I Found a Doll at a Flea Market Identical to the One Buried with My Daughter a Year Ago—Story of the Day

One day, I stumbled upon the doll I had buried with my six-year-old daughter a year ago. The unmistakable proof was my name embroidered on its dress. Determined to unravel the mystery, I recorded everything on a dictaphone. Little did I know, this would save me from a deeper trouble.

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

July 9, 3:30 p.m. – Recording 1

[click]

Hi, this is Kate, 33 years old. I just got back from the flea market. I found a toy there that looks a lot like the one my daughter had. She passed away a year ago, and I even buried her with that doll. Now, it seems like this flea market doll is the same one. It can’t be, but I need to check something when I get home.

[click]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

July 9, 3:45 p.m.

[click]

I am checking the doll at home. It’s the same doll. There’s a small embroidery inside the dress with my daughter’s initials, which I sewed. How is this possible? I need to find out where it came from. I’ll keep recording everything. This will help me piece together the puzzle.

[click]

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July 10, 9:00 a.m.

[click]

Couldn’t sleep last night. Looking through photos of my daughter. They calm me down, but the doll… It makes me think something’s wrong. Today, I plan to go back to the flea market. Maybe the seller remembers who brought this doll.

[click]

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July 10, 11:15 a.m.

[click]

Back at the flea market. Found the same seller. I’ll record our conversation now.

Kate: Good afternoon!

Seller: Hello! Are you looking to buy something? I remember you bought a doll from me yesterday. Did your child like it?

[pause]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

Kate: Um… Actually, this doll reminds me of something. Could you tell me its story?

Seller: Ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t know its story. It’s just a regular doll. It was given to me by a woman to sell. She even paid me extra to make sure I sold it to you.

[pause]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

Kate: Who was this woman?

Seller: Oh, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t have any useful information about her. But she was wearing vintage clothing.

Kate: Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.

Seller: Have a good day, ma’am.

[click]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

July 10, 1:00 p.m.

[click]

Driving home. Feeling strange. Can’t shake the thought that some woman brought this doll to the flea market. Maybe it’s some kind of message meant for me? I need to figure this out.

[click]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

July 10, 7:00 p.m.

[click]

My husband Michael just got back from work. I need to talk to him about what happened. I can’t keep this to myself anymore.

Michael: Hi, honey! Who were you talking to?

Kate: Oh… just talking to myself. Don’t mind it.

Michael: How are you? How do you feel?

Kate: Thanks, it’s strange. I went to the flea market yesterday and found a doll. Do you remember Sonya’s favorite doll?

Michael: Kate, come here. I miss her so much, too.

[pause]

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Kate: But this doll… You have to look at it.

Michael: Why? What do you want to say?

Kate: Here, it’s here, let me get it.

[sounds of rustling]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

Kate: Look, does it remind you of anything?

Michael: Kate… This is the doll our Sonya had. But what are you getting at?

Kate: This isn’t just a doll like Sonya’s. This is her doll!

Michael: Honey, don’t make things up. It can’t be. We buried that doll with our daughter.

[sighs]

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Kate: But the embroidery on the dress—look! I sewed this here myself.

Michael: Are you sure you didn’t do it again?

Kate: What do you mean?

Michael: Mom called. She’s worried about you. It’s been a year, and you’re still trying to connect with Sonya. Sweetheart, I miss our angel too, but she’s in a better place now. Maybe it’s time to let her go? We need to move on.

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Kate: You don’t understand! This is the same doll! I want to know how this happened! And Cynthia… your mom—she never understood our family and our grief.

Michael: Sweetheart, don’t say that… she’s grieving too.

Kate: No!

[sound of glass breaking]

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Michael: Enough for today. You need to rest. And so do I.

[sound of footsteps receding, click]

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July 10, 11:50 p.m.

[click]

Can’t sleep. Michael and I fought even more, and he went to sleep on the couch. I’m thinking about the woman who brought the doll. Who is she?

[click]

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July 11, 7:30 a.m.

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Woke up with the thought that maybe someone was playing with me. But who? And why? This is my new mission—to find out what really happened. I’m going to visit my daughter’s grave.

[click]

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July 11, 12:45 p.m.

[click]

At my daughter’s grave. Someone’s been here. Fresh flowers and a note on the grave.

[sound of paper rustling]

“Mom, let the doll be with you.”

[sounds of sobbing, rustling, silence, click]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

July 11, 2:00 p.m.

[click]

Found some forums online where people discuss similar cases. They all seem far-fetched, but I’ll post something. Maybe someone will respond.

[click]

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July 12, 10:00 a.m.

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Sitting in a café with my laptop. Feeling strange.

[café sounds]

Someone replied to my post on the forum. They say it might be a coincidence. But how can it be a coincidence? Someone writes that it could be a cruel joke. Here’s another message.

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[sound of scrolling with a mouse]

“See a therapist. It could be a stress-induced condition.”

[click]

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July 12, 5:30 p.m.

[click]

I want to show the note to Michael. Entering the house.

[sound of a key turning in the lock, click-clock]

Michael isn’t alone. I think Cynthia is there with him. I want to record their conversation.

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Cynthia: Michael, I’m worried about her. You can’t waste your youth on a woman who has completely forgotten about you in her grief.

Michael: Mom, what are you saying? I love Kate. We have to go through this together, in good times and bad—remember the vow?

Cynthia: Oh, my dear. You’re too kind. This will destroy you. You need to move on. Look at Kate—she’s made up this story about the doll because she can’t let go. She just wants you to pity her.

