After losing my memory, life moved forward in a strange, quiet way. Days blurred together, and I tried to settle into a rhythm. But then, I found an old photograph of a boy I didn\u2019t recognize. Something about it felt\u2026 wrong. Was he a stranger? Or someone I should have never forgotten?<\/p>\n
I stood in my apartment, staring at the picture, the silence pressing against my ears. It felt like a ghost from a life I no longer remembered.<\/p>\n
After the accident, the doctors told me my memory might never fully return. So I had no choice but to rebuild my life from whatever pieces remained. I told myself it didn\u2019t matter. That I would be okay.<\/p>\n
But now, holding this photo, I wasn\u2019t so sure.<\/p>\n
A soft knock on the door broke the stillness. Before I could respond, the door creaked open.<\/p>\n
\u201cGregory.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eleanor, my neighbor, stepped inside. She always entered without an invitation, always carried herself with confidence, and always had that slight smirk as if she knew something I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you?\u201d she asked, tilting her head slightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlive, I guess,\u201d I forced a small smile. \u201cThey say I need to do everything as before.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen let\u2019s get coffee,\u201d she suggested. \u201cYou couldn\u2019t function without it before the accident.\u201d<\/p>\n
That sounded logical. I nodded. \u201cAlright.\u201d<\/p>\n
We stepped outside, and the sun hit my skin. It felt new, like I was rediscovering the world for the first time. We walked to a small caf\u00e9 on the corner. When the barista asked for my order, I hesitated, glancing at Eleanor.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do I usually get?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDouble espresso. No sugar,\u201d she said without hesitation.<\/p>\n
I nodded. \u201cThen I\u2019ll have a double espresso. No sugar.\u201d<\/p>\n
The day passed in a series of routines that should have felt familiar but didn\u2019t. I took my camera, photographed people on the streets, even tried to write a column for my newspaper. Everything was going smoothly\u2014until I went through my old belongings.<\/p>\n
Among the books, notebooks, and random objects, I found the photograph. A younger version of me stood next to a ten-year-old boy. We both looked happy. The back of the photo had a faded inscription: \u201cChildren\u2019s Hockey Club.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t remember that boy.<\/p>\n
I stared at the photo for a long time, hoping for some buried memory to resurface. But nothing came.<\/p>\n
\u201cEleanor?\u201d I called. \u201cWho\u2019s this kid?\u201d<\/p>\n
She studied the picture carefully. \u201cYou always loved photographing kids. Maybe he was part of your job?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the boy again. There was something in his eyes\u2014something familiar. Deep inside, something told me he was more than just a random child in a photograph.<\/p>\n
The next morning, I was in my old convertible, checking my medication. The closest hockey club matching the one in the photo was six hours away. I had to go.<\/p>\n
\u201cGregory, this is a bad idea,\u201d Eleanor stood by the car, arms crossed. \u201cYou need to stay in familiar surroundings. That\u2019s how you\u2019ll regain your memory.\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t answer. I pressed the gas pedal, listening to the steady hum of the engine. Then I turned to her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if there\u2019s someone out there who once needed me?\u201d<\/p>\n
Eleanor\u2019s expression darkened. \u201cAnd if there is, maybe there\u2019s a reason why you two lost touch. Digging into the past is dangerous.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before I could reply, I heard the thud of the passenger door closing. Eleanor was in the seat next to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m coming with you,\u201d she said. \u201cAt the very least, I\u2019ll keep you from starving on the way.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled. She was always there, even when I hadn\u2019t noticed.<\/p>\n
As we drove, the conversation drifted. I found myself asking, \u201cWhy am I alone, Eleanor?\u201d<\/p>\n
She sighed, gazing at the open road ahead. \u201cBecause you were obsessed with finding the greatest story of your career. Always chasing something, never settling.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smirked. \u201cWhat kind of woman would put up with that?\u201d<\/p>\n
I laughed. \u201cOh, so I\u2019m difficult now?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, incredibly,\u201d she rolled her eyes. \u201cBut someone has to handle you.\u201d<\/p>\n
For the first time in a long time, I felt good. Comfortable. Maybe even happy.<\/p>\n
The hockey club smelled of ice and rubber. Kids skated clumsily across the rink, their jerseys oversized. The sound of blades scraping against the ice sent a shiver down my spine. I had been here before. I was sure of it.<\/p>\n
A blurry memory flickered in my mind\u2014standing by the rink, the cold air on my face, my voice calling out to someone. A boy, laughing. But the moment slipped away before I could grab it.<\/p>\n
\u201cGregory?\u201d Eleanor\u2019s voice grounded me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been here before.\u201d<\/p>\n
We approached the front desk. A young woman looked up. \u201cCan I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I slid the photo onto the counter. \u201cDo you recognize this boy? He played here years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
She shook her head. \u201cI\u2019ve only been here three years. If it was fifteen, twenty years ago, I wouldn\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
Frustration built inside me. I was so close, yet had nothing to hold onto.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you looking for someone?\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned. An older security guard studied me carefully. I held up the photo.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah. I remember him,\u201d the guard nodded. \u201cHe always came with his father. Good kid. Loved hockey. But he got injured\u2014bad hit. That was the end of his hockey dreams.\u201d<\/p>\n
Something twisted in my chest. \u201cDo you know his name?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man hesitated, then nodded. \u201cJason. Lives nearby. Works in town. I see him sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n
He tilted his head. \u201cYou know\u2026 you two look alike.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned to Eleanor, my hands trembling. \u201cI need to see him.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sighed. \u201cIf I could stop you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
The house was modest, well-kept. My heart pounded as I knocked.<\/p>\n
A woman in her early fifties opened the door. The moment she saw me, her lips pressed into a tight line.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n
I swallowed. \u201cI lost my memory after an accident. But I found this photo and\u2026 I need to know who this boy is.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes flickered to the picture, then back to me. She clenched her jaw. \u201cYou don\u2019t remember?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I admitted. \u201cBut I know it\u2019s important.\u201d<\/p>\n
A bitter laugh escaped her. \u201cAnd your companion? Does she remember?\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced at Eleanor. \u201cWhat is she talking about?\u201d<\/p>\n
The woman let out a sharp exhale. \u201cI see. It\u2019s better this way.\u201d<\/p>\n
She shut the door.<\/p>\n
I turned to Eleanor, my pulse racing. \u201cTalk. Now.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eleanor sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. \u201cJason is your son. And that woman is your ex-wife.\u201d<\/p>\n
My breath caught. No. That couldn\u2019t be right.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou knew?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d she admitted. \u201cBut the truth is painful. Your ex blamed you when Jason got hurt. She shut you out. You tried to move on, but you never really did.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before I could respond, the door opened again.<\/p>\n
A young man stood there. Tall. Strong. Dark brown eyes\u2014my eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you Gregory?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
He exhaled. \u201cMom said I could say hello.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jason. My son.<\/p>\n
I swallowed hard. \u201cWould you\u2026 like to get pizza?\u201d<\/p>\n
Jason smiled. \u201cYeah. I\u2019d like that.\u201d<\/p>\n
And for the first time, I felt whole again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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