I opened a box of forgotten photos while cleaning the attic and found pictures of me holding a tiny newborn, my eyes brimming with love. But I’d never been pregnant, let alone given birth. I decided to investigate, unaware I must face a truth that would shatter me to the core.
A few weeks ago, I was cleaning the attic when I pulled an old box from the shelf. It was labeled “Photos – Keep” in my handwriting, though I had no memory of marking it. Dust motes danced in the bright light as I nervously opened the box.
An old box on the floor | Source: Midjourney
Inside, memories spilled out in glossy 4×6 prints: my college graduation with Mom and Dad beaming beside me, our wedding day with Daniel spinning me around the dance floor, and countless summer barbecues at the lake house.
Then, everything STOPPED.
There I was, in a hospital bed, cradling a newborn baby. My hair was plastered to my forehead with sweat, dark circles under my eyes, but my expression… I was gazing at that tiny bundle with such raw, pure love that it took my breath away.
A person holding a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
More photos followed — me holding the baby against my chest, touching its impossibly small fingers, crying as I looked into its face. In another, I was feeding the baby, my finger trapped in its tiny fist.
But that was impossible. I’d never had a baby. Never been pregnant. NEVER. Then how was this possible?
I sank to the attic floor, surrounded by the scattered photos. My hands shook as I examined each one closely, searching for signs of manipulation or editing.
But they were real… the paper was aged and the corners slightly worn.
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
In one picture, a distinctive mustard-yellow chair sat in the corner of the hospital room, and the curtains had an odd geometric pattern I recognized.
It was St. Mary’s Hospital, the same hospital where we’d visited my aunt after her hip surgery last year.
Daniel was at work, and I was grateful for the solitude as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. These photos showed a moment that should have been the most significant part of my life.
But I remembered nothing. Not a single second.
A mustard-yellow chair in a room | Source: Midjourney
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking as I gathered the photos and grabbed my car keys as soon as Daniel left for work the following morning.
I didn’t ask him anything as I wanted to find out about this mysterious baby on my own.
The hospital parking lot was nearly empty at 11 a.m. on that pleasant Tuesday. I sat in my car for five minutes, clutching the photos to my chest and trying to gather the courage to go inside.
A young mother walked past pushing a stroller, and my chest tightened with an emotion I couldn’t name.
A woman pushing a baby stroller | Source: Pexels
The reception area smelled of antiseptic and floor cleaner. A young woman with bright blue scrubs and a butterfly-shaped name tag looked up as I approached.
“Hi,” I said. “I need to access some old records of mine.”
“Look at this,” I then added, showing her the pictures. “Whose baby is this? Why am I holding it? I don’t remember anything. What’s happening?”
Without answering, she typed something on her phone and then frowned at her screen. Her fingers paused over the keypad.
“One moment, please!” she said, disappearing into a back office, whispering urgently to someone.
A hospital staff in scrubs | Source: Pexels
An older nurse emerged, her hair pulled back in a neat bun, her name tag reading “Nancy, Head Nurse.” Her eyes held a mix of concern and recognition that made my stomach twist.
“Miss, we do have records for you here, but we’ll need to contact your husband before we can discuss them.”
My stomach dropped. “What? Why?”
“Hospital policy, in cases like this. Please, let me call him now.”
A hospital staff holding documents | Source: Pexels
“No, these are my medical records. I have a right to know—”
But Nancy was already picking up the phone, her eyes never leaving my face. She dialed, and I heard the ring through the receiver.
“Sir? This is Nancy from St. Mary’s Hospital. Yes… your wife Angela is here requesting access to some medical records. Yes… I see… Could you come down right away? Yes, it’s about that… Thank you.”
A nurse holding a smartphone | Source: Pexels
My hands clenched into fists. “You know my husband? You have his number?”
“He’ll be here in 20 minutes. Would you like some water while you wait?”
“No. I want answers.”
I sank into a plastic chair, the photos clutched to my chest.
Every minute that ticked by on the waiting room clock felt like an eternity. When Daniel finally arrived, still in his work clothes, his face was ashen. He’d clearly driven here at full speed.
“Angela??”
A startled man in a hospital | Source: Midjourney
“What’s going on, Dan? Why do they have your number? Why won’t they talk to me without you?”
