The pavement was slick with rain as I trudged home from work, my mind weighed down by thoughts of dinner and tomorrows board meeting. Then a voice cut through the drizzle.
“Excuse me! Emma Whitmore?”
I turned. A young woman stood there, a boy of about six clinging to her hand. Her tone wavered, but her eyes were steady.
“Im Sophie,” she said. “And this is your grandson, Oliver. Hes six now.”
For a moment, I thought it was some cruel joke. Neither face was familiar. My pulse thudded in my ears.
“II think youve mistaken me for someone else,” I managed.
Sophie didnt flinch. “No mistake. Your son is Olivers father. I stayed quiet for years, but you deserve to know. Im not asking for anything. Heres my number. Call if you want to meet him.”
Before I could protest, she was gone. I stood frozen, crumpling the scrap of paper in my fist. My hands shook as I dialed my only son, Daniel.
“Daniel, did you ever date a Sophie? Do you have a child?”
“Mum, seriously? That was years ago. She was intense. Claimed she was pregnant, then vanished. No idea if the kids even mine.”
His words left me reeling. Id raised him alone, working double shifts to give him a better life. Hed built a career but never settled down. Id longed for grandchildrenand now one appeared out of thin air.
The next day, I called Sophie. She answered on the first ring.
“Oliver was born in April. No, I wont do a DNA test. I know who his father is. Daniel and I split during my pregnancy. I didnt reach out sooner because I didnt need to. My parents help. Were fine. This is about Oliverhe should know his grandmother. The choice is yours.”
I hung up, staring at the phone. Part of me clung to Daniels doubts. But Id seen something in Oliverthe tilt of his smile, the way he fidgeted. Was it real, or just my own longing?
That night, I stood by the window, watching the city lights blur through the rain. Memories flooded backDaniels first day of school, our Sunday roasts, his graduation. Had he really walked away from a child? Or was Sophie lying?
Yet beneath the confusion, an unfamiliar warmth stirred. And guilt. Id never demanded proof when Daniel was bornwhy couldnt I trust Sophie now?
I didnt call back. But every time I walked past that spot, my eyes searched the crowd. I didnt know if Oliver was mine. But I couldnt forget him. A grandmothers hope doesnt fade so easily. Maybe one day, Ill dial that number. Just to meet the boy who called me “Gran.”
Sometimes family isnt about blood. Its about the heart. And the unknown can bring the greatest gifts of all.
