After losing my memory, my life went on as usual, until I came across an old photograph. The image showed a boy whose face was unfamiliar to me, and yet, a strange feeling washed over me. Was he a stranger, or someone I should have remembered at all costs?
I stood in my apartment, feeling the silence pressing against my ears. I tried to remember if I had always been this alone.
After the accident, after the hospital, and after doctors told me my memory might never fully return, there was only one thing left to do: rebuild my life from what was left.
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A light knock at the door broke the silence. I didn’t have time to respond before it creaked open.
“Gregory.”
Eleanor, my neighbor, stood in the doorway. She always came in uninvited. She always looked confident and slightly ironic.
“How are you ?”
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“Alive, I guess,” I smiled. “They say I have to do everything like before.”
“Then let’s go get some coffee.” She raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You couldn’t function without it before the accident.”
I nodded slowly. It made sense to me.
“All right.”
We went outside, and I felt the sun tickle my skin. It was like I was rediscovering the world. We entered a small cafe on the corner.
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When the waiter asked for my order, I glanced at Eleanor.
“What do I usually take?”
“A double espresso. No sugar,” she replied without hesitation.
I nodded. “Then I’ll have a double espresso. No sugar.”
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The day passed doing things that should have seemed familiar but instead felt foreign. I took my camera, photographed people on the street, and even tried to write a column for my newspaper.
Everything was going well until I decided to go through my old things in the closet.
Among the books, notebooks, and other scraps, I found a photo. I was young, smiling, and standing next to a ten-year-old boy.
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On the other side it said “Children’s Hockey Club.” I didn’t remember this boy.
I stared at the photo for a long time, hoping a memory would surface. But there was nothing.
“Eleanor?” I showed her the picture. “Who is this boy?”
She studied the photo carefully.
“You’ve always loved photographing children. Maybe that was part of your job?”
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I looked at the boy again. He looked happy, just like me in the photo. But there was something in his eyes… something familiar.
Deep down, something told me that this was more than just a random photo.
***
The next morning, I was already sitting in my old convertible, checking my stash of medication. The trip would be long—six hours to the nearest hockey club. The interior in the photo was the closest I’d found online.
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“Gregory, this is a bad idea.” Eleanor stood beside the car. “You need to stay in familiar surroundings. It will help your memory.”
I didn’t answer, pressing the accelerator and listening to the rhythmic purr of the engine. Then, I finally looked at her.
“What if somewhere there was someone who needed me one day?”
Eleanor’s expression darkened.
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“And if that’s the case, there are reasons you lost touch. Delving into the past is dangerous.”
I gripped the steering wheel silently, but then I heard a noise that made me stop. The dull thud of a door closing. I turned my head and saw Eleanor in the passenger seat.
“I’m coming with you. At least I’ll keep you from starving on the way.”
I smiled. She was always there, even when I hadn’t noticed.
“Why am I alone, Eleanor?”
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She sighed, staring at the road ahead.
“Because you were obsessed with finding the biggest story of your career. Always searching for a sensation, traveling from city to city, capturing life’s fleeting moments…”
She smiled amusedly.
“What kind of woman would put up with that?”
I grimaced. “Oh, so I’m hard to deal with now?”
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“Oh, incredibly!” She rolled her eyes theatrically. “But someone has to do it.”
I laughed. So we hit the road together. And I felt good with Eleanor. I hadn’t felt this good in a long time.
Why have I never asked her out?
***
We arrived at the hockey club at noon. As I got out of the car, the crisp smell of ice and rubber coming from inside the rink reached me, triggering something distant but strangely familiar.
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Children wearing oversized helmets skated awkwardly across the ice, their small bodies wrapped in thick jerseys.
The sound of blades scraping the frozen surface made me shiver. I’d been here before. I was sure of it.
I had a blurry vision of the rink, of the cold air brushing my face, of my voice calling out to someone. A boy laughing. But before I could grasp it, the moment slipped away.
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“Gregory?” Eleanor’s voice brought me back to the present.
“I’ve been here before.”
She gave me a slight nod before pushing the door open.
The club’s reception desk was manned by a young woman. Behind her, trophies and framed team photos lined the walls, some dating back several years. I instinctively scanned them, but no faces jumped out at me.
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“Hello,” I said, approaching the counter. “I was hoping you could help me find someone.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Not exactly.”
This caught her attention. She finally looked up.
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“I have a picture,” I clarified, taking it out and sliding it across the counter. “It’s from a long time ago. This boy played hockey here. I need to know if anyone remembers him.”
“Sorry, I don’t know. I’ve only worked here for three years. If you don’t have a name, there’s not much I can do.”
“Maybe a coach?” Eleanor suggested. “Or someone who’s been here longer?”
The receptionist sighed, tapping away at her keyboard.