He turned to Nancy. “Is Dr. Peters available?”
The doctor’s office was small, with certificates covering one wall and a small window overlooking the parking lot. Dr. Peters was a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and worry lines around her mouth. She folded her hands on her desk as we sat down.
“Tell her,” Dr. Peters said. “Your wife deserves to know everything.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Know what? What’s going on?”
A doctor in her office | Source: Pexels
Daniel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Six years ago, my sister Fiona came to us with a request. Do you remember how long she and Jack had been trying to have a baby?”
“Your sister? What does she have to do with this?”
“The fertility treatments weren’t working. The IVF failed three times,” he swallowed hard. “She asked if you would consider being her surrogate. And you said… yes.”
The world tilted sideways. “No. That’s not… I would remember that. A pregnancy? Being a surrogate? No, I wouldn’t—”
A shocked woman looking up | Source: Midjourney
“You were so determined to help her, Angel. You said it was the greatest gift you could give your sister-in-law. The pregnancy went perfectly. You were glowing and so happy to be helping them. But when the baby was was born—”
Dr. Peters spoke up. “You experienced a severe psychological break after delivery, Angela. The maternal hormones and bonding process were stronger than anyone anticipated. You refused to let go of the baby. When they tried to take him to Fiona, you became hysterical.”
I pressed my hands against my temples. “Stop. Please stop.”
Grayscale shot of a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
“Your mind protected itself,” Dr. Peters explained gently. “It’s called dissociative amnesia. Your psyche built a wall around the memories to shield you from the trauma of the separation. In cases of severe emotional distress, the mind can—”
“You’re telling me I forgot an entire pregnancy? A whole baby? That’s not possible! I would know. My body would know. My heart would know.”
“Angel,” Daniel reached for my hand. But I jerked away so violently my chair scraped against the floor.
Portrait of a distressed man | Source: Midjourney
“Don’t touch me! You knew? All this time, you knew? Every time we talked about maybe having kids someday, every time we walked past a baby store… you knew I had carried a child? Given birth? And given him away like he was some freaking toy?”
“Where is he?” I demanded, my throat raw and eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“Fiona moved to the countryside shortly after. The doctors thought the distance would help you recover.”
A teary-eyed woman | Source: Unsplash
“So everyone just decided?” I laughed. “Everyone just chose to let me forget my own—” I couldn’t say the word. Couldn’t acknowledge what I’d lost. “Six years? Six birthdays, first steps, first words?”
“We thought we were protecting you.”
“By lying? By watching me live in ignorance? Did you all get together and plan this? Have meetings about how to keep me in the dark?”
“By letting you heal,” Dr. Peters interjected softly. “The mind can only handle so much pain, Angela. Your psyche chose this path for a reason.”
A frustrated woman | Source: Pexels
I dashed out of the hospital as fast as my legs could carry me. Daniel caught up, ushering me into the car. I was a total mess. My fragile heart was shattered beyond repair.
That night, I slept in our guest room, surrounded by the photos.
I studied each one until my eyes burned, trying to force my mind to remember. The way I touched his tiny face. The tears on my cheeks. The love in my eyes.
I pressed my hand against my stomach, trying to imagine him there, growing, moving, being part of me. But nothing came back. Nothing.
A sad woman sitting on the bed | Source: Pexels
“Can we see him?” I asked Daniel the next day.
“We should probably ask Fiona first,” he said, his voice uncertain. “But if you’re sure, I think she’ll be okay with it.”
It took a week to convince Fiona to let us visit. Seven days of negotiations through Daniel, because I couldn’t bear to speak to her directly. Not yet.
How do you talk to someone who has your child? Who took your child?
After countless phone calls and messages, Fiona finally agreed.
A man talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
The drive to the countryside was endless. I watched the landscape change through the window, each mile bringing me closer to a truth I wasn’t sure I could face.
Fields gave way to forests, forests to suburbs. All the while, my mind spun with questions.
Would he look like me? Would some part of him recognize me? Would I feel anything at all? Would he come running to me?
Aerial view of a car on the road | Source: Unsplash
Fiona’s house was everything I’d imagined during those sleepless nights. Perfect lawn, flowers in window boxes, a red bicycle leaning against the porch, and a tire swing. Wind chimes tinkled softly and the delicious smell of something cooking wafted in the air.
