My MIL Tossed My Late Son’s Clothes in the Dumpster, but I Revealed an Even Worse Secret of Hers in Front of Everyone

My name is Rebecca—most people call me Becky. I’m 30, and two years ago I lost my five-year-old son, Caleb, in a sudden accident that shattered my world. I’ve learned how to function again—working, paying bills, smiling on cue—but grief never really leaves. What kept me steady was Caleb’s cedar chest, a small box filled with pieces of him: his dinosaur hoodie, worn sneakers, crayon drawings, a bracelet passed down through our family. It wasn’t just keepsakes—it was my lifeline. My mother-in-law, Lorraine, said holding on was “unhealthy,” that I needed to move on. I tried to ignore her—until the day something happened that changed everything.