A Valentine’s Day 50 Years in the Making
My 70-year-old grandma just got a Valentine’s gift from the only man she ever truly loved—a love she lost five decades ago. But when she refused to see him, afraid of what the past might bring, I knew I had to step in. Could I reunite them after all this time? Or were some love stories meant to stay unfinished?
Valentine’s Day is magical when you’re in love—roses, candlelit dinners, happy couples everywhere. But when you’re single? It’s just a cruel joke. A giant, heart-shaped reminder that you’re alone.
So, with three days left before the dreaded holiday, I escaped to my grandma’s house—a quiet town, no pressure, no constant reminders of my painfully single status.
Or so I thought.
Saturday morning, as I sipped my coffee, her voice cut through the silence.
“Natalie!” she called, urgency in her tone.
I found her by the window, clutching a letter. She held it out, frowning.
“I can’t find my glasses. Who is this from?”
I took the envelope, glancing at the neat, unfamiliar handwriting. Then, I flipped it over and saw the name scrawled on the back.
“It’s from someone named Todd,” I said.
Her face went pale.
“That… that can’t be.”
She snatched the letter from my hands, her fingers trembling as she tore it open. A small Valentine’s card and a folded note slipped out. She stared at them for a moment, then, without a word, handed them to me.
“Read it,” she whispered.
I unfolded the card first.
“I still love you.”
My breath caught.
I hesitated, then opened the letter. The handwriting was elegant, careful—like someone had poured their heart into every word.
