A Stranger Calls Me “Mom”

🔴 HE KEEPS CALLING ME “MOM” — BUT I NEVER HAD A SON

I swear my heart stopped the second I saw him standing in the rain, staring right at my car.

He was maybe eight years old, soaking wet, face blotchy red, yelling, “Mom! Mom, please don’t leave me!” The way he said it, so desperate, the streetlights reflecting off his tears—it made my stomach churn. I couldn’t breathe. I haven’t seen a child look like that since… well, ever.

My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped my keys. I rolled down the window and asked him where his parents were, and he just kept repeating “Mom,” pointing right at ME. His nose was running, and he smelled like wet dog and… something else, something sweet and familiar, like my late grandmother’s perfume. “They told me you were coming back!”

He reached for my hand, his little fingers freezing against my skin. I looked around for anyone—a guardian, a neighbor, SOMETHING. Nobody. Then, a woman’s voice called from the darkness, “Honey, come inside, you’re getting soaked!”

👇 Full story continued in the comments…
The woman stepped out of the deep shadows near a porch light down the street. She was older, her face lined with worry, pulling a cardigan tighter around herself against the rain. “Leo! Get in here!” she called again, her voice softer but firm.

The little boy, “Mom!” still on his lips, hesitated, looking from my car back towards the sound of her voice. He didn’t let go of my hand immediately. His grip was surprisingly strong for his size. My heart was still hammering, but a sliver of rational thought cut through the panic – this woman knew him. She was calling his name.

The woman hurried towards us, reaching us in a few swift strides. As she got closer, I could see her face clearly – a kind, tired face, etched with concern. She reached for the boy, gently taking his other arm. “Leo, what are you doing out here? You’re soaked through!”

She looked up at me then, her eyes wide with apology. “Oh, I am so, so sorry,” she said, her voice strained. “He… he thought you were his mother. You have a car so similar to hers, the same colour, and… well, he’s been waiting for her. He gets like this when he’s anxious.” She gestured vaguely towards my car, then back towards a modest house nearby.

The boy, Leo, was finally starting to calm down, though his face was still tear-streaked. He looked up at the woman beside him, then back at me, a flicker of confusion still in his eyes, but the frantic desperation was fading. He finally let go of my hand. The woman gave my arm a brief, grateful squeeze. “Thank you for stopping. He must have run out when he saw your car pull up.” She gave me a small, weary smile. “His mother was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. He just… misses her terribly when she’s gone.”

She turned the boy gently. “Come on, Leo. Let’s go inside. Mom will be here soon, I promise. Let’s get you dry.” She led him towards the house, one arm around his shoulders. As they walked away, the sweet, familiar scent I’d noticed earlier seemed to emanate from her as well – perhaps a shared perfume, or maybe just a scent common to that particular street or neighborhood.

I watched them go, the little boy occasionally glancing back at me until they reached the porch light and disappeared inside. The rain was still falling, but the terrible knot in my stomach had loosened. My hands were still trembling, but now it was from the residue of fear and the sudden rush of relief. He wasn’t *my* lost son, a ghost from a life I never had. He was just a scared little boy, waiting for his own mother, mistaking a stranger’s car for the one he longed to see pull up. I sat there for another minute, the quiet hum of my engine the only sound, letting the reality settle in before finally putting the car in drive and pulling away from the curb, leaving the rain-slicked street and the image of the little boy behind.