When you’re in a relationship, Valentine’s Day feels like a magical holiday—romance everywhere, couples in love, and happiness all around. But when you’re single, it becomes nothing more than a cruel joke, a reminder of how alone you are, surrounded by an endless parade of hearts, plush toys, and flowers that seem to mock your solitude.
To escape the overwhelming atmosphere, I decided to visit my grandmother in her quiet little town. Things always moved at a slower pace there, and holidays didn’t feel as over-the-top. With three days left until Valentine’s Day, I found myself counting them down, impatient for the moment it would all be over so life could return to normal.
I was lost in my own thoughts when I suddenly heard my grandmother call my name. Her voice was sharp, urgent, cutting through the stillness of the house.
I walked into the living room and saw her sitting in her usual spot by the window, a letter in her hand. She held up the envelope, frowning. “I can’t find my glasses. Who is this letter from?”
I took the envelope from her, glancing at the handwriting. It was neat, careful, and unfamiliar. Flipping it over, I saw a name scrawled on the back. “It’s from someone named Todd,” I said.
Her face changed instantly. “Todd?” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “That… that can’t be.”
Before I could ask anything else, she snatched the letter from my hands, her fingers trembling as she tore it open. A small Valentine’s card slipped out, along with a folded note. She picked them both up, staring at them as if afraid they might disappear. Then, after a long pause, she held them out to me.
“Read it,” she said, her voice uneven.
I opened the Valentine’s card first. The message was simple, yet profound. “I still love you.” My chest tightened. “That’s… really sweet,” I said.
She didn’t respond, her eyes locked on the unopened letter in my hands. “What does the letter say?” she pressed.
I took a deep breath and unfolded the paper, the elegant handwriting standing out against the crisp white page. The words were deliberate, as if written with great care.
“My dearest Mary, fifty years ago, you and I had just one night. One night that changed me forever. I never forgot you, but I had no idea how to find you. You never came to the train station in Paris that day, and you broke my heart forever.”
I swallowed hard, glancing up at my grandmother. She sat frozen, her hands clasped together as though holding onto something invisible.
“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 same night we last saw each other. Forever yours, Todd.”
Silence filled the room. My throat felt tight. I blinked back tears, but my grandmother didn’t even try to hold hers back.
“Who is Todd?” I asked softly.
She wiped her face with her sleeve and took a shaky breath. “The only man I ever truly loved,” she whispered.
I stared at her, trying to process what I had just heard. “What? What about Grandpa?”
She looked down at the letter in her lap, her fingers tracing the edges. “I loved your grandfather,” she said. “But I loved Todd with the kind of love they write poems and songs about. Even though we only had one night together, he understood me better than anyone ever did.”
“This happened in Paris?” I asked.
She nodded, a small, wistful smile tugging at her lips. “I was there as a tourist. Todd was a student. We met on the subway. We spent the whole night walking through the city, talking… The next morning, I had to fly home. Todd took me to the train station so I could get to the airport, and we agreed to meet one year later, same day, same station.”
“And what happened?”
Her smile faded. She swallowed hard. “My mother died. Her funeral was on the same day I was supposed to fly to Paris to meet Todd.”
I exhaled slowly. “Did you tell him?”
“How?” she asked, shaking her head. “I didn’t have his address. There were no mobile phones back then.”
“So you never saw him again?”
She shook her head.
“What day was it?”
Her voice was barely audible. “February 14.”
I sighed, staring down at the letter. “The most romantic day of the year, in the most romantic city on Earth.”
A sad smile touched her lips.
“You have to go meet him,” I said.
Her face hardened. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“I let him down that day. Who knows how our lives would have turned out if I had gone?”
“But he wants to see you now!” I argued.
Her hands gripped the letter tightly. “No. End of discussion.”
I knew my grandmother was a stubborn woman. Once she made up her mind, there was no changing it. So I had to take matters into my own hands.
On February 14, I grabbed my car keys. “Grandma, I need to run an errand. Come with me,” I said casually.
She looked up from her knitting. “What kind of errand?”
“It’ll be quick,” I said. “I don’t want to go alone.”
She sighed and stood up. “Fine, fine. Let me get my coat.”
We got in the car, and the first few minutes of the drive were quiet. Then, she glanced out the window and frowned. “Natalie, where exactly are we going?”
I hesitated. “To the train station.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Which train station?”
I cleared my throat. “New York.”
Her head snapped toward me. “What?! No way! Turn this car around!”
“No,” I said firmly.
She huffed and crossed her arms. “Then I am not speaking to you anymore.”
The rest of the drive was silent. When we arrived at the train station, she didn’t move.
“Come on,” I said.
She glared at me. “He’s not coming.”
I scanned the crowd, searching for an elderly man. My heart pounded. But I saw no one.
Just as disappointment began to sink in, a young man approached us. “Are you Mary?” he asked.
She straightened. “Yes. Who are you?”
“My name is Justin. I’m Todd’s grandson,” he said. “I sent you the letter.”
My jaw dropped. “What?! Does Todd even know about this?”
Justin hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “But he told me he had spent his whole life regretting that he never found you. I couldn’t sit back and do nothing.”
My grandmother shook her head. “We shouldn’t have come.”
“Wait,” I said. “How do I know Todd won’t just slam the door in her face?”
Justin’s eyes softened. “He won’t. Every word in that letter was his. I just wrote it because he didn’t have the courage to.”
She scoffed. “If he really wanted this, he would have written it himself.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, you didn’t go to Paris fifty years ago, and you were scared to come here, too. So… do you want to see Todd or not?”
She hesitated.
“Please,” Justin said. “I just want to make my grandfather happy.”
I took a breath. “We’ll go.”
When Todd opened the door, his face changed the moment he saw her.
“Mary…” he whispered.
She smiled softly. “You remember me.”
His eyes filled with emotion. “How could I ever forget?”
Without another word, Todd pulled her into his arms, and she let out a small sob as she clung to him.
Justin turned to me. “We did good.”
I smiled. “Yeah. We did.”