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.

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.

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."

A few weeks ago, when we were having a 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.

"Wow!" Lila exclaimed, pushing her fork away.

"Okay, put your toy away for now," I said, bringing out a cake for dessert. "You can play with her later."

"No," my mother-in-law said. "Lila, let her sit next to you."

Lila beamed and she tried to get the doll to rest on her leg while she sat at the table.

Even that night, when Lila brushed her teeth, she couldn't stop talking about the gift from her grandmother.

But then, things began to get stranger. One weird doll away from a weird dollhouse.

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.

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?"

"Gran said that she'll also make me a dress for my birthday!" Lila said, practically bouncing.

My mother-in-law was great with a sewing machine, and the more she practiced, the better she got. She had made a few outfits for Lila as she grew.

"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?"

"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 was 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.

"I can't imagine that heartache," I said.

But now, the fact that Susan had named the dolls after her sisters—something just didn't feel right.

I began to chop up vegetables for dinner when my mind continued to race. I wiped my hands on my clothes, picked up my phone, and dialed Jenna, my sister-in-law.

"Hey, Jen," I said the moment she answered. "Can you look at something for me in the family album? It's about the dolls that Mom has been making for Lila."

There was a pause, the silence settling in.

"Sure," Jenna said after a moment. "What's up?"

I had to choose my words carefully—I didn't want to offend anyone.

"It's probably nothing," I said, picking up the knife again. "But can you send me the photo of Mom's sisters? The three kids? Lila said something weird today, and I just need to check something."

"Sure thing, Katie," she said and hung up.

Minutes later, Jenna's message came through with the photo attached. My heart sank as I studied it—three young girls, frozen in time, wearing the same outfits and hairstyles as Lila's dolls.

It was too precise, too deliberate to be a coincidence.

When Justin got home from work that night, I had to tell him about my discovery.

"Katie," he said. "I think you're overthinking the entire situation. Mom probably just wanted to introduce her sisters to Lila in a way. Like guardian angels or something."

"It's not normal," I said. "She made them look identical. The outfits, the hair—"

"Stop," Justin said.

He poured himself a drink and sat down on the couch.

"You do this," he continued. "You get into your head and stay there. Mom was just doing something sweet for Lila. That's all."

I went to bed that night knowing that Justin wouldn't do anything about it. For all I knew, Lila was probably sleeping with the dolls all lined up next to her.

My unease resulted in a long and restless night.

But I knew that the revelation demanded a confrontation. I arranged to meet my mother-in-law the next morning at her place. I needed some kind of rational explanation that would ease my growing dread.

Susan made us tea and scones, and we sat down in the living room to talk.

"Mom, why did you make these dolls look exactly like your sisters?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even as we sat in her living room, other dolls lined up on the mantelpiece like a silent audience.

Susan looked at me, her eyes a mixture of confusion and pain.

"Katie, I thought that it would be a nice way to remember them," she said softly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"To bring them back, in a way," she added.

"But they're dolls, Susan," I said. "This feels wrong."

"No! Don't say that," my mother-in-law said, a note of defensiveness creeping into her voice. "They're my little sisters. And there's a lot of their energy around Lila already. I thought that if I made them into their own dolls, then that energy would be transferred there."

"So, you want to use my daughter as a sort of medium?" I asked.

Crystal balls came to my mind as I said that.

"Does that really sound right to you?" my voice broke with frustration and concern.

Susan's face hardened, her voice cold as she responded.

"You wouldn't understand. You still have everyone you love. Don't take this away from me!"

The air thickened with unsaid words and stifled grief. I didn't know what else to tell Susan. Her outburst startled me. But I stood up, the need to protect my daughter from what I now viewed as an inappropriate expression of mourning overtaking my sympathy for Susan.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I said. "I just can't let Lila keep these dolls. It's not healthy for her."

Leaving her house, the weight of our exchange bore down on me. At home, I explained to Lila why she couldn't play with the dolls anymore. Her confusion and sadness mirrored my own conflicted emotions.

"Why can't I play with them?" she asked, as I put them into a wooden box. "Are they bad?"

"No, sweetheart, they're not bad," I said. "It's just that sometimes, things from the past need to stay in the past."

I hoped that my explanation didn't inflict too much confusion on her young mind.

"Can Gran come over still?" she asked, helping herself to a cupcake that I had brought to help bribe her away from the dolls.

"She can," I said guardedly. "But when she understands some things first."

That night, as I put Lila to bed, her usual chatter about the dolls was replaced with a somber silence. I knew that she didn't understand.

And a part of me didn't understand either. But I knew that I just didn't feel right.

The next morning, I dug a hole in our garden and placed the box into it.

Those little souls needed to rest.

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here's another one for you |

My MIL Would Secretly Give Me Porcelain Dolls Every Christmas — I Was Shocked to Find Out Their True Purpose

For years, Monica's mother-in-law, Lina, has been giving her porcelain dolls for Christmas. Mon always assumed they were just antiques and kept them hidden in her closet. But her husband, Andy, sees them and reveals their purpose.

I've been married to my husband for the past five years, and every year, my mother-in-law used to give me porcelain dolls. At first, I thought it was sweet because they looked like they were antiques, and she always gave them to me in a box when nobody was around us.

I just assumed they were from her collection, and she didn't want the rest of the family to know.

But I was so wrong.

I'm not a doll person, so there was never a need to display them anywhere in our home. Instead, I kept hiding them away at the back of my closet because I didn't know what else to do with them. I thought about taking them over for the kids at the nearby orphanage, but what would they do with fragile porcelain dolls that couldn't really be played with?

This year, my husband promised me a new closet for Christmas, so a few weeks before that, we were packing away all of my clothes before the carpenter turned the closet into a custom piece.

Anyway, I was kneeling and pulling out the dolls when Andy, my husband, went pale.

"Where are those from?" he asked, pointing to the first doll."

From your Mom, they've been my Christmas presents for all these years," I said.

"Five years? Monica, really?"

"What?"

"Come with me," he said, picking them up and rushing out of our bedroom.

"Where are you going?" I asked, following him.

I hadn't seen Andy so worked up since his car was stolen when we were dating. I followed him to the living room, where he threw all the dolls into the fireplace and lit a fire. It was the middle of winter, so the fireplace was constantly used. It didn't take long before the flames were licking at the dolls.

"Please explain why you just did that," I said, sitting on the couch.

Andy just looked at me, horrified.

"Mon," he said. "You know that our cultures are very different, right?"

I nodded. Of course, I knew I was still learning about Andy's culture.

I had absolutely no idea what was happening, just that my husband was traumatized by a gift from his mother.

"It's your responsibility, Monica," she said. "You need to learn about our family traditions. Especially if you and Andy want to have children one day. Don't accept gifts without understanding their purpose."

What to know what happens next? Read the full story here!

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.