My legs shook so badly I could barely walk to the door.
Fiona stood there, just as I remembered her from the family pictures. But her eyes were cautious, teary, and guarded, like a watchful mother’s.
“Angela,” she said softly. “Come in.”
A teary-eyed woman looking at someone | Source: Pexels
My gaze swept across the room, searching for the little one who held the key to my forgotten past.
And there he was, peeking around the corner. Dark curls like mine and those familiar eyes. My heart squeezed so tight I couldn’t breathe.
My son! My baby! I longed to scream, to run to him, to hold him tight. But I stood rooted to the spot, numb with heartache.
“Tommy,” Fiona called, “come meet your Aunt Angela.”
A little boy wearing a hat | Source: Unsplash
He approached shyly, a toy dinosaur clutched in one hand. “Hello, Aunt Angela.”
“Hello, Tommy!” I said, his name feeling like a prayer on my tongue.
He studied me with those big, brown eyes, head tilted slightly. “Want to see my room? I have a bunk bed! And a T-Rex that roars when you push its belly.”
“I’d love that, sweetie.”
A woman with her eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney
As he led me upstairs, chattering about his dinosaur collection and his best friend Jake and how he could ride his bike without training wheels now, I felt it.
Not a memory exactly, but an echo. A ghost of what we might have been. Of all the moments I should have had.
Later that night, in our hotel room, I took out the photos one last time. The woman in them wasn’t a stranger anymore. I understood her joy, her pain, and her sacrifice even if I couldn’t remember feeling them myself.
A woman holding a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
I touched the image of the baby, my finger tracing his tiny photostatic features.
“You okay?” Daniel asked from the doorway.
“No. But I think I will be.”
I slipped the photos back into an envelope. Some memories might stay lost and buried under years of protective fog. But now I had something more precious than memories: I had truth. And somehow, in that truth, I found the peace I didn’t know I’d been missing.
It would take time to fully come to terms with my truth, but this was a step in the right direction.
A woman holding an envelope | Source: Pexels
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.
I Bought My MIL a $600 Bag She Dreamed of for Christmas, But Her Behavior Made Me Change My Mind
When Brendon’s mother-in-law, Susan, sees the Christmas present pile under the tree, she immediately wants to take away her granddaughter’s gift. And for what? To teach the little girl a lesson: that you cannot always get what you want. Not to be outdone, Brendon teaches Susan a Christmas lesson that she’ll never forget.
It was the first Christmas I could finally afford to splurge a little. I’d landed a new job earlier that year, one with a salary that made it possible to loosen up and enjoy the holidays.
Most of my money went toward gifts for my nine-year-old daughter, Eve. She had been doing so well in school, helping out around the house without us even asking, and being all-around amazing.
A smiling little girl | Source: Midjourney
If anyone deserved to be spoiled, it was her.
But apparently, my mother-in-law, Susan, had other thoughts.
The trouble started when she dropped by one morning, bringing a batch of freshly baked muffins with her. She noticed the Christmas tree practically buried under a pile of wrapped presents. Immediately, her face changed.
Muffins on a table | Source: Midjourney
“Wow,” Susan said, crossing her arms as she scanned the room. “Looks like Santa went a little overboard this year, huh?”
I gave her a polite smile, still riding the holiday high.
“I figured it was a good year to do something special. Everyone’s got a little something under the tree… including you,” I laughed.
Her eyebrows lifted.
Christmas presents under a tree | Source: Midjourney
“Oh, and what about Evie?” she asked. “How many presents does my granddaughter get?”
What the hell? I thought.
But I knew that tone too well. I kept my response light, hoping to dodge the fight I felt brewing.
“About three big ones and a few smaller boxes,” I said politely.
Susan’s expression shifted from curiosity to indignation so fast it gave me whiplash. She shook her head slowly, her lips pursing like I’d just confessed to some unthinkable crime.
A frowning older woman | Source: Midjourney
“That’s way too much for a nine-year-old, Brendon,” she snapped. “She doesn’t need all of that.”
I blinked, caught off guard.
