One afternoon, I went to check on my son, Edduin, after putting him down for a nap. As I got closer to his room, I heard something odd — giggling, like someone was in there with him. My heart started racing as I threw the door open, but there was no one. Edduin just stared up at me from his crib, and the room felt eerily silent.
I looked everywhere — the bathroom, the closet, even under the bed — but no one was there. I tried to convince myself it was just work stress, but it kept happening. Day after day, I’d hear the same sounds, and it started to freak me out.
Finally, I set up a WiFi baby monitor in his room, hoping it would give me some peace of mind. A few days later, I saw movement on the camera just ten minutes after I turned it on. My stomach dropped, and I rushed to his room, terrified of what I might find.
I pushed the door open, expecting the worst. But again, no one was there. The window was shut, the closet doors still, and Edduin was lying peacefully in his crib. My hands shook as I picked him up, scanning the room with wild eyes. Had I imagined it?
That night, I rewatched the footage. My heart pounded as I saw the crib mobile begin to sway, even though there was no draft in the room. Then, a shadow moved into the frame—someone bending over my baby’s crib.
I froze.
It wasn’t an intruder. It was my mother-in-law, Lidia.
I exhaled sharply, trying to process it. Lidia had a key to our house, sure, but why would she come in during nap time? My husband, Victor, had mentioned she had been “off” lately—forgetting things, talking to herself. But this? This was something else entirely.
I kept watching, and what I saw next made my blood run cold.
Lidia leaned down, whispering something to Edduin. Then, she reached out and stroked his cheek, her fingers trembling. Her voice was barely audible, but when I turned up the volume, I heard it clearly.
“My little boy… I’ve missed you so much, sweet angel. I won’t let them take you away again.”
My stomach churned. I watched as she kissed his forehead and stood there, just watching him sleep, her shoulders shaking as if she was crying.
I couldn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her standing there, speaking to him like he wasn’t her grandson—but her son.
The next morning, I confronted Victor.
“I need to show you something,” I said, setting my phone down in front of him. He pressed play, his face blank at first. But as he watched his mother on the screen, I saw the color drain from his face.
“What the hell is this?” he whispered.
“You tell me,” I shot back. “She comes in here, whispers to him, calls him her son.”
Victor rubbed his temples. “I… I knew she was struggling, but this… This is worse than I thought.”
I crossed my arms. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated. “My dad died when I was really young. It messed her up. She started… seeing things. She always believed he would come back, that he was watching over us. She never fully accepted he was gone.” He swallowed hard. “But she never called me by my dad’s name. Not once.”
Chills ran down my spine. “So she thinks Edduin is your father?”
Victor nodded slowly.
“We need to talk to her,” I said. “She can’t just come in here like this. It’s not safe.”
That evening, we invited Lidia over. I watched her closely, looking for signs—anything that might explain what I had seen. She seemed normal at first. Loving, affectionate with Edduin, but something was… off.
“Have you been coming over when we’re not home?” I asked as casually as I could.
Lidia’s hands stilled on Edduin’s tiny fingers. She looked up, blinking rapidly. “Why would you ask that?”
I glanced at Victor, who cleared his throat. “Mom, we have a baby monitor now,” he said carefully. “We saw you.”
Lidia’s face turned pale. “I just wanted to check on him,” she said.
“You called him your son,” I pressed, my voice shaking. “You said you wouldn’t let anyone take him away.”
Her lips trembled, and for a moment, I thought she might deny it. Instead, she broke down.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she sobbed. “That I’m crazy. That I’ve lost it. But you don’t understand.” She clutched the table, her knuckles white. “When your father died, Victor, I lost everything. I lost the love of my life. I lost myself.” Her voice cracked. “And when I look at Edduin… I see him.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I know he’s not my husband,” she whispered. “I do. But when I hold him, I feel… like I have a second chance. Like I get to love him all over again.”
My anger softened into something more complicated.
Victor reached out, squeezing his mother’s hand. “Mom, you need help.”
She nodded, sniffling. “I know.”
We set boundaries. Lidia wasn’t allowed in the house unsupervised anymore, and she started therapy the next week. It wasn’t easy, but she made progress. Slowly, she accepted that Edduin wasn’t her second chance at the past—he was his own little person, with a future ahead of him.
One night, months later, I found her rocking Edduin in the chair, humming softly. This time, when I listened, she didn’t call him by my husband’s name. She just whispered, “You are so loved, little one. So, so loved.”
And for the first time, I believed that we were going to be okay.
Life Lesson: Sometimes, grief twists our perception of reality, making us cling to the past in ways that hurt those around us. But healing comes when we choose to move forward—when we accept love for what it is, not for what it used to be.
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