"I'm your grandson."
Her friendly smile swiftly vanishes and she steps back with every step of yours forward, throwing up her hands and recoiling from your touch. It breaks your heart, because this is a person you heard stories about but never got to meet. It's remarkable seeing her now because your father never showed you pictures. The ones he painted with words were few but made you smile.
She is beautiful and fiercely protective, and you both glance at the toddler in the next room, your own face wistful. It seems impossible that child is your father. You could be dreaming again, and the dreams even happen when you're awake, now, so it's plausible. You're not, though. You won't be born for another fifty years, and when you turn to meet her eyes again, she's looking at you like she can almost believe it's true. She doesn't want to, but she does.
Any other person would kick you to the curb a lot sooner. Instead she makes a pot of tea.
"So," she says, once the tea is poured and both of you have calmed down. "You'll be needing a place to stay."
You apologize for the intrusion but are grateful she's said it, because you can feel your thoughts jumble again, racing faster than your mouth can keep up. They bang into each other, not making a lick of sense to her or anyone. It's easy to dismiss the claim a man like you is a time traveler.
You're fortunate she was already married to one.