Like many others, I am a mother. Since his father departed three years ago, I, Claire, have been parenting my son, Théo, by myself. Théo is a modest, courteous, and reticent 14-year-old. He has never been the kind to look for trouble or get into trouble. Just the two of us have established our little routine, and I have always trusted him in spite of the ups and downs.
However, I’ve been feeling that something wasn’t right lately.
He was avoiding me when I dropped him off at school, sneaking out, getting up earlier, and arriving home later than I had anticipated. He no longer shared much with me. Most importantly, he carried his backpack with him at all times, like a safe. even in the house. He was hiding the luggage under the bed in a panic one evening when I went into his room without knocking.
I unintentionally knocked over his backpack the following day when I was putting away his laundry in his room. A package dropped to the ground. I stooped, assuming it was headphones or notebooks. However, no.
It was a diaper package.
Brand-new, newborn-sized diapers that are still packaged.
My mind was buzzing with ideas. Was a female he had gotten pregnant with? Was he the recipient? Was he ill? Was he caring for a child? I was at a loss for what to think.
I took a day off two days later and made the decision to follow Théo covertly.
After a few minutes of waiting, I crossed the street and rapped on the door.
Théo pulled it open.
His expression was one of astonishment but not fear. He seems almost relieved.
He was carrying a baby in his arms. Perhaps six months old. A bright-eyed youngster, dozing off on his shoulder.
A man in his sixties emerged behind him. It took me a few moments to realize that he was Gérard, a former public library coworker. A few months prior, he had been sacked due to his frequent absenteeism.
Gérard gave me a clumsy look before starting to talk.
He clarified that his daughter had given birth, but she had fled without a trace following a fight, leaving him alone with the infant. He had no one to turn to, no resources, and no assistance.
One day in the street, Théo had run into him. They struck up a conversation. After that, my son started to come over to help, watching the baby while Gérard went shopping, found a job, and took care of administrative duties. Théo bought diapers with his pocket money, worked odd jobs to earn formula, and bought old clothing.
He had kept it a secret. Not even myself.
I was momentarily silent.
I reflected on all the times I had witnessed him return home exhausted, those times he had skipped school, and those dinner table silences. Without knowing what he was going through behind closed doors, I considered the trust I claimed to have in him.
He shrugged when I questioned him about why he hadn’t told me.
Calmly, he added, “I was afraid you’d make me stop, that you’d think it was dangerous or too much.” But I needed assistance to abandon that baby.
Maxime was that baby’s name.
I held the infant in my arms. He gave me a calm, naive glance. He didn’t realize the amount of work this 14-year-old boy was performing for him every day without asking anything in return.
I learned more about my son that day.
A level of maturity I didn’t anticipate. an inner fortitude. The ability to deeply and silently love, defend, and commit.
I’ve been helping him ever since. Together, we assist Gérard. I mentioned him to a friend who manages a nearby charity, and I offered to help him with his paperwork. We even planned a covert gathering of infant supplies and clothing.
