“It’s your grandson, William, he’s already six”: A stranger stopped me in the street, but my son insists he’s got nothing to do with it.
I was trudging home from work, exhausted as usual, my mind tangled up in thoughts of dinner and tomorrow’s meeting, when I heard a voice behind me:
“Excuse me! Margaret Anne?”
I turned around. A young woman stood there with a boy about six years old. Her voice wavered with uncertainty, but her eyes were steady.
“I’m Emily,” she said. “And this is your grandson, William. He’s six now.”
At first, I thought it was some ridiculous prank. I didn’t recognize her or the boy. My head spun from the shock.
“Sorry, but… you must have the wrong person?” was all I managed to stammer.
But Emily pressed on firmly:
“No, I’m not mistaken. Your son is William’s father. I stayed quiet for a long time, but I decided you had the right to know. I’m not asking for anything. Here’s my number. Call if you want to meet him.”
Then she walked off, leaving me stunned on the pavement, clutching a scrap of paper, my fists tightening. I immediately rang my only son, James.
“James, did you ever date a woman named Emily? Do you have a child?”
“Mum, come on… Yeah, briefly. She acted a bit odd, then claimed she was pregnant. But who knows—maybe she made it up. After that, she vanished. I’m not even sure he’s mine.”
His answer gnawed at me. On one hand, I’d always trusted him. I raised him single-handedly, working two jobs, denying myself everything so he could have a better life. He grew into a respected professional—but never settled down. I’d nagged him about grandchildren, dreaming of being a nan. And now, out of nowhere, one drops into my lap.
The next day, I called Emily. She wasn’t surprised.
“Billy’s six. April birthday. And no, I won’t do any tests. I know exactly who his father is. We split when I was pregnant. I didn’t come sooner because I managed on my own. My parents helped. We’re fine. I only came for Billy—he deserves to know he’s got a nan. And you… if you want, you can be part of his life. If not, that’s fine too.”
I hung up and sat in silence a long while. Part of me couldn’t dismiss James’s words. But in Billy’s eyes, I’d caught something familiar—just a flicker. His smile, his mannerisms. Or was that just me wanting it to be true?
That evening, I stared out the window, remembering hauling James to nursery, sharing porridge from the same bowl, his first day at school. Could he really have abandoned a child? Or was this boy no relation at all?
Even so, I felt an odd warmth thinking about Billy—and guilt for doubting. I hadn’t demanded proof when James was born. Why was I asking for it now? Why couldn’t I just trust my instincts?
I still haven’t decided. I haven’t called back. But every time I pass that street where we met, I scan the faces around me. I don’t know if Billy’s my grandson. But I can’t shake the thought. The dream of being a nan won’t fade. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll dial that number again—if only to meet the little boy who called me nana.”
