Rina is not at all happy when her mother invites her in-laws to dinner on her birthday. She knows very well that her mother-in-law does not like her. However, her mother is adamant. However, in the evening during the meal, after a terrible gift and a loud confrontation, a birthday cake is appropriate.
The smell of a well-prepared birthday dinner mixed with the smell of Mom’s favorite flowers filled our living room. Mom’s special day was here and she got exactly what she wanted.
The day before, when we were shopping for dinner for her, she smiled at me from behind the shopping cart and said, “Tulips for the table, Rino.” “Always tulips,” I smiled at her despite my grumbling.
As my mother was vital to me, I planned to give her the birthday she always wanted. As we browsed the store, we added items to the cart while our mother checked them off the list.
She shouted, “Champagne!” while we were waiting in line to pay. I yelled, “I’m coming up,” as I dashed down the aisle for a few bottles.
When I returned to the cart, she remarked, “What about the rest of the drinks?” I said, “Timothy said he would take care of it,” referring to my husband who was in charge of drinks and dessert.
My only complaint about the evening was that, despite my express request, my mother invited my in-laws. She said, “It’s nothing fancy, Rina.” “We’re just celebrating my birthday at home with dinner. Everything is normal except for the cake.”
“But you know how they are,” I complained, sipping my tea. “They’ll be fine; they can’t tell you anything at my house,” she replied.
Timothy’s parents had always made no secret of their contempt for me, despite what my mother believed. Besides the fact that Timothy came home to a living person and not an empty house, there was nothing about me that was sympathetic to them.
“Everything will be fine,” Mom assured me. “Anyway, there’s still a week until dinner. They might decide not to go at all.”
Of course, they would. My mother could rest, so Timothy and I arranged a meal.
I informed her, “You’re going to get upset about everything when we have it at your place, Mom.” That way you can just relax and let Tim and I handle everything.” She finally gave in.
Timothy and I were getting ready in our bedroom the day of dinner. As he stood in front of the closet, he thought about whether to wear a tie or not. “Do you think your parents are going to try something with me?” I was looking for earrings to go with my dress, I asked.
He asked buttoning up his shirt, “How?” As you know they are. Many slanders are directed at an individual. I laughed and replied, “Your mother is probably waiting to insult me.”
There were many things I couldn’t stand, even though I tried to laugh it off with my partner. Timothy’s parents, especially his mother, spoke to me in a way that I hated.
She constantly gave the impression that I was not who I was. She always criticized everything about me, including the meals I prepared, my appearance, and the music I liked.
My mother-in-law insisted on a Sunday family meal twice a month, which I could hardly manage. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing because it was awkward and forced. Timothy began to play bartender, merrily mixing his own drinks as the guests began to arrive.
Everyone came hungry as soon as I set the table. After dinner, when it came time to open presents, my mother—always the people pleaser—picked out her mother-in-law’s gift to unwrap first.
Sandra commented, “It would be better if you opened it yourself.” Mom made fun of me, but I felt embarrassed.
I was aware that Sandra would do everything in her power to make me look bad, even if it meant including my mother. She was the type of woman this was. She only cared about herself. My mother remarked, “That will be good.”
She removed the layers of tissue paper. When the paper hit the floor, the room fell silent and Mom opened the box.
My husband gulped when he saw the contents of the gift – a surprisingly revealing latex costume. My mother’s face lost all color and the laughter in her throat died down.
My mother’s anguished expression made my eyes water and my heart hurt. I was unable to control myself. Sandra bullying me, her daughter-in-law, was one thing, but I couldn’t stand her going after my mom.
“What’s this about? Sandro, what kind of bad joke is this?” he asked. “My mother would never wear this. I was about to descend into an angry spiral, but Timothy reached out to grab my hand and pull me back.
“Why not, Rino?” Sandra asked, her voice brimming with disdain as she blinked slowly. “Why shouldn’t she? After all, her daughter dresses as she pleases and acts as she pleases.” Everyone in the room suddenly gasped. The insult was internally serious and hung in the air. I began to argue with her, my words governed by years of unrelieved resentment, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
Sandra was a legitimate opponent in the fight. She responded to my rage with caustic sarcasm, hurling obscenities at both my mother and me.
“Maybe if your mother raised you right,” she commented, taking a sip from her glass of wine. “My son’s life wouldn’t be such a mess if you weren’t. What exactly to bring to the party? I’ve only seen you invite people over to your house and dress scantily.”
I was unable to speak. For once I had nothing to say. I sat down in my chair and put my head in my hands, unable to handle the weight of her words.
Then out of nowhere, my husband intervened, trying to protect us only to be silenced by his mother.
“Shut up, Timothy,” she ordered sincerely. “You are too stupid. You chose this girl.”
But my mother rose above the turmoil, a picture of poise in the face of conflict.
