It was like an echo from the past, or a dream that he was only just remembering. He recognized everything about the room, even though he was sure he’d never been there before. He knew the paintings on the walls, could name the artists who’d painted them. The only thing that puzzled him was that he didn’t know how or why he had found his way there now.
Daniel was reaching out and running his hands over the surfaces of the small end tables, the large red sofa, the frames of the paintings, and the fireplace mantle. He was so focused on remembering the room that he didn’t hear the light footsteps of the petite brunette who watched from the doorway.
“Welcome home.” She offered a polite smile and took a step into the room. She looked around and noticed he was stopped in front of the painting she had made for him years before.
“I can’t call this home. I don’t even know where I am.” He held his arms up gesturing around trying to indicate his need for understanding.
“You are home.” The brunette said in almost a whisper. “You went away for a while, and the doctors brought you home today.” She started picking at her fingers. “They said you were better.”
“I am just fine.” He let out a huff of anger and slammed his hand on the table. “I know who I am, who my family is, and everything else about my life. What I cannot figure out is who you are, where I am, and why you keep calling this my home.”
The brunette crossed her arms and walked over to him. She quickly held his face in between her hands and looked into his eyes. As all of the memories flooded back she smiled at him. He leaned in and kissed her.
“It only took you a hundred years to make your way back to me.”