The house was eerily quiet as my mother sat at the kitchen table, scribbling on a sheet of paper. I was anxious—my wife Jenna was upstairs, labor had begun, and our son was finally on his way.
“What are you doing, Mom?” I asked, leaning in the doorway.
“Just thinking,” she replied, eyes still on her paper.
“About what?” I probed.
“About the baby, Nathan,” she said. “About life.”
She quickly folded the paper, sealed it in an envelope, and handed it to me. “Open it right after your son is born.”
“Is this a gift or a prophecy?” I joked.
She just smiled. “You’ll see.”
A woman sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney
Minutes later, Jenna called from upstairs, “Nathan, it’s time!” I grabbed the hospital bag, and my mother followed, the envelope in her hand.
Six hours later, our baby’s first cry filled the delivery room. Jenna, tired but happy, held our son. “He’s perfect,” I said, tears in my eyes.
The nurse announced, “He’s nine pounds, ten ounces, and nineteen inches long. Congratulations!”
I remembered the envelope from my mother. Opening it, I found a note stating: “Your son will be 9 pounds, 10 ounces, and 19 inches long.”
Stunned, I called my mom. “How did you know?”
“I’m in tune with family traditions,” she explained. “My grandfather was born with those exact measurements, and every firstborn son since has been the same.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to influence you,” she said. “But now that the tradition has proven true, I was hoping…”
“Hope for what?” I asked, growing impatient.
“Maybe we should name him Oscar, after my grandfather. It would mean a lot to me.”
I hesitated. Jenna and I had already chosen a name. “Mom, we picked a name already.”
“I know,” she replied. “But it’s important.”
Jenna overheard as she held the baby. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“My mom wants us to name him Oscar,” I said. “It’s a family tradition.”
Jenna frowned. “We agreed on Matthew.”
Before we could discuss further, Jenna’s mother, Nora, arrived. “Isn’t Oscar your brother’s name?” she asked.
“Yes, and my great-grandfather’s,” I replied.
Nora’s expression turned serious. “We had planned to name him after Jenna’s father.”
My mother entered. “Let me see baby Oscar.”
“What?” Jenna said, alarmed. “His name is Matthew.”
“Your son will be named Oscar, or he won’t inherit anything from my will,” my mother declared.
Shocked, I said, “Excuse me?”
“My grandfather built our fortune. If you don’t honor him with his name, you don’t deserve his legacy.”
Tension mounted. Jenna clutched the baby, frustrated.
“Mom, let’s talk,” I started.
“No,” she interrupted.
Jenna turned to me. “Nathan, we agreed on Matthew.”
I took a deep breath. “How about a compromise? We use Matthew as his first name and Oscar as his middle name.”
Jenna hesitated but agreed. “Fine, as a middle name.”
My mother and I were relieved.
“I hope he has my grandfather’s eyes,” my mother said.
“You can see when he wakes up,” Jenna replied.
As I looked at my family, I was glad we reached a compromise, though the eerie accuracy of the note left me unsettled. It was a reminder that some family traditions run deeper than we might ever understand.