She took the latex costume, folded it carefully, and put it back in the box.
She faced my mother-in-law and spoke in a firm but stern tone.
Sandra, I’m grateful for your gift,” she remarked. “I’ll definitely use it sometime.”
Then she did something none of us could have predicted: she took the birthday cake—the gorgeous three-layer vanilla sponge cake she’d been looking forward to all week—and threw it right into my mother-in-law’s shocked face.
As everyone focused on the sight before them, the room suddenly fell silent.
My mother-in-law, covered in berries and frosting, stood motionless, the picture of angry fury.
“What?” my mother asked as Sandra wiped the frosting on her face.
“Can’t you talk anymore?”
Sandra exploded and the whole room felt her anger.
She spat, “How dare you?”
“No,” Timothy interrupted. “Are you so brave?
Sandra’s eyes met her son’s.
She hissed at him, “What?”
“You walk into my house and talk to my wife like she’s a complete stranger? And then treat her mother the same way? What exactly is wrong with you?”
My husband pointed to the door without waiting for her to react.
“I believe it is time for you to go,” he said.
Instead of shouting, the order was given with such conviction that my mother-in-law, who was still wiping the cake from her eyes, had no choice but to follow.
My husband felt embarrassed. He expressed his sincere regret to my mother and me and promised that such an incident would never happen again.
The visitors left shortly after, leaving Timothy and me to clean up.
Using a mop, he began to remove the remaining glaze that had smeared on the tiles.
He promised to speak to his mother in private once more after we had cleared away the emotional and physical wreckage.
After the events of the day, my mother and I gathered on the couch and drank tea to relax. She touched me with her hand.
“Never let anyone dim your light,” she muttered, fierce protectiveness in her eyes in addition to the flickering of the decorative candles.
She continued, “Especially not in your own house.”
Now that I take care of myself before his mother, Timothy is okay with me declining invitations to family dinners.
I’m going to start therapy to help me heal because I still don’t feel good about how the dinner ended.
How would you react in such a situation?
Here is another story for you to enjoy if you enjoyed this one.
My daughter received handmade dolls from my mother-in-law; after I learned the truth about them, I forbade her to visit us.
When Katie confronts her mother-in-law after learning that she has been making bizarre dolls for her daughter, she discovers that the elderly woman has clung to her grief all her life. But what does this mean for the mysterious dolls? And the young girl playing with them?
Despite my young age, I always thought of my grandmother as someone who loved and cared for me.
Therefore, I always knew that I wanted my children to experience the affection of a grandmother when I became a parent. I had exactly that wish when my daughter Lila was born.
Lila and my mother have more of a virtual relationship because my mother lives a few hours away from us.
The bright spot, however, is my mother-in-law, Susan. She enjoys spending time with Lila, who lives just a few blocks away.
Susan has been my child’s adoring grandmother since Lila was born. She came over and spent time playing and teaching Lily a little cooking skill while preparing food.
My mother-in-law and Lila have recently developed a passion for creative pursuits; they often paint or make bracelets from beads.
“Gran does such great things, Mom!” Once when I was making a sandwich for Lila, she told me.
“Gran is really good with her hands,” | he said.
“He can do all kinds of things!”
Susan’s obsession right now is wanting to create handmade dolls for Lila.
“I find handmade toys to have a unique quality,” she told me during our supermarket shopping excursion. “I have a lot of fabric ready.
During a family meal a few weeks ago, Susan gave Lila a gift box.
“Honey, look what I’ve done for you,” she remarked.
With astonished eyes, Lila opened the package and saw the first of the handmade dolls inside.
Lila pushed her fork aside and said, “Wow!”
I said, “Okay, put the toy away for now,” and served the cake for dessert. “You can play with her later.
“No,” replied my mother-in-law. “Lila, let her sit next to you.
With a beaming expression, Lila tried to sit the doll on her leg as she sat at the table.
Lila munched on her grandmother’s gift all night while brushing her teeth.
But then things started to get more bizarre. A strange doll separated from a strange dollhouse.
I was using my laptop in the dining room when my daughter ran in after Susan dropped Lila off at home the other day.
She screamed, “Mommy!” her eyes glittered with excitement at the treasure she had found.
“What happened?” I asked her, happy to see my child so happy.
She exclaimed, “Gran did it for me!”
Lila placed three beautifully crafted dolls on the table next to me. It was inevitable that they were beautiful.
“That is beautiful!” I screamed. “Gran is really good huh?”
“Grandma said she was going to make me a dress for my birthday too!” She practically bounced off, Lila said.
Mother-in-law was an expert with a sewing machine; the more she used it, the more proficient she became. As Lila developed, she made a few dresses for her.
Lila said, “These dolls have names,” and followed me into the kitchen to start making dinner.
“Introduce them to me!” I stated.
My daughter called out the names of the dolls, placed them on the counter, and patted each one on the head.