Michael: Mom, you…

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

[sound of footsteps]

Kate: Hello, Cynthia. Darling.

Cynthia: Oh, Kate. Glad you’re home. We were just talking about your situation.

Kate: Oh really? And what?

Cynthia: The doll story has Michael worried. I think you should better see a psycho…

Michael: Mom! Enough. You were just about to leave.

Cynthia: Oh no, I’m staying for dinner.

[unpleasant laughter]

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Kate: Cynthia, were you at Sophie’s grave? Someone brought fresh flowers.

Cynthia: Oh, dear, I was on a business trip, and came straight from the airport to you.

Kate: I found this at her grave.

[sound of paper rustling]

Michael: Kate, dear, are you sure it’s not your handwriting? It looks very similar…

Kate: Michael, how can you say that?!

[sounds of stomping up the stairs, click]

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July 13, 8:00 a.m.

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Can’t stop thinking about yesterday’s conversation. Looking at the note—it really is my handwriting… But how did this happen? Maybe I really need to see a specialist? Am I losing my mind?

[click]

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July 13, 3:45 p.m.

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Met with a psychotherapist. He says he experienced similar feelings after losing his mother. He thinks it’s our subconscious playing tricks on us. But I still feel there’s more to this than just imagination.

[click]

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July 13, 7:00 p.m.

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Michael was very kind. He suggested we have dinner with Cynthia and try to mend our relationship. Maybe he’s right, and this is just grief. But I won’t give up. The doll stares at me with its plastic eyes, and I know the woman in vintage clothes is behind this. I have to find her.

[click]

For illustration purposes only | Source: pixabay

July 14, 9:30 a.m.

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Talked to Michael for a long time last night. It’s hard to accept, but maybe I really have lost touch with reality. We agreed to go to dinner at Cynthia’s.

[click]

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July 14, 12:00 p.m.

[click]

Found a photo of my daughter with the doll. It was her sixth birthday. I remember Cynthia gave her that doll. That day, she was wearing a long dress with a vintage brooch. Vintage things… She collects them. Could this be a coincidence?

[click]

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July 14, 6:19 p.m.

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We arrived at Cynthia’s for dinner. I went to the bathroom and lingered near her wardrobe. It’s full of vintage clothes! How did I not notice this before? I feel the need to look deeper into the closet.

[sound of clothes rustling, click]

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July 14, 6:23 p.m.

[click, whispers]

Someone’s coming. I need to hide.

Cynthia: Kate? What are you doing in my closet?!

Kate: Cynthia, I…

Cynthia: This is outrageous! Michael! Come here!

Michael: Sweetheart, what’s going on?

Kate: Michael, I can’t explain it, but your mom is somehow involved in this. The doll… The seller said a woman in vintage clothing left it for me. Look here! There’s a bunch of vintage clothing!

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Michael: Sweetheart, you need to calm down.

Cynthia: This is unacceptable, Michael! She needs treatment! I’m calling the ambulance right now.

[shouting, sounds of hysteria and resistance]

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Michael: Sweetheart, we’ll figure this out. Come here.

Kate: NO! You have to believe me!

[sound of ambulance]

Michael: What’s this? A recorder?

[click]

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July 17, 9:15 a.m.

[click]

I got my recorder back. Michael listened to it, and it seemed like he believed me. I was discharged from the hospital, and they said my mental state wasn’t dangerous to others. Now I am home.

[click]

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July 17, 12:08 p.m.

[click]

Michael and I are going to the flea market. He wants to get to the bottom of this.

Michael: Kate, sweetheart, enough recording.

Kate: Michael, this is important. I have to record everything. This story needs to make sense finally. The recordings help me objectively assess what’s happening.

[sound of the market, click]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney

July 17, 12:15 p.m.

[click]

We’re at the same seller. Michael offered to talk to him alone. But I want to record, so I’m hiding behind a nearby stall, pretending to look at trinkets. Shh… Now…

Michael: Excuse me, do you remember the doll you sold to my wife? Can you tell me anything about the person who sold it to you?

Seller: I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.

Michael: Look, I have something for you. My collection of old cameras.

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Michael: I’ll give them to you if you answer my questions. Was it this woman?

[sound of a photo being shown]

Seller: Oh! It was her.

[click]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

July 17, 5:56 p.m.

[click]

We’re meeting Cynthia at the café near her house.

Michael: Mom, we know it was you who planted the doll. You knew Kate frequents that flea market and often buys little things for comfort from that seller.

Cynthia: That’s absurd! You’re blaming your wife’s illness on me now?

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Michael: Mom, Kate is healthy. The doctor confirmed it, and there’s a witness to your actions.

Cynthia: Oh, Michael, you’re too kind. I still believe Kate made up this story because she wants your pity. These relationships are destructive! So, yes, I did my best to make you leave Kate!

Michael: Mom, you’re wrong. I love Kate, and we have to go through this together. In good times and bad—remember the vow?

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Kate: Michael, I feel so alone. You’re always at work, and that’s your way of coping with the loss.

Michael: Let’s work on our relationships together, all of us.

[click]

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July 20, 3:00 p.m. – Last Recording

[click]

I’m grateful to Michael for his support. He’s shown me that life goes on. We’ll face the challenges together and remember our daughter with love, not pain. This recorder has helped me find my way back to reality. Now I’m ready to move on.

[click]

For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels

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