My Husband Threw Away My Dolls

It was another crappy day at my crappy job, and all I wanted was to go home and relax in my happy place.

I walked into my room.

What the fuck?

I went to the living room.

“Where are they?”

“Oh,” my husband replied. “Do you mean your dolls?”

“YES, Nick, I mean my dolls! What the fuck did you do!”

“You’re too old to have a room full of dolls. I’ve been telling you this, but you weren’t listening. So I threw them out.”

“…”

“YOU THREW THEM OUT?!?”

“Yes. Now you can get over them and grow up. Trust me - you’ll feel so much better without children’s toys holding you back.”

“You know what those dolls mean to me. They’re my last connection with Mom.”

“I get it. I lost my father young. But I’m a grown up - I grieved and moved on. You will, too.”

“Now you’re mansplaining grief to me? You arrogant, condescending asshole!”

“I’ll let that go because I know it’s your anger speaking.”

“WHERE ARE THEY??”

“They’re gone. Move on, honey. I know you think you’re upset now, but you’ll thank me later.”

I couldn’t even believe what I was hearing.

“FUCK YOU!!”

“It’s ok, honey. I forgive you.”

I walked out and slammed the door. How DARE he get rid of the dolls I collected with my DEAD MOTHER?!? That FUCKING ASSHOLE! But I couldn’t think about him now; I had to find my dolls.

I drove around, scanning every trash can, every dumpster. I called every hospital, every orphanage, every toy store. Finally, I checked the town dump.

Later that night, Nick awoke with a start.

“Honey, what’s going on? Why are you sitting there in the dark?”

“I was just remembering.”

“Remembering what?”

“A lot of things. When my mom was alive and we used to sit, playing with dolls while she taught me about life. How much those times meant to me. When we first met, I actually thought I could share them with you. I was so happy - I only regretted that my mom hadn’t lived to meet you. She’d be so disgusted with you now.”

“Is this about your dolls?”

“It’s about the complete disrespect you’ve shown us. I’ve been thinking, and I just don’t think it’s something I can get past.”

“…So you’re leaving me?”

“I don’t think I’ll need to.”

“What do you mea—“

As he spoke, he turned on his bedside lamp. And then he saw them. Hundreds of dolls, blanketing the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The bed.

All staring at him murderously.

As he lay there, frozen, a dozen dolls moved to hold him down. Then one doll crawled up the bed toward him, holding a knife. It stared at him hatefully as it raised the knife above his chest.

“Remember when I said my mom would be disgusted with you? She wanted to show you how much.”

The knife plunged into his chest.

“It’s ok, honey. I forgive you.”