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“Most of our staff has changed over the years. If he played here as a kid, that was… what? Fifteen or twenty years ago? That’s before my time, sorry.”
She gave me a little shrug, the universal sign for “there’s nothing else I can do.”
This place meant something. I knew it. And I was so close, but I had nothing to hold onto.
“Are you looking for someone?”
I turned around and saw an older man standing near the entrance to the rink, wearing a security guard’s uniform. Hope flickered within me.
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“Yes,” I took a step closer and held up the photo. “Do you recognize this boy?”
The guard took the photo and held it up to his face. His brow furrowed. Finally, he nodded.
“Yes, I remember him.”
I held my breath.
“He always came with his dad,” the guard continued, handing me the photo. “A good kid. He loved the game. But he got hurt—a bad hit. After that, his hockey dreams ended.”
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Something inside me twisted painfully. “Do you know his name?”
The man hesitated for a moment, as if reaching into the depths of his memory. Then he nodded again.
“Jason. He lives nearby. Works in town. I see him sometimes.”
Then he tilted his head slightly, looking at me more closely. “You know… you both have familiar features.”
“Thank you,” I barely managed to say.
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I turned to Eleanor, my hands shaking.
“I have to see him.”
“If I could stop you…”
I knew one thing: my life would never be the same again.
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***
The house was modest but well-maintained, with a neatly trimmed lawn and a porch light that flickered softly in the early evening gloom. My heart pounded as I climbed the three short steps to the door.
What if I was wrong to come?
Before I could change my mind, the door opened.
A woman in her fifties appeared. As soon as she saw me, her lips tightened.
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I didn’t even have time to speak before she did.
“What are you doing here?”
I swallowed, clutching the old photo in my hand.
“I… I don’t remember much. I lost my memory after an accident. But I found this photo and I need to know who this boy is.”
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Her eyes flickered briefly to the photo before returning to me. She clenched her jaw.
“Don’t you remember?”
“No,” I answered honestly. “But I know it’s important. I feel it.”
A sharp exhale escaped her lips. She glanced at Eleanor.
“And your partner? Does she remember?”
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I turned to Eleanor, confused.
“What is she talking about?”
Eleanor’s gaze lowered slightly, avoiding mine. The woman in the doorway let out a bitter laugh.
“I see. It’s better this way, isn’t it?”
The door closed before I could say another word. The finality of this decision hit me like a slap in the face. Then, slowly, I turned to Eleanor.
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“Speak. Tell me what’s going on.”
Eleanor sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples.
“Jason is your son. And this woman is your ex-wife.”
I gasped. No. This can’t be true.
“Did you know that?”
“Yes,” Eleanor admitted. “But I didn’t want to tell you. Because the truth… the truth is painful, Gregory.”
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I couldn’t speak. My chest felt tight as if something was crushing me from the inside.
“She blamed you,” Eleanor continued. “Jason got hurt playing hockey, and she said it was your fault. She shut you out. She forbade you from seeing him. And you… you tried to move on, but you never could. You drowned yourself in work. And I… I was there.”
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I looked at her then, really looked at her.
“You and me…?”
“We were together for a while. I helped you pick up the pieces. But you never forgave yourself. You kept chasing things, running away from your own life. And finally… you moved into the apartment next to mine, and we became neighbors. And that was it.”
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I felt dizzy.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because for the first time in decades, you weren’t suffering. I thought… maybe being forgotten was a blessing.”
Suddenly, the front door creaked open again before I could say anything else. A young man stood there. Twenty-something, tall, heavily built. His dark brown eyes fixed on mine with a quiet intensity.
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“Are you Gregory?
“Yes.”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mom said I could come say hello.”
Jason. My son.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.
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He let out a small, almost nervous laugh. “So there are two of us.”
I felt Eleanor move next to me, her presence silently reassuring me.
“All my childhood memories,” Jason said, his voice softer now, “they’re with you.”
The weight of his words almost made my knees buckle.
“Do you want… a pizza?” I finally said.
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“Yes. I would like that.”
And as we walked toward the pizzeria, I finally realized—I didn’t want to be alone anymore.
“Jason, can I take a picture with you?” I asked.
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation.
“Do you think… Mom would agree?”
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“Oh, she feels guilty too. But that’s it for now. We’ve all made mistakes.” He smiled slightly. “And besides… I’m also a photographer.”
“Really ?”
Jason laughed. “Yeah. I guess it runs in the family.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “So we really are family.”
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“Now we just have to make up for lost time, Dad.”
I took the picture, capturing the moment for myself.
My last article was about my son. And it was the best one I’d ever written.
But more than that… I realized it was time to fix what had been broken for too long. Eleanor had always been by my side. It was finally time to stop running and let her stay.
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