My 70-year-old grandma received a Valentine’s gift from the only man she ever truly loved—a love she lost fifty years ago. When she refused to see him, afraid of the past, I knew I had to step in. Could I reunite them after all this time, or was their love meant to stay in the past?
Valentine’s Day can feel magical for those in relationships—romance in the air, couples in love, and happiness everywhere. But for those of us who are single, it’s a painful reminder of our solitude.
That year, feeling frustrated by all the love around me, I decided to visit my grandma in her quiet town to escape the overwhelming holiday.
Three days before Valentine’s Day, I was just counting down the time for it to pass. Suddenly, I heard my grandma calling my name.
“Natalie!” she called, urgently.
I walked into the room, where she was holding a letter. “I can’t find my glasses. Who’s this from?” she asked.
I read the name on the envelope: “It’s from someone named Todd.”
Her face changed. “Todd?” she whispered, stunned.
She quickly tore the letter open. Inside was a Valentine’s card and a folded note. She handed them to me, saying, “Read it.”
I opened the card, which simply said, “I still love you.” It was sweet, but the letter that followed was much more intense:
“My dearest Mary, fifty years ago, we had one night—one night that changed me forever. I never forgot you, but I didn’t know how to find you. You never came to the train station in Paris, and you broke my heart.”
My grandmother’s hands trembled as I read on:
“I found you through your granddaughter’s social media. If you still remember me, meet me at the New York train station on the same night we last saw each other. Forever yours, Todd.”
The room was silent. My throat tightened, and I glanced at my grandmother, who was crying.
“Who is Todd?” I asked softly.
She wiped her tears and said, “The only man I ever truly loved.”
I was shocked. “What about Grandpa?”
“I loved your grandfather,” she said. “But Todd… he understood me like no one else. We spent one night together in Paris, and I’ve never forgotten him.”
She told me about their chance meeting in Paris, how they spent a magical night together, and how they agreed to meet again a year later at the same train station. But her mother’s funeral had kept her from going, and she never managed to contact Todd.
She sighed. “It happened on February 14.”
“The most romantic day of the year,” I said quietly.
“I can’t go see him,” she said firmly. “I let him down once. I don’t know what would have happened if I had gone.”
“But he still wants to see you!” I argued.
“No. End of discussion,” she said, her mind made up.
Determined to help, I decided to take matters into my own hands. On Valentine’s Day, I told her we needed to run an errand together and tricked her into coming with me to the train station.
“Where are we going?” she asked suspiciously.
“To the New York train station,” I said.
Her face turned red. “No! Turn this car around!” she shouted.
But I kept driving.
When we arrived, she was still upset. “He’s not coming,” she muttered. But then, a man approached us, introducing himself as Justin, Todd’s grandson.
“I sent the letter,” he said. “Todd wants to see your grandmother, but he’s afraid she won’t want to see him.”
My grandmother turned to leave, but I stopped her. “Do you want to see Todd or not?”
After a moment of hesitation, she agreed, and we went with Justin to Todd’s apartment.
When Todd opened the door, his face lit up the moment he saw my grandmother.
“Mary…” he whispered.
My grandmother’s voice shook as she asked, “You remember me?”
Todd stepped forward and embraced her. She sobbed softly, holding onto him as if she never wanted to let go.
Justin turned to me, grinning. “We did it.”
I smiled. “Maybe we should celebrate with dinner?”
We’d brought them together, and it felt like a love story that had waited long enough to finally begin again.
As the seasons changed and the world continued its gentle dance through time, Mary and Todd moved forward together. Each day was a testament to the resilience of love, and each moment was a quiet reminder that even the deepest wounds could be healed by the tender glow of a second chance.
This piece is inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only.
Source: thecelebritist.com
