When Nathan’s wife is about to give birth to their son, his mother gives him an ominous note, instructing him to open it after the baby’s arrival.

Once the baby is born, an old family tradition comes to light with Nathan’s mother demanding that the baby be named after her grandfather or else…

The house was quiet and still. But it was that kind of quiet that came with a dull sense that something was going to happen soon.

My mom sat at the kitchen table, her eyes focused on a blank sheet of paper in front of her.

She tapped her pen against the table as if lost in her thoughts.

“Mom, what are you doing?” I asked, leaning against the doorway.

It was late, and I was tired. My wife, Jenna, was upstairs resting, trying to catch whatever sleep she could before our son arrived.

He was two days late, and we both knew he would appear soon.

“Just thinking,” my mother replied without looking up at me.

“Thinking about what?” I pressed.

She finally glanced up at me, her eyes wide.

“About the baby, Nathan,” she said. “About life. About… a lot of things, really.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say. My mom had always been a bit of a mystery. She was a quiet woman with heavy emotions that she rarely shared. If anything, she only shared her feelings with my father, but it had been years since he passed on.

She gasped, as if struck with a sudden thought, and looked back down at the paper. She scribbled something quickly, folded it, and sealed it in an envelope.

“Here,” she said, handing it to me. “Open it right after your son is born.”

“What is this? A gift or a prophecy?” I laughed.

My mother just smiled.

“Just open it when the time is right,” she said. “You’ll see.”

Before I could press for more details, I heard Jenna shuffling around upstairs.

“Nathan?” she called. “I think it’s time!”

The words hit me like a jolt of electricity. My son was coming! I ran up the stairs and grabbed the hospital bag. My mother was right behind me, calm and steady, the envelope still clutched in my hand.

Six hours later, the sound of our baby’s cry filled the delivery room. Jenna was exhausted but glowing with pride, holding our son to her chest. Tears streamed down my face as I looked at them both. Finally, he was here.

“He’s perfect,” I declared, taking in my son’s tiny hands and feet.

Jenna smiled.

“What are his stats?” she asked the nurse. “He’s been in there for a few extra days.”

The nurse checked her notes and beamed.

“A happy and healthy little boy at nine pounds, ten ounces, and nineteen inches long! Congratulations, Mom and Dad!” she said.

In that moment, I remembered the envelope from my mother. In the rush to the hospital, I shoved it into my back pocket.

The note was simple, with just a few words scribbled in my mom’s neat handwriting:

Your son will be 9 pounds, 10 ounces, and 19 inches long.

“What? How?” I muttered to myself.

“What’s wrong, Nathan?” Jenna asked.

“Nothing at all,” I said, trying to reassure her. “It’s just that I should probably call my mom.”

I stepped out of the room, my mind spinning. What were the odds? What did my mother know about my son that I didn’t?

“Mom,” I said into the phone. “You were right. You were exactly right. How did you know how big the baby would be?”

I could hear her take a deep breath on the other end.

“I told you, Nathan, I’m very in tune with the family things. My grandfather, your great-grandfather, was born with those exact measurements, and since him, every firstborn son has had those measurements too.”

“Why didn’t you ever mention that to me?” I asked.

There was a brief silence, as though my mother was choosing her words carefully.

“I didn’t want to influence you in any way, Nathan,” she said. “But now that the tradition is true for your son too, I was thinking…”

“Thinking what?” I asked. I was getting annoyed with how she spoke, constantly pausing and not just spitting out what she wanted to say.

“Maybe we should name your son Oscar, in memory of my grandfather. It would mean the world to me, and it would honor him.”

I froze on the spot. Jenna and I had already picked out a name.

“Mom, Jen, and I have already decided what to name our son,” I said. “You know that.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “But this feels important. Please, just think about it.”

Back in the room, I could see Jenna was already suspicious.

“What was that about? Why did you take so long? You haven’t even held Matthew yet.”

I sighed.

“My mom wants us to name him Oscar. After her grandfather. Apparently, it’s some tradition of all firstborn sons; they all weigh exactly the same.”

Jenna’s face darkened.

“We already have a name, Nathan,” she said. “We agreed on Matthew because of my father.”

“I know, I know!” I exclaimed. “But maybe we could consider it as a middle name or something like that?”

Before my wife could even sit with the suggestion, her mother, Nora, walked in, her face bright with excitement. I wasn’t surprised. She lived about five minutes away from the hospital, so I knew she would come over as soon as the baby was born. I was sure Jenna had texted her while I was talking to my mother.

“Oh, he’s beautiful!” she cried, rushing over to take the baby from Jenna.

As she cradled him in her arms, Jenna explained the situation.

“Nathan’s mother wants us to name him Oscar. But we’ve already decided on a name.”

Nora’s expression shifted from joy to something a bit more serious.

“Oscar,” she repeated as if testing the name on her tongue. “Isn’t that your brother’s name?”

I nodded.

“And my great-grandfather,” I said.

She gave me a hard look. I knew she was wondering about her late husband’s name. We had decided long before Jenna’s father had passed that our son would be named after him.

Just then, my mother walked in.

“Let me see baby Oscar,” she chimed as she walked over to Nora.

“What?” Jenna asked. “His name is Matthew.”

“Your son will be named Oscar, or he won’t get a single penny from my will,” my mother said, her tone completely different from when we spoke on the phone.

“Excuse me?” I asked, stunned.

“Our entire family’s fortune was built by my grandfather. The maple syrup business? All because of him. If you don’t honor him by passing down his name, then you don’t deserve his legacy.”

Jenna and I stared at her. Nora held tightly onto the baby.

This was supposed to be a happy moment in our lives, but now it felt like a battleground. I could see my wife’s frustration boiling over.

“Mom,” I said. “Let’s just talk about this…”

“No,” my mother said stubbornly.

Then my wife turned to me, her eyes blazing.

“Nathan, we agreed on a name. I’m not changing it just because of some family tradition that only surfaced now.”

I took a deep breath. I understood where Jenna was coming from, but I also understood where my mother was coming from, despite how misguided it was.

“Please…” my mother said her eyes misting up. “It would mean the world to me. And it’s not just about the money. It’s about the legacy.”

“How about a compromise?” I suggested. “We use the name we picked as his first name, and Oscar will be his middle name.”

Jenna hesitated. I knew that she hated being backed into a corner like this.

“Please,” I said softly. “Just think about how much this would mean to the both of you…”

Jenna looked down at our baby who was now asleep in her arms again, after Nora had given him back to her daughter.

“Fine, but only as a middle name.”

My mother and I sighed in relief. For now, at least, the battle was over.

“I hope he has my grandfather’s eyes,” my mother said.

“You can see when he wakes up,” Jenna said, reaching out for her.

As I looked at my family, I was relieved that everything seemed okay for now. But I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of unease. I still had the note in my pocket, the one where my mom had somehow predicted Matthew’s exact weight and height.

But I guess it’s just a reminder that some family traditions run deeper than we might ever understand.