Im Olivia, and heres your grandson, six years old.
In a quiet little town in the English countryside, where cobbled lanes are shaded by oak trees and life moves at a gentle pace, my life took an unexpected turn. My names Eleanor Whitmore, and I was walking home from work when I heard someone call my name. I turned around and frozea young woman stood there with a boy about six years old. She stepped closer and said words that sent a chill through me: “Eleanor Whitmore, Im Rebecca, and this is your grandson, Oliver. Hes six.”
I was stunned. Their faces were strangers to me, and her words hit like a bolt from the blue. I have a son, Jamesbright, ambitious, climbing the career ladder. But hes not married, and though Ive dreamed of being a grandmother, I never imagined it happening like thisout of nowhere, from a woman Id never met. Shock gave way to confusion: how had I gone six years without knowing this child existed?
Maybe its my fault. I raised James alone, working tirelessly to give him a good future. Im proud of what hes achieved, but his love life always worried me. He flitted from one fling to another, never settling down. I never interfered, but deep down, I remembered being his age when I had himyoung, alone, sacrificing everything to raise him. It was only a few years ago that James treated me to a holiday in Cornwallmy first time seeing the sea. I dont regret a thing, but the idea of being a grandmother always lingered.
And now here Rebecca and Oliver were. Her voice shook but stayed firm as she added, “I debated telling you for years, but Olivers part of your family. You had a right to know. Im not asking for anythingIve raised him alone. Heres my number. If you want to meet him, call me.”
She left, and I was a mess. I rang James straight away. He was just as shocked. He barely remembered a short fling with a Rebecca years back. Shed told him she was pregnant, but hed refused to take responsibility. Then shed vanished, and hed put it out of his mind. His words cut deep. My son, the boy Id adored, had shrugged off fatherhood like it was nothing.
James swore he knew nothing about the boy and doubted Oliver was even his. “Why wait six years? Its dodgy!” I tried to understand. Theyd split up in September, he said. Doubt crept inwhat if Rebecca was lying? But Olivers face, his shy, wide eyes, wouldnt leave my thoughts.
In the end, I called Rebecca back. She told me Oliver was born in April. When I mentioned a DNA test, she answered calmly, “I know who his father is. No test needed.” She said her parents helped out, that she worked to support Oliver, whod start Year 2 in the autumn. Her voice was steady but determined.
“Eleanor Whitmore, if you want to see Oliver, I wont stop you,” she said. “If not, Ill understand. I know from James how hard it was for” She hung up. Ever since, Ive been torndo I knock on her door, or leave the past where it belongs?