“It’s Christmas, Susan,” I said. “It’s the one day we can go all out. She’s earned it; she’s been working hard all year.”
Susan waved me off, not even pretending to listen to my words.
A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney
“No child needs that many gifts,” she said. “I’ll be taking back the doll I bought her. She has to learn that life won’t always give her everything she asks for.”
I stared at the woman standing in front of me. I was in utter disbelief.
“You promised her that doll, Susan! She’s been excited about it for weeks.”
“That’s exactly why she needs to learn a lesson,” Susan said with a smug smile. “Better she learn it now than later.”
A doll in a box | Source: Midjourney
I bit my tongue, trying to stay civil.
Before I knew it, Eve came running down the stairs.
“Good morning, Gran!” she said, rushing to hug the old woman.
“Hello, darling,” Susan said, giving me a smug look. “Gran’s leaving now, but I’ll see you soon!”
A smiling little girl | Source: Midjourney
I understood the lesson she was trying to teach, really, I did. But this was Christmas! And Eve was nine.
It wasn’t about deprivation, it was about joy. Our daughter wasn’t some spoiled brat, and I saw no reason to punish her on the one day meant for celebration.
As for Melanie, my wife?
She told me to let it go.
“My mother’s gift is hers to decide what to do with,” she said with a shrug later that night as she made grilled fish for dinner. “It’s just a doll, anyway. Will Evie really miss it?”
A tray of grilled fish | Source: Midjourney
I knew my wife had grown up with her mother’s toxic behavior and probably didn’t want to stir the pot, but it was still too much for me.
Our daughter was counting on that gift, and Susan was taking it away just to prove a point.
That’s when I decided—if Susan was going to play petty games, I could play them better.
See, one of the things I’d bought that year was a designer bag for Susan. It was the one thing she had been talking about for months.
A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney
“I was with Cora from the club,” she said. “And we were walking around the mall, and I saw it in the store window. It’s so chic and beautiful. I have to get it!”
She hinted at it every chance she got, practically salivating over it.
And I bought it for her.
My goodness, it was expensive, $600, to be exact. I figured it would score me some brownie points, and honestly, as problematic as she was, I did like the idea of making her happy.
A designer handbag on a table | Source: Midjourney
But now?
Now I had other plans.
I took the fancy bag out of its box and carefully folded a cheap $40 robe inside. It was a plain thing, just boring gray with no patterns. To be honest, it was the kind of gift you’d pick up in a rush from the clearance bin at the last minute.
I wrapped the box back up with care, making sure the packaging looked pristine.
A gold box with a ribbon | Source: Midjourney
“You’re putting way too much effort into this, honey,” Melanie laughed.
“She needs to be taught a lesson, Mel,” I said. “Your mother messed with the wrong man.”
Christmas morning came, and the living room buzzed with excitement as everyone opened their presents. My daughter tore through her gifts, laughter bubbling as she saw all her presents.
Melanie smiled as she unwrapped the cozy scarf and pair of shoes I’d picked for her.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
And then came Susan’s turn.
Her eyes lit up the moment she saw the designer bag’s signature gold box. She clasped her hands together, beaming as she tore off the wrapping paper.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” she said, her voice high with excitement.
I leaned back, watching with the tiniest smile. She pulled the lid off the box, and her smile faltered.
A gray robe in a box | Source: Midjourney
Gone was the giddy excitement. Instead, in its place was pure confusion.
Then shock.
And finally, disappointment.
Susan pulled the robe from the box, holding it up with trembling hands.
“What… What is this? Melanie? Brendon?” she asked.
I gave her my most innocent smile.
“It’s a robe,” I said. “I thought you’d like it. It’s practical, isn’t it?”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out. She looked between the robe and the expensive-looking box, her face turning pale.
“Is this really my gift?” she asked quietly.
I nodded, trying not to laugh.
An upset old woman | Source: Midjourney
“Sorry if it’s not what you were hoping for. But you taught me a lesson the other day, Susan. You told me that people don’t always get the gifts they want. It’s a good lesson, don’t you think?”
Susan’s jaw tightened, and I swear I saw her eye twitch. My wife shot me a look that could melt steel. But I didn’t care.
I’d made my point. And my daughter was happy.
