“I don’t know you!”
“And I know you. All your life…”
She opened the cabinet. On the shelf were more notebooks—dozens of them. All for me. Inside, photos from my childhood, notes about my first day of school, about my games.
“But how?” I cried.
Then she came closer and her face became younger, her eyes lit up.
“Because I am your mother.”
I stepped back.
“My mother died when I was five!”
She nodded.
“My body is dead. But my soul remains here. Thanks to you.”
Everything matched. The neighbors said he had lived there for “fifty years,” exactly since I lost my mother.
“It’s impossible…”
She touched my cheek. Coldly, but gently.
“I watch you every day. You’ve never been alone.”
The world was collapsing before my eyes.
