An ice cream shop | Source: Pexels
Later that evening, after I tucked Jamie into bed and settled down for story time, I knew I had to clear my conscience. I needed him to tell me the truth.
“Sweetie, why did you ask that woman if she was your mommy?” I asked gently.
“I heard Dad say that on the phone, and her picture was there, too,” he replied simply.
“Dad said that the woman is your mommy?” I pressed, my voice barely a whisper.
A little boy lying in bed | Source: Unsplash
I didn’t have a lot of time. Rob would come in to kiss Jamie goodnight soon.
My son nodded earnestly, his eyebrows raised — his own telltale sign of the truth.
I went to my bedroom and lay across the bed, trying to understand.
A woman lying across the bed hiding her face | Souce: Unsplash
I waited for the weekend to pass, and on Monday after I dropped Jamie off at school, I went back to the store. Alone, this time. I had questions and they needed answers.
As I stepped into the store, I saw the woman restocking buttons in a little container.
“Are you having an affair with my husband?” I blurted out, my voice tense.
An aerial view of different buttons | Source: Unsplash
“What? No! Of course not!” she exclaimed, her reaction seeming genuine.
“My son asked if you were his mother on Saturday, when we were in the store,” I added, trying to piece together the fragments of our crumbling reality.
The same alarmed look crossed her face again. She glanced around hastily before grabbing my hand and leading me away.
“Not here,” she said. “Come.”
A person holding out their hand | Source: Unsplash
She pulled me into a storage room, her eyes scanning my face for signs of understanding.
“I’m not sure what’s going on,” she said. “My name is Kaylee. And I don’t know how this all happened. Or even how your son found out.”
“Found out what?” I demanded, the urgency in my voice even frightened me.
Kaylee flinched at my tone.
A storage room | Source: Pexels
“Maybe I’m not the one who should be telling you this. Please, ask your husband,” she said, already turning away from me.
I went back home and tried to think of all the possibilities that could link Rob to Kaylee. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except the fact that my husband may have been cheating on me.
I tried to sit down in my study and work, but tears kept streaming down my face as I tried to make sense of it all.
A person using a laptop | Source: Unsplash
When Rob came home, he had a pizza in hand and was ready to sit down with Jamie and talk about their respective days.
I let everything slide until my son was sound in bed.
“Rob,” I began, sitting on the couch. “We need to talk.”
My husband closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair.
A box of pizza | Source: Unsplash
I told him everything — my visit back to the fabric store and the conversation I had with Kaylee.
“What does it all mean, Rob?” I asked. “I need you to tell me everything. It’s one thing if you’re doing something that I don’t know about. But it’s another thing when Jamie knows something that I don’t.”
“What are you saying?” he asked.
“Tell me the truth. What does Kaylee have to do with our family?” I asked.
A man sitting on couch and holding his head | Source: Unsplash
“Carol, I hoped that you would never have to know this,” he said slowly. “But do you remember the night you went into labor?”
Of course, I remembered. It had been the most difficult and traumatic night of my life. I just remember my water breaking, and then my blood pressure dropping rapidly. Everything happened so quickly, that the doctors asked Rob to choose whether he would save me or the life of our baby.
Afterward, when I held our baby in my arms, Rob told me he chose my life. But it turns out he didn’t need to because there we both were.
A woman in labor in hospital | Source: Unsplash
Or so I thought.
I didn’t know that as I sat in the living room that night, my entire world was about to change.
“When you were taken in,” Rob said. “I chose you, I told the doctors to save you first. I wasn’t proud of it, but I knew that I couldn’t do this without you.”
I nodded, I knew this — Rob had told me this many times before. Usually on Jamie’s birthday.
A little boy’s birthday | Source: Unsplash
“What I didn’t tell you is that the doctors did save you, darling. Our baby didn’t make it. He didn’t get enough oxygen and well…”
Rob’s voice trailed off into silence. The only sound that could be heard was the clock in the living room.
“What? Then Jamie?” I asked.
“Jamie was born that night, too,” my husband said. “But he was up for adoption because Kaylee couldn’t do it by herself. So, when I was signing the paperwork about our son, I overheard the story. A nurse pointed me in the right direction and I went to see Kaylee. And there he was.”
A man holding a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
I was speechless. I couldn’t look at Rob.
“I shared our story with Kaylee, and she signed the papers over to me immediately. Jamie became ours that night.”
The room spun around me as I absorbed the shock. My son — the light of my life — was mine in every way except biologically. The foundation of my world had not just shifted, it had been demolished entirely.
That night, I took a sleeping pill and went to bed. I didn’t have the capacity for it all.
A woman asleep in bed | Source: Unsplash
The next morning, as I made French toast for Jamie before school, I looked at his features and realized that there wasn’t any physical resemblance to Rob or myself. It didn’t make a difference, because he was still my son.
