My dearest Mary,
Fifty years ago, we had one night. One night that changed me forever. I never forgot you, but I had no way to find you. You never showed up at the train station in Paris that day… and it broke my heart.
But I found you—through your granddaughter’s social media. If you still remember me, if that night meant anything to you, meet me at the New York train station on the anniversary of the day we last saw each other.
Forever yours, Todd.
Silence filled the room.
When I looked up, tears streamed down my grandmother’s face.
“Who is Todd?” I asked gently.
She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, her voice barely above a whisper.
“The only man I ever truly loved.”
My stomach dropped.
“What about Grandpa?”
She gave a sad smile. “I loved your grandfather. But Todd… Todd was different. The kind of love they write songs about.”
I swallowed hard. “So, what happened?”
She let out a shaky breath. “I met Todd in Paris. I was a tourist, he was a student. We spent an entire night walking the city, talking, laughing… falling in love. The next morning, I had to fly home. We promised to meet exactly one year later—same time, same place.”
I held my breath. “And?”
“My mother died,” she said softly. “Her funeral was the same day I was supposed to meet Todd.”
I exhaled. “Did you try to contact him?”
She shook her head. “There were no cell phones. No way to reach him.”
She stared down at the letter in her lap.
“That was the last time I ever saw him.”
I leaned forward. “You have to go meet him.”
Her face hardened. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
She gripped the letter. “I let him down once. I won’t do it again.”
“But he wants to see you!” I argued.
Her jaw clenched. “No. End of discussion.”
My grandmother was stubborn. But so was I.
So, I did what any good granddaughter would do.
I tricked her.
