Off The Record
My Daughter Crocheted 80 Hats For Sick Kids—My MIL Threw Them Out And Said, “She’s Not My Blood”
After weeks of my daughter crocheting caps for sick kids, we returned home the day my husband left on a business trip to discover that all of her hard work had been abandoned, and my mother-in-law was standing in the doorway, acknowledging that she had thrown everything away. She believed she’d won, but she didn’t count on what my husband did next!
The father of my daughter, who is ten years old, died when she was only three years old. It was us against the world for years.
After that, I wed Daniel. He reads Emma’s favourite stories to her every night, helps with projects, and packs lunches for her as if she were his own.
He’s her dad in every manner that matters, but his mother, Carol, has never seen it that way.
She once said to Daniel, “It’s cute that you act like she’s your real daughter.”
Another time, she added, “Stepchildren never feel like true family.”
Last but not least, “Your daughter reminds you of your dead husband. That must be hard.” This statement always made my blood swim.
The comments continued even after Daniel shut it down each time.
We handled it by staying away from lengthy visits and only having courteous conversations. We wanted to keep the peace.
That is, until Carol went from making cruel comments to being outright horrible.
Emma’s heart has always been good. As December drew near, she declared her intention to crochet 80 hats for kids in hospices who would be spending the holidays there.
Her goal was to crochet eighty hats for kids living in hospices over the holidays.
She used her own allowance money to purchase her first stash of yarn after learning the fundamentals from YouTube lessons.
It was the same routine every day after school: homework, a little snack, and then her crochet hook’s repetitive, silent click-clack.
I was brimming with pride in her energy and empathy. I never thought how soon it would all turn sour.
I never thought how soon it would all turn sour.
Each time she completed a hat, she would display it to us before putting it in a big bag by her bed.
By the time Daniel went for a two-day business trip, she was wearing hat number 80. She only needed to complete the last hat to reach her goal.
However, Daniel’s absence gave Carol the ideal chance to attack.
Daniel’s absence gave Carol with an ideal opportunity to attack.
Carol likes to ‘check in’ whenever Daniel is away, perhaps to make sure we’re maintaining the house ‘properly’, or perhaps to keep an eye on our behaviour when Daniel isn’t around. I’ve given up attempting to solve it.
That afternoon, Emma and I got home from food shopping, and she hurried to her room, ready to pick the colors for her next hat.
She screamed five seconds later.
“Mom… MOM!”
After dropping the items, I ran down the hall.
I discovered her sobbing furiously on her room’s floor. Her bag of finished hats was gone, and her bed was empty.
I knelt next to her and drew her near as I tried to interpret her hushed sobs. I then heard a noise coming from behind me.
Something sounded behind me.
As if she were trying out for a role as a Victorian villain in a BBC drama, Carol stood there sipping tea from one of my finest mugs.
She declared, “I threw the hats away if you’re looking for them.” “They were a waste of time. Why should she spend money on strangers?”
I was shocked to hear, “You threw away 80 hats meant for sick children?” and the situation just grew worse.
What I was hearing was unbelievable.
Carol rolled her eyes. “They were ugly. Mismatched colours and poor stitching… She’s not my blood, and doesn’t represent my family, but that doesn’t mean you should encourage her to be bad at useless hobbies.”
Emma let forth new tears and murmured, “They weren’t useless…” onto my shirt.
Carol sighed in agony and walked away. Emma broke down in tears, her heart broken by Carol’s callous malice.
Emma broke down in tears, her heart broken by Carol’s callous malice.
Emma needed me, but I wanted to chase after Carol and face her. I drew her onto my lap and gave her the strongest hug I could.
I stepped outside to try to rescue what I could until she finally relaxed enough to let me go.
Emma’s hats weren’t in the trash cans, so I went through both ours and the neighbor’s.
Determined to save what I could, I headed outside.
That night, Emma sobbed herself to sleep.
I sat with her until her breathing stabilised, at which point I withdrew to the living room. I finally started crying as I sat there looking at the wall.
I considered calling Daniel multiple times, but ultimately chose to hold off as I knew he would need to devote all of his attention to his work.
Our family was irrevocably altered by the maelstrom that resulted from that choice.
I immediately felt guilty for keeping quiet when Daniel eventually got home.
His voice was full of love and compassion as he cried out, “Where’s my girl?” “I want to see the hats! Did you finish the last one while I was away?”
Emma started crying as soon as she heard the word “hats,” even though she had been watching TV.
Daniel’s expression fell. “Emma, what’s wrong?”
I immediately felt guilty for keeping quiet when Daniel eventually got home.
I told him everything while guiding him back to the kitchen, out of Emma’s earshot.
I saw a look of complete fear, followed by a shivering, dangerous hatred I had never seen in him before, and then the worn, loving confusion of a returning traveler as I talked.