But I knew that something had changed — I loved Jamie even more because he had been placed in my arms where grief would have sat otherwise.
After grappling with the news, I sought therapy to process the grief for the son I never got to know. And the deception that I lived through. I loved Rob for doing what he did — giving me a son.
French toast and blueberries | Source: Unsplash
But I was still devastated by the fact that he had kept the truth from me for six years.
I need some time to gather my thoughts and feelings, but I do know that I need to visit the fabric store again. Not just for Jamie’s costume, but to get to know Kaylee and any medical history we may need to know.
A woman holding her head | Source: Unsplash
I still need to know why Rob went looking for Kaylee in the first place, or if she went looking for us. But all in good time.
Now, I just need to process my grief and enjoy my son.
A close up of a mother and son | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
My MIL Gave Homemade Dolls to My Daughter – I Forbade Her from Coming near Us after I Found Out the Truth about Them
When Katie discovers that her mother-in-law has been making strange dolls for her daughter, she confronts the old woman, only to discover that she has been holding onto grief for her entire life. But what does that mean for the mysterious dolls? And the little girl who plays with them?
My grandmother died when I was very young, but I always associated love and care with her. So, I always knew that when I had children, I wanted them to know the love of a grandmother. When my daughter, Lila, was born, that was exactly what I wanted.
A grandmother and granddaughter | Source: Pexels
My mother lives a few hours away from us, so she and Lila have more of a virtual relationship.
But the silver lining is my mother-in-law, Susan. She only lives a few streets over, and she loves spending time with Lila.
Since Lila was born, Susan has played the doting grandmother that I wanted for my child. She came over and played with Lila, making her snacks and teaching her little things in the kitchen.
An elderly woman with her granddaughter | Source: Pexels
Recently, my mother-in-law and Lila have taken to creative hobbies—often painting away or making beaded bracelets.
“Gran makes such great things, Mom!” Lila told me one afternoon as I was making her a sandwich.
“Gran is really good with her hands,” I said. “She can do all sorts of things!”
Now, Susan has been obsessed with wanting to make handmade dolls for Lila.
“I just think that there’s something so special about homemade toys,” she told me when we went grocery shopping together. “I have lots of fabric ready.”
Colored fabric | Source: Pexels
A few weeks ago, when we were having family dinner, Susan gifted Lila a gift box.
“I’ve made you something, darling,” she said.
Lila opened the box with wide eyes, and there it was—the first of the handmade dolls.
But that’s when things started to get weird!
The other day, when Susan dropped Lila off at home, my daughter ran into the dining room where I was working on my laptop.
“Mom!” she exclaimed, her eyes alight with the wonder of a new treasure.
“What happened?” I asked her, delighted to see the joy in my child.
“Gran made these for me!” she said.
An excited little girl | Source: Pexels
Lila placed three beautifully crafted dolls on the table next to me. I had to admit, they were stunning.
“This is lovely!” I exclaimed. “Gran really is good, huh?”
“These dolls have names,” Lila said, following me into the kitchen so that I could begin dinner.
“Introduce them to me!” I said.
My daughter put the dolls on the counter and touched their heads as she called out their names.
“This is Judy, and Vivi, and Kara,” she said.
“Those are some pretty interesting names,” I said. “Where did you get them from?”
Dolls on a wall | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t pick them,” she said innocently. “Gran did. I’m taking them to my room to have a tea party now.”
With that, Lila bounced away.
Curiosity piqued and unease began to settle in. I knew those names. They were three sisters who were a part of the dark history of the family—my mother-in-law had three younger siblings who all passed away when they were toddlers.
“They were just really sickly children,” my husband, Justin, told me once.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED WHEN I SURPRISED MY LONG-DISTANCE BOYFRIEND—IT WAS A TOTAL DISASTER
After my husband left me, I found it hard to start over at 41. Feeling lonely and ready to find love again, I decided to join a dating site. There, I met a charming man named Juan. Hoping for a fresh start, I decided to surprise him by traveling to Mexico. But it turned out to be a huge mistake.
My name is Lily, and I’m 41 years old. After twenty years of marriage, my husband left me, and I was lost. Since I had married young, I didn’t have much experience with dating or making new friends.
I felt isolated and rarely went out. Finding love at my age seemed almost impossible. So, I took a chance and went on a dating site, hoping to change my life.
In my desperation, I signed up for a dating site and began talking to a charming man from Mexico named Juan. He was so confident and charming that I could hardly believe he was real. Our online conversations soon turned into something more serious.
As our connection grew, Juan started inviting me to visit him in Mexico. I was nervous at first. What if he wasn’t who he appeared to be? What if this was just another path to disappointment?
But the loneliness of my daily routine made me want to take a chance. I decided to surprise Juan by arriving in Mexico without telling him.
