After years of estrangement, Liz returns to her childhood home to finalize its sale following her mother’s death. What begins as a simple visit soon spirals into a descent through fractured memories and unresolved trauma. Haunted by eerie recordings, ghostly lullabies, and photographs that should not exist, Liz confronts the suffocating grip of a mother who never truly let go. As past and present collapse into one, the line between love and possession blurs—forcing Liz to relive the night she swore she'd never come back.

This film was born out of the haunting space between memory and identity. As a filmmaker, I’m drawn to stories where the domestic becomes uncanny — where a house is not just a house, but a container for trauma, unresolved longing, and psychological inheritance. This film explores the emotional aftermath of growing up under a controlling, emotionally unstable parent, and the way grief can blur the lines between love and possession. Through visual restraint, sound design, and fragmented memory, I want the audience to feel what it’s like to return home not to mourn, but to escape. The horror in My Sweet Girl is not just in the supernatural — it’s in what remains unspoken between mothers and daughters.