A close up of a man | Source: Midjourney
“Come on,” Melanie said, calling everyone to the table. “The Christmas feast is ready to go!”
Later that afternoon, after we were all stuffed from the meal, Susan pulled me aside.
“You bought the bag, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice low and desperate.
I raised an eyebrow.
A Christmas feast | Source: Midjourney
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Brendon,” she hissed. “I know you bought it. Where is it?”
I crossed my arms and gave her a casual shrug.
“Sold it,” I said. “If you wouldn’t spoil my daughter, why would I spoil you?”
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
A gift bag on a table | Source: Midjourney
“You’re lying. You didn’t sell it,” she said.
“Susan, believe what you want,” I said. “But you made it clear, sometimes people don’t get the things they ask for. Seems only fair, don’t you think?”
Susan’s face twisted again, and for a moment, I thought she might explode. Instead, she let out a sharp breath, clearly trying to contain herself.
“I’ve been nothing but generous to you,” she whispered angrily.
A frowning old woman | Source: Midjourney
“Really? Because taking back a promised gift from your granddaughter doesn’t feel very generous to me.”
She had no comeback for that. She just stood there, lips pressed into a thin line, her anger simmering beneath the surface.
To say Susan was furious for the rest of the day would be an understatement. My wife gave me the cold shoulder too, but frankly, I didn’t care.
A close up of a woman | Source: Midjourney
“You hurt my mother, Brendon,” she said. “You embarrassed her and you hurt her.”
“So what?” I asked. “She hurt me by pulling that stunt, Mel. Think about it, she took away something that Eve really wanted. And she had gotten it before I landed my new job. What would have happened if I couldn’t get Evie any Christmas presents? That doll would have saved the day.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so hung up on it,” Mel said. “Eve didn’t even see the doll, it’s a different case if Mom took it straight from her hands.”
An upset older woman | Source: Midjourney
“You just don’t get it, do you?” I asked.
“I don’t. I really don’t,” she said.
Look, even now, things are big tense with Melanie and Susan. But it’s not a big deal for me. The important part is that my daughter had a Christmas she would never forget. And I’d shown Susan that her behavior just isn’t acceptable.
An annoyed man | Source: Midjourney
By the end of the night, Susan left without so much as a goodbye. The robe sat abandoned on the couch.
Some people will tell you that Christmas is about forgiveness. About turning the other cheek and spreading joy. But sometimes, Christmas is about making sure people learn their lessons.
Even if it means playing a little dirty.
A robe and box on a couch | Source: Midjourney
My mother-in-law didn’t deserve the $600 bag, not with the way she treated my daughter. And if she thinks she can keep pulling her little power plays in my house… well, she’s got another thing coming.
Merry Christmas, Susan.
What would you have done?
A smiling little girl | Source: Midjourney
If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you:
My Kids’ Grandmom Came to Our Home, Packed the Christmas Presents She Gave Them & Took Them Away
When Rebecca’s mother-in-law, Darlene, goes home to take away her grandchildren’s Christmas presents, she’s left absolutely speechless. Later, she and her husband, Mark, learn that Darlene did this because she wanted to teach the couple a lesson… but karma intervenes, making sure that the old woman feels the same way the kids felt.
I never thought that this would be a story I’d tell. I mean, toxic in-laws are practically their own genre, but what my mother-in-law, Darlene, did this Christmas left me completely speechless.
Honestly, I’m still in shock.
A woman looking to the side | Source: Midjourney
I’m Rebecca, a mom of three chaotic kids. There’s Caleb (7), Sadie (5), and little Mason (3). Christmas is a huge deal in our house and has been like this since I was a child. We go all out.
The tree, the decorations, and of course, the gifts. Usually, Darlene shows up with her arms full of presents for the kids, playing the part of the doting grandma for one day a year.
This time, though, Darlene really outdid herself. Caleb got the new LEGO set that he had been begging for, and Sadie’s eyes lit up over a princess castle playset. Mason, the little speed demon of the family, zoomed through the living room on an adorable ride-on toy.
A castle made out of LEGO blocks | Source: Midjourney
She even threw in stylish clothes for all three kids.
“They need to be photo-ready, Becca,” she told me. “And this way, they all match!”
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.
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