I packed for a few weeks, bought my plane tickets, and set off on my journey. I was extremely nervous, unsure if he would be the same person in real life as he was online. But I needed to try; it felt like my last shot at finding happiness.
As I boarded the plane, my heart raced with excitement and anxiety. The flight seemed endless as I kept thinking about Juan. Would he be as charming in person? Would he be happy to see me? I tried to calm myself, reminding myself that this was a chance for a fresh start.
Reaching Juan was harder than I expected because he lived in a small town far from the airport. The trip was long and exhausting. After landing, I had to find a taxi to get me to his town.
The taxi driver kept shouting, “Where!? Where!?” because he didn’t understand me. My frustration grew, so I quickly pulled out my phone and showed him the address.
“See? Right here, I need you to take me to this town. How much?” I asked the driver.
“Good, good, let’s go!” he replied, finally understanding.
Traveling had always been a challenge for me, and I often struggled to communicate and had bad luck. But this time, I felt hopeful and determined. The drive was long and seemed endless, taking me through narrow, unfamiliar roads. I watched as the city’s hustle and bustle gave way to the quieter, rural landscapes.
The further we drove, the more anxious I became. I couldn’t shake the worry that I might be making a huge mistake. But I pushed those thoughts aside, reminding myself that I was here to take a chance on happiness.
Finally, the taxi pulled up to a small apartment building. I paid the driver and stepped out, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. As I walked toward the building, I saw Juan just entering his apartment.
“Juan! Surprise!” I called out as I rushed toward him, eager to see his reaction.
At first, he looked startled, and I felt a pang of worry that maybe he wasn’t pleased to see me. But then, his face lit up with a smile, and my heart eased with relief.
“Oh, it’s you! I wasn’t expecting you! Why didn’t you text me about your visit?” Juan asked, looking surprised.
“I’m sorry, I thought you would be happy to see me, Juan. You look even better in person!” I replied, trying to keep things positive.
“Yeah! You too… Lucy…” he said, pausing for a moment.
“It’s Lily,” I corrected him, feeling a twinge of disappointment. He couldn’t even remember my name—maybe that should have been my first clue.
“Lily! Yes, that’s right. I’m sorry, sometimes American names can be confusing to me,” Juan said, trying to smooth over his mistake.
I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he was still handsome, and his accent was charming.
He invited me into his apartment, and we settled in to talk. The conversation was easy and enjoyable. We laughed and shared stories, feeling as if we’d known each other for years.
As the evening went on, we opened a bottle of wine. With each sip, my nerves began to melt away. Juan was charming and attentive, and I found myself enjoying his company more than I had expected.
Juan nodded in understanding. “Of course, Lily. I’m glad you’re here. You can use the guest room.”
He showed me to the guest room, which was cozy and inviting. I thanked him and settled in, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness about what the next day would bring. As I drifted off to sleep, I hoped that this leap of faith would lead to something wonderful.
I looked around, trying to piece together what had happened. The realization hit me hard: I had been robbed. My heart raced as panic set in. How did I end up outside? I struggled to remember the details of the previous night, but it was all a blur.
I stumbled to my feet, trying to gather my thoughts. I had no idea where Juan was or how to reach him. I needed to find help, but my only option was to walk to the nearest public place.
As I wandered, I saw a small café and went inside, hoping to use their phone to contact the police or anyone who could assist me. My clothes were disheveled, and I must have looked a mess. The barista noticed my distress and offered me a seat.
“Are you okay, miss?” she asked gently.
“I… I’ve been robbed,” I managed to say, feeling tears well up. “I need to call someone.”
She handed me the phone, and I dialed the local police, giving them my location and explaining what had happened. They assured me they would send someone to help.
Sitting there, waiting for assistance, I felt a mix of shame, fear, and disappointment. I had come all this way, hoping for a fresh start, only to end up in such a dire situation.
Desperation took over as I watched people move past, their lives seemingly unaffected by my plight. I felt isolated and overwhelmed, with no way to break through the barrier of language and cultural differences.
Finally, a kind-hearted woman noticed my distress. She approached me with a concerned look and spoke to me in broken English.
“Are you okay?” she asked gently.
I nodded, trying to keep my composure. “I’ve been robbed. I don’t know what to do.”
She quickly grasped the severity of the situation and took out her phone, calling the police for me. While we waited, she offered me a warm drink from the café, which helped soothe my nerves.
The police arrived soon after, and I tried my best to explain what had happened. They were patient and sympathetic, taking down the details and promising to help me.
As they worked on getting me the assistance I needed, I felt a flicker of relief. Though the situation was dire, the kindness of a stranger made me realize that there was still hope, even in the darkest moments.
The man nodded sympathetically and offered me a comforting smile. “I can help. My name is Carlos. I work at the restaurant nearby. Let’s get you inside where it’s safe and call the police.”