I concluded, “I don’t even know what she did with them!” “I looked in the trash, but they weren’t there. She must have taken them somewhere.”
I told him everything.
He immediately returned to Emma, sat down, and wrapped an arm around her. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, but I promise you — Grandma is never hurting you again. Never.”
After giving her a gentle forehead kiss, he got up to retrieve the car keys he had just dropped on the hallway table.
I said, “Where are you going?”
He murmured to me, “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll do everything in my power to fix this.”
“Where are you going?”
He came back about two hours later.
Eager to find out what had happened, I hurried downstairs. He was talking on the phone as I entered the kitchen.
He was saying, “Mom, I’m home,” in a tone that was uncannily at odds with the rage on his face. “Come over. I have an SURPRISE for you.”
“I have an SURPRISE for you.”
Carol showed up thirty minutes later.
“Daniel, I’m here for my surprise!” she exclaimed as she walked right by me. “I had to cancel a dinner reservation, so this better be good.”
Daniel raised a big trash bag.
I was astounded by what I saw when he opened it!
I was astounded by what I saw!
Emma’s hats were all over it!
He picked up one of Emma’s first pastel yellow hats and said, “It took me nearly an hour to search your apartment building’s skip, but I found them.” “This isn’t just a child practicing a hobby — it’s an endeavour to bring some light into the lives of sick children. And you destroyed it.”
Carol gave a smirk. “You went dumpster-diving for this? Really, Daniel, you’re being ridiculously dramatic over a bag of ugly hats.”
“You’re being ridiculously dramatic over a bag of ugly hats.”
His voice trailed off, “You didn’t just insult the project, and they’re not ugly.” “You insulted MY daughter. You broke her heart, and you—”
“Oh, please!” yelled Carol. “She’s not your daughter.”
Daniel stopped. Looking at Carol, he felt as though he was now seeing the truth about her and that she would always be after Emma.
“Get out,” he said. “We’re done.”
“We’re done.”
Carol stammered, “What?”
Daniel said, “You heard me,” with a snap. “You don’t talk to Emma anymore, and you don’t visit.”
Carol’s face flushed. “Daniel! I’m your mother! You can’t do this over some… yarn!”
“And I’m a father,” he responded, “to a ten-year-old girl who needs me to protect her from YOU.”
Carol murmured something astonishing as she turned to face me.
She raised an eyebrow at me and asked, “Are you really letting him do this?”
“Absolutely. You chose to be toxic, Carol, and this is the least of what you deserve.”
Carol’s mouth fell open. She seemed to finally realise that she had lost after glancing from me to Daniel.
She walked out, slamming the front door so fiercely that the picture frames rattled on the wall. “You’ll regret this,” she shouted.
However, it didn’t stop there.
“You’ll regret this.”
The days that followed were calm. Quiet, but not serene. Emma didn’t crochet a single stitch, and she didn’t mention the caps.
I had no idea how to mend the damage Carol’s actions had caused.
Then Daniel brought a huge box home. He put it down in front of Emma, who was eating cereal at the table.
She gave it a blink. “What’s that?”
Daniel brought a large box home.
When Daniel opened it, he saw fresh yarn skeins, crochet hooks, and packing materials.
“If you want to start over… I’ll help you. I’m not very good at this kind of thing, but I’ll learn.”
He said, “Will you teach me to crochet?” as he awkwardly grasped a hook.
For the first time in days, Emma laughed.
Emma had her 80 hats within two weeks, but Daniel’s initial attempts were, well, comical. Unaware that Carol would soon return to our life with a vengeance, we shipped them out.
Carol was going to return to our lives and exact revenge.
Two days later, I received an email from the main hospice’s director, who thanked Emma for the hats and said they had given the kids tremendous joy.
She requested authorisation to share images of the kids donning the hats on the hospice’s social media accounts.
Emma smiled shyly and proudly as she nodded.
She requested authorisation to share images of the kids donning the hats on the hospice’s social media accounts.
The post became very popular.
People wanted to know more about “the kind little girl who made the hats.” I let Emma respond from my account as the comments poured in.
“I’m thrilled they received the hats!” she wrote. “My grandma threw the first set away, but my daddy helped me make them again.”
Later that day, Carol called Daniel in tears, utterly frantic.
“People are calling me a monster! Daniel, they’re harassing me! Take the post down!” she said.
Daniel didn’t even speak out. “We didn’t post anything, Mom. The hospice did. And if you don’t like people knowing the truth about what you did, then you should’ve behaved better.”
She broke down once more. “I’m being bullied! This is terrible!”
The last thing Daniel said was, “You earned it.”
“You earned it.”
Every weekend, Emma and Daniel continue to crochet together. The sound of two hooks working together creates a soothing click-clack that fills our home once more.
Carol continues to text on birthdays and holidays. She continually asks whether we can make things right, but she has never shown regret.
Daniel only responds, “No.”
Our house is at peace once more.
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