My seventy-year-old grandmother received a Valentine’s present from the only man she had ever genuinely loved—a romance she had lost five decades ago. But when she refused to meet him, fearful of what memories the past might bring, I knew I had to intervene. Could I bring them back together after all these years, or were some love stories meant to remain unfinished?
When you’re in a relationship, Valentine’s Day feels like a magical celebration—love is everywhere, couples are lost in romance, and joy fills the air.
But if you’re single, it becomes nothing more than a cruel reminder of loneliness—romance is inescapable, affectionate couples seem excessive, and happiness feels exclusive to everyone but you.
It wasn’t just the day itself; it was the entire build-up to it. I could practically hear the universe laughing at me.
Being unattached, I had grown tired of all the heart-shaped decorations, stuffed animals, and bouquets of flowers.
To get away from it all, I decided to visit my grandmother. She lived in a small town where life moved at a slower pace, and holidays didn’t seem so overwhelming.
With three days left until Valentine’s Day, I counted each one, eagerly waiting for it to pass.
I just wanted life to return to normal, free from the relentless reminder of my solitary status.
Suddenly, my grandmother’s voice rang from the other room.
“Natalie!” Her tone was sharp, urgent.
“Yes?” I responded, stepping inside.
She sat in her usual chair by the window, a letter clutched in her hand. She lifted the envelope, frowning. “I misplaced my glasses.