What if he hated me for not being there, even though I hadn’t known?
The questions swirled in my mind like fall leaves in a gutter.
But then I remembered the grocery store. The quiet kindness in his voice, and the way he’d stepped up without hesitation.
That was my son. My boy.
The thought sent such a powerful wave of emotion through me. It nearly took my breath away.
The phone felt heavy in my hand as I picked it up. Outside, a car horn honked, someone shouted, and life went on as if everything was normal.
As if my world hadn’t just been turned inside out.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I dialed.
One ring. Two rings. Each seemed to last an eternity.
“Hello?”
His voice was steady, familiar.
My throat closed up, the words “I’m your father” refusing to come out.
How do you tell someone something like this? How do you bridge a gap 35 years wide?
Instead, I managed a nervous laugh. “Hello, Dwayne, it’s your… I just wanted to thank you for paying for my groceries at the store a few weeks ago.
It’s kind of wild how I ended up with your number. Seriously, you wouldn’t believe it! Do you have time for a coffee or tea in the city?”
The silence that followed felt endless, but I could hear him breathing on the other end of the line.
My son.
“And you’ll tell me how you got my number?” he asked.
“Yes… I’ll tell you everything,” I replied.
Source: amomama
