In May 1995 on the Oregon coast, Vianne is unable to stop thinking about an invitation to a Paris reunion honoring the “Nightingale,” also known as Juliette Gervaise. She stares at the envelope, unnerved by how powerfully it pulls at memories she has tried to lock away for decades.

A French caller reaches Vianne and asks whether she will attend the AFEES reunion the next night, explaining that earlier invitations were returned and that organizers struggled to find her. Vianne insists people want Juliette, not her, and says “Juliette” has not existed for a long time, but the caller counters that Vianne’s presence would matter to many.

Overwhelmed, Vianne abruptly hangs up, but the call plants a decisive thought: going back to France. She reflects that she built a life in America by burying what she “had done to survive,” telling her family there was nothing left for her in France, but she can no longer keep those memories contained.

Without carefully weighing the choice, Vianne books a flight to Paris via New York and packs a small carry-on with basic clothes and cherished pearl earrings from her late marriage. Her actions are driven less by planning than by compulsion, as if the invitation has forced the past into the present.

Just before leaving, Vianne calls her son, Julien, and reaches his answering machine. She leaves a cheerful message about a weekend trip, then admits she has let him believe she was weak and deferential all his life and closes with an unfinished confession: “I should have told you the truth.” When the taxi arrives, Vianne goes.