I bought a vintage blazer for my mom at a thrift store—just a small gift. But what I found in the pocket made her face go pale… and turned my quiet life upside down.
I had always lived with my mother. She was strong, practical, and slightly ironic. And very lonely. Just like me. We shared morning coffee in silence, folded laundry side by side, and watched reruns of old shows without talking much.
Still, there was comfort in the routine — in her presence, even if neither of us said how much we needed it.
“Back empty-handed again, Sofie Junior?” she used to joke, teasing me with her own name every time I returned from another date.
I tossed my bag on the chair and rolled my eyes.
She just sighed, looking at me like she already knew how the night went before I even said a word.
“You’re too much like me, Em. Waiting for something out of a book. But real men? Just wrinkles and someone else’s socks on your floor.”
She wasn’t wrong. My standards weren’t sky-high — just… specific. I wanted kindness. Honesty. A spark that didn’t burn out after two dinners and a long speech about a failed start-up.
Sometimes Mom joked that I was born without a trust gene.
And I laughed, even though I knew there was pain behind it. Because I never knew my father.
Mom never talked about him. She always said it didn’t matter. But it did, at least to me. Over the years, I learned not to ask. And Mom—never to explain. We simply lived. Lonely. Together.
Until one day, I walked into the local thrift shop. And walked out with something that changed all my life.
That day’s date had been especially awful. So, I walked out with no direction. My legs carried me somewhere on their own.
That’s when I saw the thrift shop window. I stepped inside, just to shift my focus from the failure to a vintage rack of jackets.
And then I saw it.
A brown checked blazer with delicate embroidery on the pocket. It felt… warm. Like something from the past, where everything smelled like coffee, smoke, and love.
Mom loved men’s clothes. She wore them her way, with brooches, scarves, and jewelry. I bought it without thinking.
A gift for her.
“Another date for the record books?” Mom joked as I walked in.
“Would’ve been better if I’d gone to confession instead.”
“Alright, off with your coat.”
“What? Don’t like it?” I leaned closer.
“No… it’s just… I’ve seen this jacket before.”
“Mom, it’s vintage. There are dozens like it.”
But she didn’t hear me. Her fingers trembled as they ran across the fabric.
I tried to lighten the mood with a smile.
“Try it on. Here, I’ll model it.”
I threw it over my shoulders and twirled in front of the mirror.
“Perfect fit, right? Like it was made for me.”
Then I slipped my hand into the pocket and felt something.
I pulled out a small note, yellowed, and creased with age. I unfolded it.
“I’ll wait for you at our place. Tomorrow, April 17. 5:00 PM. Yours, Sofie.”
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