Thirty-one years of searching, hoping, walling themselves up in silence. And now, in uniform, she stands in front of him.
Memories impossible to make
Michel decides to talk. He tells her anecdotes that only a father can know: the cuddly toy she never took off, her very own way of saying goodnight, a memorable fall on a tricycle in the garden. Details too precise to be invented. Clara listens attentively, torn between her sense of duty and something inexplicable that awakens in her.
Since her mother's disappearance, she had discovered a box full of old photographs whose meaning she had never really grasped. The pieces then begin to fit together.
