“Eleanor,” he said, his voice a soothing melody. “Welcome. It’s been far too long.”

I searched his face, trying to ascertain the connection that eluded me. “Do I know you?” I asked, my voice trembling with curiosity and the residual weight of grief.

He smiled, a sad, knowing smile that spoke of shared history and hidden truths. “We have much to discuss. But first, you should rest.”

Inside the house, the air was rich with the scent of lavender and woodsmoke, a comforting blend that immediately set me at ease. Pierre led me to a room on the second floor, its windows overlooking a sea of rolling vineyards. There, amidst the gentle patter of rain against the glass, I drifted into a much-needed sleep, my dreams a patchwork of distant memories and unvoiced fears.