Eleanor thought for a moment, then shook her head slowly.
— “I’m sorry, dear. I don’t recall. My mind… it wanders.”
Michael gave her a reassuring smile.
— “That’s okay. You look like you’re lost again. Why don’t you hop in, and I’ll take you home?”
She hesitated, but something in his face seemed to ground her. She nodded and let him help her into the car. As they started driving, Michael held up the blanket.
— “This blanket… can you tell me about it? It feels so familiar to me, but I can’t place why.”
Eleanor looked at the wool, and for a second, the fog in her eyes seemed to clear. Her voice was steady and filled with a quiet melancholy:
— “When you were a very little boy, your mother used to wrap you in a blanket just like that. It was made of the softest wool to keep the winter chill away.” Her voice trailed off as if she were seeing a scene from decades ago.
Michael nearly swerved. The air in the car felt thick, charged with the weight of his own forgotten childhood. The “disappearance” of his mother when he was five had been the defining trauma of his life. His father had never talked about it, only saying she “had to leave.”
— “How could you possibly know that?” Michael asked, his voice trembling. “My mother left 45 years ago. I barely have any memories of her. How do you know about my blanket?”
Eleanor went silent again, retreating into the shadows of her mind. Michael felt a whirlwind of emotions—anger, hope, confusion. Was this blanket a link to his past? How did this stranger know the intimate details of his nursery? He drove in silence, his eyes fixed on the road, but his mind was racing through every old photograph and half-remembered story he possessed. He promised himself he wouldn’t let her vanish this time without the truth.
As they neared a small residential area, Michael had a sudden realization.
— “I know where I’ve seen you,” he said. “You’re the woman who sells flowers and produce at the farmer’s market near my corporate office.”
Eleanor gave a small, tired nod. Michael had seen her dozens of times over the years, a quiet fixture on the corner, selling seasonal greens and bouquets, always catching a bus or a ride home at sunset. He realized why she looked familiar, but the deeper mystery remained.
— “But that doesn’t explain how you know about my mother. Did you know her?”
