When I came home early one Friday, I didn’t expect to overhear my mother-in-law whispering a chilling secret to my six-month-old son: “She won’t find out who you really are.” What followed unraveled decades of grief and a hidden tragedy.
Margaret had been obsessed with Ethan since the day he was born.
“Let me hold him,” she’d say, practically snatching him from my arms. “You’re a new mom. You’ll see, I know what I’m doing.”
At first, I told myself it was sweet how much she cared.
She visited daily, always cooing over Ethan and offering advice I didn’t ask for.
“You’re overfeeding him,” she’d say one day.
“He looks just like Peter,” she’d sigh another, her eyes misty.
Sometimes, her comments unsettled me. Once, when Ethan was just a month old, she held him close and whispered, “There’s something about him. He feels like someone I’ve known forever.” I thought it was just a strange way of saying she loved him, but the way she said it gave me chills.
Still, when it was time for me to return to work, I agreed to let Margaret babysit.
“He’ll be safe with me,” she said with a smile. “I’ll treat him like he’s my own.”
I told myself it was fine. Ethan adored her, and I needed help.
But some part of me always felt uneasy.
One Friday, I finished work early and decided to surprise Margaret and Ethan. I baked cupcakes that morning, imagining how happy she’d be when I showed up.
I opened the door with my spare key when I arrived at Margaret’s house. As I stepped through the door, I heard Margaret’s voice drifting down the hall.
“Don’t worry,” she said softly, almost like she was soothing someone.
“She won’t find out who you really are.”
I stopped in my tracks. What?
The box of cupcakes felt heavy in my hands. My pulse quickened as I strained to listen.
“You’ll always be safe with me,” Margaret continued.
Her voice was low but firm, almost hypnotic. “I won’t let her ruin this. She doesn’t know, and she never will.”
I set the cupcakes on the counter and tiptoed down the hallway.
The nursery door was cracked open. I peeked inside.
Margaret was in the rocking chair, cradling Ethan. Her back was to me, and she was stroking his hair.
“Margaret?” I said sharply, stepping into the room.
She jumped, clutching Ethan closer.
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