“It’s your grandson, William. He’s six already.” A stranger stopped me on the street, but my son swears he’s not involved.
I was walking home from work, exhausted as usual, lost in thoughts about dinner and tomorrow’s meeting. Then I heard a voice behind me:
“Excuse me! Mrs. Thompson?”
I turned around. A young woman stood there with a boy about six years old. Her voice wavered slightly, but her gaze was steady.
“My name is Emily,” she said. “And this is your grandson, William. He’s six.”
At first, I thought it was some ridiculous joke. 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.
But Emily continued firmly:
“No, I’m not mistaken. Your son is William’s father. I stayed quiet for a long time, but I decided you had a right to know. I’m not asking anything of you. Here’s my number. If you want to meet, call me.”
And with that, she left me standing there, completely bewildered, clutching a scrap of paper. My fists clenched as I immediately called my only son, Oliver.
“Oliver, did you ever date a woman named Emily? Do you have a child?”
“Mum, well… yeah, briefly. She acted a bit strange, then claimed she was pregnant. I don’t even know—maybe she made it up. After that, she vanished. I can’t be sure he’s mine.”
His answer unsettled me. On one hand, I’ve always trusted Oliver. I raised him alone, working two jobs, denying myself everything so he could have a better life. He became a respected professional, but he never started a family. I’ve begged him to think about children, dreaming of being a grandmother. And now—out of nowhere—a grandson appears.
The next day, I called Emily. She wasn’t surprised.
“Will just turned six. Born in April. 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 help. We’re fine. I only came for Will—he deserves to know he has a grandmother. And if you want, you can be part of his life. If not, I’ll understand.”
I hung up and sat in silence. Part of me couldn’t dismiss Oliver’s words. But in Will’s eyes, I saw something familiar—his smile, his gestures. Or was it just my longing to have a grandson?
That evening, I stared out the window for ages, remembering how I used to drag Oliver to nursery, how we shared porridge from the same bowl, his first day at school. Could he really have abandoned a child? Or was Will not his at all?
Even so, I felt a strange warmth at the thought of Will—and guilt for doubting. I never asked for proof when I had Oliver. Why demand it from this girl now? Why couldn’t I just trust my heart?
I haven’t decided anything yet. I haven’t called back. But every time I pass the street where we met, I scan the faces around me. I’m not sure Will is my grandson. Yet I can’t let go of the idea. The dream of being a grandmother won’t fade. Maybe soon, I’ll call that number. Even if it’s just to meet the boy who called me Grandma.”