He led me to the restaurant, which was a small, cozy place with a warm atmosphere. Inside, he made me comfortable at a table and brought me a cup of coffee. It wasn’t much, but it was a small gesture of kindness that meant a lot.
Carlos used the restaurant’s phone to contact the police and explained the situation. He also offered to help me reach the embassy or consulate for additional support. As he spoke on the phone, he reassured me that everything would be okay.
While waiting for the police, Carlos and I chatted a bit. He was kind and understanding, and his presence helped ease some of my anxiety. When the authorities arrived, they took my statement and began investigating, with Carlos translating where necessary.
Thanks to Carlos’s help, I finally felt like I wasn’t entirely alone in this unfamiliar place. His kindness was a lifeline in my moment of crisis, showing me that even in difficult situations, there are people willing to extend a helping hand.
When I emerged from the restroom, Miguel had set up a small table with a warm meal. He gestured for me to sit, and I did, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. The food was simple but delicious – a comforting bowl of soup and some fresh bread.
As I ate, Miguel sat across from me, keeping a watchful eye. He spoke to me softly, his English broken but sincere. “You okay now?” he asked.
I nodded, taking another bite. “Yes, thank you. I feel a lot better. I can’t believe how kind you’ve been.”
Miguel smiled, though his eyes still showed concern. “You need help. I help. Don’t worry. We find your things.”
After I finished eating, Miguel made a call to the local authorities and to my embassy, explaining my situation and asking for assistance. He kept me informed and reassured me that things would get better.
With Miguel’s support, I started to feel a sense of stability. Although I was still shaken, his help made me feel like there was a way out of this nightmare. For the first time since waking up on the street, I felt a glimmer of hope that everything would be okay.
As I ate, I noticed that Miguel’s kindness was more than just about providing food. His genuine concern made me feel a little safer. The warm meal and hot coffee were comforting, and each bite seemed to help me regain a bit of my strength.
After finishing, Miguel handed me his phone, allowing me to call the local authorities and my embassy. I was still shaken but felt more hopeful with each passing minute.
Miguel sat nearby, ready to help in any way he could. With his support, I managed to contact the necessary services and start working on getting my belongings back and making arrangements to return home.
His simple act of kindness turned a terrifying situation into one where I felt I could start to recover and rebuild.
As I finished eating, I reflected on everything that had led me to this point. Juan, who had seemed so charming and perfect online, turned out to be a far cry from what I had hoped for. It was a hard pill to swallow, realizing he wasn’t who he seemed to be.
Despite the pain, Miguel’s unexpected kindness was a bright spot in an otherwise dark situation. His help reminded me that even when things go wrong, there are still good people out there who can make a difference. It gave me hope that maybe, someday, I would find what I was looking for and that not everyone would let me down.
When I looked out into the hall, I was shocked to see Juan in the distance. He was with another woman, laughing and chatting as if nothing had ever happened between us.
My heart pounded with a mix of anger and betrayal. How could he just move on so easily after what he had done to me? The sight of him enjoying himself with someone new was a painful reminder of how deeply he had hurt me.
Miguel studied the drawing and then glanced back at Juan, who was still with the new woman. Understanding began to dawn on him. He nodded and then motioned for me to wait.
“I’ll help,” Miguel said, his voice calm but determined. He walked out of the restaurant, approaching Juan with a serious expression.
I watched from the doorway, my heart racing. I saw Miguel talk to Juan, and Juan’s face changed from laughter to shock. Miguel pointed in my direction, and Juan’s gaze met mine. The confrontation was intense, but I could see that Juan was visibly uncomfortable.
Miguel returned to me and said, “Juan says he didn’t take anything. But we need to call police. I help you.”
With Miguel’s help, I managed to use his phone to call the police. As I waited, I felt a mix of relief and anxiety. I hoped that justice would be served and that I could finally find some resolution to this distressing situation.
Miguel’s eyes widened as I approached, the phone clutched tightly in my hand. He looked at me with a mix of surprise and concern.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice trembling. I handed the phone to him, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. “Can you call the police now?”
Miguel nodded, quickly taking out his phone and dialing the number. He spoke in Spanish, explaining the situation as best as he could. I waited anxiously, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Juan didn’t notice what had happened.
Once Miguel finished the call, he looked at me reassuringly. “Police come soon,” he said. “We… stay here, okay?”
I nodded, grateful for his help. “Thank you so much, Miguel. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Miguel gave me a comforting smile and patted my shoulder. “No problem. We help.”
As we waited for the police, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—relief, anger, and gratitude. Despite the chaos, I was thankful for Miguel’s kindness and support.
Miguel’s kindness truly made a difference in Lily’s challenging situation, showing that even in tough times, there are people who genuinely care and help. His support provided Lily with the strength and hope she needed to face her difficulties. If you’ve been moved by this story, share it with your friends—it might inspire them and bring a smile to their day.
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