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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!”

A peanut butter and jam sandwich | Source: Pexels

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 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.

A person holding a gift box | Source: Pexels

“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.

A cake covered with fruit | Source: Pexels

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.

A little girl brushing her teeth | Source: Pexels

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?”

“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.

A person using a sewing machine | Source: Pexels

“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 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.

A sad woman looking to the side | Source: Pexels

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.”

A person chopping garlic | Source: Pexels

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.

A person holding a phone | Source: Pexels

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.”

A man sitting on a couch | Source: Pexels

“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.”

A man pouring a drink | Source: Pexels

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.

A woman in bed | Source: Pexels

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.

People having tea and scones | Source: Unsplash

“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.

A person holding a crystal ball | Source: Pexels

“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.

A crying old woman | Source: Pexels

“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.

An old woman sitting on a couch | Source: Pexels

“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.

A sad little girl | Source: Pexels

“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.

A little girl reading before bed | Source: Pexels

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.

A person holding a shovel | Source: Pexels

What would you have done?