I was coming home from work, exhausted as usual, lost in thoughts about dinner and the meeting the next day. Suddenly a voice called out from behind me:
Excuse me! ÉlodieBertrand?
I turned. A young woman stood there with a boy who looked about six. Her voice wavered, but her eyes were steady.
My name is Camille, she said. And this is your grandson, Théo. Hes already six.
At first I thought it was a prank. Neither the woman nor the child were familiar to me, and the surprise made my head spin.
Im sorry you must be mistaken, I managed to say.
Camille continued with confidence:
No, Im not wrong. Your son is Théos father. I kept quiet for a long time, but I believe you have a right to know. Im not asking for anything. Heres my number. Call me if you want to meet him.
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 child.
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 thats my son.
Her words unsettled me. I had always believed in Julien. Id raised him alone, juggling two jobs so he could have a better life. He grew into a respected professional, never marrying or having children. 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 while I was pregnant. I didnt contact Julien earlier because I was handling things 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; another part saw something familiar in Théos smile, his gestures. Was it just my longing to be a grandmother?
That night I stared out the window at the darkness, recalling the mornings when I took Julien to school, our shared meals, his first day back. Had he truly abandoned a pregnant woman? Or was the child not his at all?
Despite everything, a strange warmth filled me at the thought of Théo, mixed with anger at my own skepticism. I never demanded proof when Julien was born. Why should I now demand it from Camille? Why cant I simply believe?
I made no decision. I didnt call her back. Yet every time I walk that street I scan faces, wondering if Théo is really my grandson. I cant forget him; a grandmothers dream doesnt die easily. Perhaps someday Ill dial that number, even if only to meet the boy who called me grandma.
Sometimes family isnt defined by blood but by the heart, and embracing the unknown can bring the most beautiful surprises.
