He pressed the question, his voice tight with anticipation.
Eleanor looked at him, and suddenly she began to recount stories from his toddler years—the time he scraped his knee on the porch, the way he liked his toast cut into triangles. She spoke with such precision that Michael felt the breath leave his lungs. It was like she was reading from his own soul.
— “Turn here, at the crossroads,” Eleanor said softly, pointing toward a small, weathered cottage with a single porch light glowing in the dark.
Michael pulled up to the house, his hands shaking on the wheel. He felt like he was on the verge of a cliff. As Eleanor moved to get out, she paused. She began to sing again, that same song, “Unforgettable.” Her voice was a haunting whisper in the quiet car, filled with a tenderness that felt like a physical touch.
“Unforgettable… in every way… and forevermore, that’s how you’ll stay.”
Michael was mesmerized.
— “Wait,” he said, reaching for the ignition. “Let me turn the car off. I have so many questions.”
He turned the key, but when he looked back to the passenger seat, she was gone. The door was closed, the seat was empty, and the echo of her song was the only thing left in the air. He scrambled out of the car, looking around the small yard, but the porch light was the only thing moving in the wind.
Panic and awe fought for space in his chest.
— “Maybe Susan was right. Maybe I am losing it,” he whispered to the empty night.
He got back into the car, his heart heavy. But then, the melody played back in his head. It wasn’t just a song. It was *the* song.
— “That’s the lullaby,” he realized aloud. “That’s what she sang to me every night before I went to sleep.”
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather washed over him. The connection was undeniable. This woman wasn’t just a stranger; she was the keeper of his history. He drove home that night with a singular mission: he was going to find out exactly who Eleanor was, even if it meant digging up every secret his father had taken to his grave.
The next morning, Michael woke up with a clarity he hadn’t felt in years. He spent the day searching public records and visiting the old neighborhood where he grew up. He went back to the farmer’s market, but her stall was empty. He felt a sense of desperation growing. On the fifth night, Susan sat him down.
— “Michael, you’re obsessed. You’re not sleeping. You’re talking about this woman like she’s a ghost and your mother at the same time.”
