Chapter 3: Son

While everyone around was still reeling, utterly gobsmacked and virtually nonfunctional, Evelyn was tucking her eight hundred dollars into her pocket and zipping up her suitcase, pondering her next move. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she missed the conversations happening right beside her.

Standing up after squatting for too long, she felt a slight blackout—a combination of hunger and the day’s stress; after all, she'd only had a meal on the plane and was prone to low blood sugar.

As she steadied herself, a pair of strong, polite hands reached out to steady her by the shoulders, a touch so courteous it avoided any hint of offense.

Surprised, she glanced up to meet the cool, sharp gaze of a man whose features were so chiseled, he could have stepped out of the pages of a romance novel she once read.

And now, here he was, expertly and considerately steadying her. Since leaving the institute, Evelyn had felt adrift, and now, the unexpected kindness from a stranger warmed her. She offered a bashful smile. "Thank you, sir, I'm fine."

The man regarded her, arching an eyebrow ever so slightly, his voice softened, "No need to thank me, Mother."

Evelyn: "??"

The neighbors, along with Margaret and Hannah, were lost in bewildered stares, unable to process the affluent man's presence.

What did he mean, calling Evelyn 'Mother'? How old could she possibly be?

All eyes turned to Evelyn to find her face a picture of innocence and confusion, as if she herself had no clue what was unfolding.

Imagine convincing them this youthful girl had birthed a son far more mature and composed than herself—a preposterous notion!

Margaret couldn’t comprehend, and Hannah’s jaw dropped.

The man lowered his gaze to Evelyn, who, in utter shock, had her mouth agape, eyes wide, uncomprehending.

He remained expressionless but spoke more gently, "You are indeed my mother, and I will explain everything shortly. You don’t seem to be in good shape; let's find a restaurant and have a quick bite?"

Evelyn's foggy brain translated 'have a quick bite' to 'eat.' Her throat felt parched, her stomach protesting with hunger.

But she started, "You might have mistaken me for someone else, I'm not your mo—"

She stopped mid-sentence, a sudden memory flashing. Dr. Charles had mentioned her five eggs, now hatched and turned into five bouncing, advantageously priced sons.

The eldest was twenty-four.

Incredulously, she eyed the man before her. He might be her son?

Absorbing the shock of her eggs turned sons, the man nodded affirmatively, "Yes, Mother, I am your son."

Evelyn's knees buckled, nearly collapsing.

He caught her arm, comforting, "Come on, Mother, let's get you something to eat."

Feeling weak, either from hunger or overwhelm, she nodded and whispered, "Okay, thank you…"

So, under the shocked and uncomprehending gazes of the neighbors, Evelyn was half-escorted to the stretch Rolls-Royce.

An assistant eagerly opened the car door as the man shielded her head from the car's roof, ensuring she didn't bump it.

Evelyn glanced gratefully at her considerate "son" as she climbed inside.

The neighbors, in collective disbelief, sought answers from Margaret, "What in the world just happened?"

Margaret was just as clueless, "How in the world did she suddenly have such a grown son? When did she even have him?"

But Hannah was suddenly excited, "Mom, that's my aunt! My own aunt! And that man is my cousin! Why didn't you stop him?"

The neighbors: "..."

This was too much to take in!

...

Evelyn felt like she was floating, a Cinderella in a palace, everything around her surreal.

Her son escorted her to an exceptionally upscale and elegant restaurant and ordered a feast.

She was famished and dug in without reserve. The high-end cuisine was delicious, so delectable she could cry.

Replenished, she studied her unexpected son curiously.

"Mother, allow me to introduce myself. I am Quentin, twenty-three years old, and—medically speaking—your son," Quentin said politely.

"O-oh," Evelyn, still dazed as if in a sci-fi blockbuster, managed, "You said you're twenty-three?"

Didn't Dr. Charles mention the eldest was twenty-four?

"Yes," Quentin nodded.

"Then do you know—" Evelyn hesitated, searching for the right words, "about the other... eggs?"

Quentin understood her hesitation and quietly said, "My father was granted one egg, which resulted in me. I'm not aware of the others' fate. It's confidential, but I know they've been used over the years."

The word 'used' was said with reluctance, for it broached ethical boundaries too fantastic to contemplate.

"Oh, I see..." Evelyn struggled to digest this new reality, possibly having four more sons like Quentin.

The thought of five sons calling her 'Mother' was too picturesque, almost unbearable.

Quentin kindly offered her juice as she gulped down the shock.

"Any more questions, Mother?" he asked after a respectful pause.

There were too many, but Evelyn chose a less sensitive one, "Have you finished college?"

Quentin shared, "I graduated at thirteen due to my high IQ, interned at my father's business at seventeen, and now, after six years, have taken over."

He glanced at her, "Perhaps, it's thanks to the OR9AA2 gene."

Evelyn maintained composure, "Oh, impressive," her mind reeling from the revelation.

Why had her own genius gene not manifested such brilliance?

Quentin shared how he'd sought her out upon hearing of her awakening, "Tomorrow, I'll take legal measures to retrieve your house."

"Really? You can do that?" Evelyn was incredulous, but Quentin was confident, "Of course."

Grateful and hopeful, Evelyn thanked her son, "Thank you, Quentin."

Her son was truly a blessing.