I was coming home from work, exhausted as usual, lost in thoughts about dinner and tomorrows meeting. Suddenly a voice called out behind me:
Excuse me!ÉlodieBertrand?
I turned. A young woman stood there with a boy about six years old. Her tone was tentative, but her eyes were resolute.
My name is Camille, she said. And this is your grandson, Théo. Hes already six.
At first I thought it was a cruel joke. Neither she nor the child looked familiar, and the surprise made my head spin.
Im sorry, but you must be mistaken? I managed to say.
Camille answered confidently:
No, Im not mistaken. Your son is Théos father. Ive kept silent for a long time, but I think you have a right to know. Im not asking for anything. Heres my number. If youd like to meet, call me.
She walked away, leaving me stunned on the sidewalk, the slip of paper clenched in my hand, my fists tight. I ran to call Julien, my only son.
Julien, have you ever been with a woman named Camille? Do you have a child?
Mom, finally It was brief. She was strange, then claimed she was pregnant. I dont know if it was true. She vanished afterwards. I doubt that child is mine.
His words unsettled me. On one hand, I had always believed in him. I had raised him alone, working two jobs so he could have a better life. He had become a respected professional, yet he never settled down. I often talked about grandchildren, dreaming of being a grandmother. And now a grandson appeared out of nowhere.
The next day I called Camille. She didnt seem surprised.
Théo is six, born in April. No, I wont do any test. I know who his father is. We split up during my pregnancy. I didnt contact Julien earlier because I managed on my own; my parents help me. Were fine. Im reaching out only for Théo: he deserves to know his grandmother. If you wish, you can be part of his life; if not, Ill understand.
I hung up and stayed silent for a long while. Part of me couldnt ignore Juliens doubts, yet another part saw something familiar in Théos gazehis smile, his gestures. Or was it just my longing to be a grandmother?
That night I stared out the window, recalling the mornings I took Julien to school, the meals we shared, his first day of school. Had he really abandoned a pregnant woman? Or was this child not his at all?
Despite everything, a strange warmth rose at the thought of Théo, along with anger at myself for the doubts. I hadnt demanded proof when Julien was born. Why demand it now from Camille? Why couldnt I simply believe?
I hadnt made any decision. I didnt call her back. Yet each time I passed that street, I scanned the faces, wondering if Théo was really my grandson. I couldnt forget him. A grandmothers dream doesnt fade easily. Maybe someday Ill dial that number, if only to meet the boy who called me grandma.
Sometimes family isnt about blood but about the heart, and embracing the unknown can bring the most beautiful surprises.
