Ten years ago, on prom night, Peter made a promise to Sally, his high school sweetheart. Standing beneath the bright lights of the gymnasium, the two of them swayed together to the soft hum of violins, their hearts beating in unison. Even though life was pulling them in different directions, they held on tightly to each other, as if their love could keep them from drifting apart.
“I’ll be there,” Peter vowed to Sally, gazing into her eyes. “Ten years from now, Christmas Eve, in Times Square. I promise.”
Sally, tears streaming down her face, whispered, “But what about us? What about our dream?”
Peter’s heart ached, but he knew deep down that some dreams were bigger than the two of them. “No matter where life takes us,” he promised, his voice shaking, “I’ll be there. I’ll be waiting for you.”
Sally smiled, though it was bittersweet. “Even if we have families? Even if we’re married?”
“Especially then,” Peter said, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Because our connection is stronger than anything else.”
Over the years, they stayed in touch with letters. These letters were their lifeline, a way to hold on to the love they once shared. But one day, Sally’s letters stopped coming. Peter waited, hoping she would write again, but the days turned into months, and then years, without a word from her. Despite the silence, Peter never lost hope. He still believed in their promise—he still believed she’d show up on Christmas Eve.
Now, standing in the middle of Times Square, the Christmas lights twinkling all around him, Peter’s heart raced with excitement and nervousness. He was looking for a flash of yellow—the yellow umbrella Sally had promised to carry. Snowflakes danced in the air as he waited, the crowd rushing around him. His eyes scanned every face, hoping to see the one person who meant everything to him.
The minutes ticked by, then an hour, and with each passing second, Peter’s heart sank a little more. The hope that had kept him going for so long was starting to fade. Just when he was about to give up, a small voice cut through the noise of the crowd.
“Are you Peter?”
Peter turned to see a young girl standing in front of him, no older than eight. She had curly brown hair and a pale, familiar face. Her green eyes—Sally’s eyes—locked onto his with an intensity that took his breath away.
“Yes, I’m Peter,” he said, his voice trembling. “Who are you?”
The girl held out the yellow umbrella, her hands shaking. “My name is Betty,” she said softly. “Mom said I’d find you here.”
Peter’s chest tightened. “Mom? Sally?”
Betty’s eyes filled with sorrow as she nodded. “She’s not coming. She… she passed away two years ago.”
Peter staggered back, his legs giving way as the words hit him like a blow. “No… that can’t be true.”
Before he could process the shock, an older couple approached him. The man, with silver hair and a gentle expression, stepped forward. The woman by his side, with a sad but kind face, took Peter’s hand.
“Peter,” the man said in a soft voice. “I’m Felix. Sally’s father. This is my wife. We’ve heard so much about you.”
Peter shook his head in disbelief, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t she tell me? About Betty? About everything?”
Sally’s mother, Mrs. Felix, stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly. “Sally didn’t want to burden you,” she explained gently. “She found out she was pregnant after moving to Paris. She thought you’d moved on, and with your mother being sick, she didn’t want to add more pain to your life.”
Betty tugged on Peter’s sleeve, her voice small but strong. “Before she died, Mom told me you loved her more than anything. She said you’d keep your promise.”
Peter sank to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he pulled Betty into his arms. “I never stopped loving her,” he whispered. “I never will. And I’ll never stop loving you.”
Mrs. Felix handed Peter an old, worn diary. “She wrote this for you,” she said softly. “Her dreams, her regrets, and her love for you. It’s all in here.”
Peter’s hands shook as he opened the diary. As he flipped through the pages, memories of Sally came flooding back. There were her thoughts, her hopes, and the love she had never stopped feeling for him. Among the pages, a photo fell out—a picture of Peter and Sally from prom night. They were smiling, full of life, as if nothing could ever pull them apart.
In the months that followed, Peter did his best to care for Betty. He brought her to the United States, and together they turned his quiet apartment into a home filled with laughter and love. Every night, Peter would tell Betty stories of Sally—their love, the dreams they shared, and the strength Sally had passed down to her daughter.
On the first Christmas they spent together, Peter took Betty to visit Sally’s grave. A bouquet of yellow roses lay on the snow-covered ground, a tribute to a love that had never died.
“Mom used to say yellow was the color of new beginnings,” Betty whispered, squeezing Peter’s hand.
Peter looked at her, his voice thick with emotion. “She was right. And she would be so proud of you.”
As they stood together, surrounded by the quiet beauty of the winter landscape, Peter realized that while he had lost Sally, he had gained something just as precious—a part of her that would live on in Betty. In her laughter, her courage, and her love, Sally remained with him. And as Peter looked down at his daughter, he knew that their story wasn’t one of loss, but of enduring love and new beginnings.
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