She introduced herself as “Judy, Vivi, and Kara.”
“Those are pretty interesting names,” I replied. “Where did you get them?”
Innocently, “I didn’t choose them,” she admitted. “Gran made it. I’m going to have a tea party with them in my room right now.”
Lila then got up and walked on.
Her curiosity awoke and a sense of fear descended. Those were names I knew. My mother-in-law had three younger siblings who all died when they were toddlers, so these three sisters were connected to the family’s troubled past.
My husband Justin once told me, “They were just really sick kids.”
“I can’t imagine the heartache,” | he said.
But now something didn’t feel quite right – Susan had named the dolls after her sisters.
I started chopping the vegetables for dinner as my mind continued to race. I grabbed my phone, wiped my hands on my pants, and called my sister-in-law, Jenna.
I said, “Hey, Jen,” as soon as she answered.
“I need you to check something in the family album. It has to do with the dolls Lila’s mother produces.”
There was a pause and silence.
Jenna replied, “Sure,” after a moment of silence. “What’s happening?”
I had to be careful what I said because I didn’t want to offend anyone.
“It’s probably nothing,” I said as I picked up the knife again. “However, could you email me a picture of Mom’s sisters? The triplets? Lila made a strange statement today and I just have to double-check.”
She replied, “Sure, Katie,” and hung up.
Jenna sent me a message a few minutes later with a picture attached. As I studied it, my heart dropped: three little girls, captured in a moment, with the same clothes and hairstyle as Lili’s dolls.
It couldn’t be a coincidence – it was too precise and planned.
That evening I had to tell Justin about my find when he got home from work.
“Katie,” he said. “I believe you’re overanalyzing the whole thing. In a way, Mom probably just wanted to introduce Lila to her sisters. Like guardian angels or something.”
As Justin tried to calm me down, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that gnawed at the edges of my thoughts. The uncanny resemblance between the dolls and Susan’s deceased sisters was too specific to be coincidental. I decided I had to confront Susan and uncover the truth behind her special gifts.
The next afternoon, while Justin was at work and Lila was at school, I invited Susan to tea. As she entered the living room, I couldn’t help but notice a glint of excitement in her eyes—a look that now seemed unsettling.
“Susan,” I began, trying to keep my voice calm, “I wanted to talk to you about the dolls you made for Lila.”
Her face lit up with a proud smile. “Aren’t they wonderful? Handmade toys have a unique charm that store-bought ones lack.”
“They are beautiful, yes,” I agreed, “but something about them bothered me.” I paused, not sure how to proceed without sounding accusatory. “Why did you name them after your sisters?”
Her smile faltered for a split second before she recovered. “Oh, that. I suppose I wanted to keep their memory alive in a way that made sense. It’s a form of tribute.”
A cold chill ran down my spine. “But why give them to Lila? She’s so young and doesn’t understand the meaning.”
Susan’s expression softened, but there was a hint of something unsettling in her eyes. “Lila is family. I wanted her to have a connection to her heritage, to understand our family’s legacy.”
I took a deep breath and calmed down. “But Susan, these dolls aren’t just toys – they represent something much deeper. Don’t you think it’s a little… scary?”
Susan’s eyes flashed with strange intensity. “Maybe, Katie, you don’t understand. These dolls aren’t just for Lila—they’re for me, too. They’re helping me deal with my loss.”
The room seemed to close in around me as I absorbed her words. This wasn’t just about Lila playing with dolls; this was about Susan dealing with her own grief and perhaps projecting it onto my daughter.
“Susan,” I said gently, “I think it’s important that you deal with your grief in a healthy way. Maybe talking to a professional would help.”
He bristled at my suggestion and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need therapy, Katie. I need my family to honor and remember those we’ve lost.”
That’s when I realized this conversation was going nowhere. Susan was deeply entrenched in her way of dealing with her past and nothing I said was going to change her mind.
After she left I called Justin and told him everything. He listened quietly and when I finished he sighed heavily. “Katie, I’m going to talk to her. This has gone too far. We need to set some boundaries.”
That evening we sat Lila down and gently explained that the dolls were special, but that they would stay on the high shelf for now. Lila seemed to understand, more interested in another tea party than the meaning of her toys.
Over the next few weeks, Justin had some difficult conversations with his mother. Susan was reluctant at first but eventually agreed to stop wearing the dolls and to see a counselor to help her deal with her unresolved grief.
Over time, the tension eased and our home became lighter. I started therapy myself, working through the lingering discomfort and making sure I was mentally strong for Lila.
One evening, as we sat at a family dinner, Lila looked up at me and asked, “Mom, can we invite Grandma to a tea party?”
I smiled and ran a hand through her hair. “Of course honey. But this time we’re just doing it for fun, okay?”
Lila nodded enthusiastically and I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. We were moving forward, together, and that was the most important thing.