I was living my normal, everyday life until one of my students handed me a Valentine. At first, I thought nothing of it—just another sweet gesture from a child. But when I unfolded the card and read the words inside, my heart stopped. It was mine. A Valentine I had written years ago, meant for someone I had once loved. I had to know how it ended up in his hands—even if it changed everything.
Most people think being an elementary school teacher is a walk in the park, but they couldn’t be more wrong. College professors never have to pull chewing gum out of someone’s hair while the culprit watches, giggling. They don’t have to scrub permanent marker off desks or rush a rug to the dry cleaner because a student didn’t make it to the bathroom in time. That’s the reality of teaching young kids.
But despite the chaos, I loved my job. Kids had this incredible way of turning the most exhausting days into something magical. They were like tiny tornadoes, wild and unpredictable—but every now and then, you’d find a calm within the storm.
That’s how I felt about Mark.
Mark was different from the others. He was one of those children who seemed too pure for this world, like he was made of kindness itself. Quiet but never timid, polite without being stiff. He always had a small gift for me—sometimes a drawing, other times a flower he had found on the way to school. Once, he proudly handed me a napkin, carefully folded to look like a swan.
He had only been in my class for a month, still adjusting. The other kids hadn’t quite welcomed him yet, and sometimes I had to step in when they left him out. But Mark never seemed upset.
“I just feel sorry for them,” he told me one day with a small shrug. “They don’t know how to be nice.”
See? A real angel.
Mark often stayed behind during breaks, chatting with me while I graded papers. I learned that his family had moved a lot—different cities, different countries. His father was a journalist, and now, finally, they were staying here. I often wondered about his parents, who had raised such a wonderful child, but I had never met them. It was always his nanny who picked him up.
Then came Valentine’s Day.
Mark approached my desk, shifting nervously from foot to foot, his small hands hiding something behind his back. His eyes flickered up at me, then back down.
“I wanted to give you a Valentine,” he mumbled softly.
“For me?” I asked, surprised.
He nodded. “You’re a great teacher.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mark. Thank you.”
He gave a quick nod and turned, ready to leave.
“Wait,” I said. “Where’s the Valentine?”
Mark’s eyes widened as if he had completely forgotten. “Oh!” He pulled out a small card, almost dropping it as he placed it on my desk.
I picked it up. Something about it felt strangely familiar. I unfolded it.
“To the funniest and smartest boy I know. Don’t you dare forget me. Yours, Annie.”
The words blurred as I stared at them. My breath caught in my throat. My handwriting. My Valentine.
“Mark,” I whispered, my voice barely steady. “Where did you get this?”
“In my dad’s stuff,” he said with a shrug. “It even has your name on it. Do you like it?”
I swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “Yes, Mark. I love it.”
He beamed and ran off, leaving me frozen. Had he really kept it after all these years?
Memories hit me like a crashing wave. Jason.
My first love. My only real love.
We had spent our teenage years wrapped in dreams of the future. College, careers, a life together—nothing could break us. Until, one day, Jason came to school looking like his whole world had collapsed.
“We’re moving to Europe,” he said, his voice cracking. “My dad got a job offer there.”
He didn’t even try to hold back the tears. He just collapsed into my arms, shaking.
“Jason, no,” I whispered, even though I already knew there was nothing I could do.
Our last day together was Valentine’s Day. I gave him that card. I watched him read it, his eyes glassy with emotion.
“Even if I wanted to, I could never forget you,” he had said before pulling me into a tight embrace. But time didn’t stop for us. Jason left.
I never heard from him again.
Now, staring at that Valentine, my heart raced. I needed answers.
I opened Mark’s file, my hands shaking. His father’s name: Jason.
I barely remembered the drive to the address listed. My heart pounded as I stood at the door. I rang the bell, bracing myself.
The door swung open, and I found myself looking at a woman. She was stunning—tall, poised, with a kind of effortless grace.
“Can I help you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.
I forced a smile. “I’d like to speak with Jason.”
She raised an eyebrow. “He’s not home. What is this about?”
“Are you Mark’s new nanny?” I asked. “I’d really like to talk to his father.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “I’m Katherine. Jason’s wife. Mark’s mother. And you are?”
Jason’s wife. My stomach twisted.
“I’m Miss Annie,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Mark’s teacher.”
Her smile was cool. “Nice to meet you.”
I nodded, murmured a goodbye, and walked back to my car. The moment I shut the door, the tears came. What had I expected? That Jason would still be waiting for me after all these years? That he had never stopped thinking about me?
That night, I curled up on my couch with ice cream, drowning in self-pity.
Then, a few days later, a deep voice stopped me after class.
“Good afternoon. My son gave you a Valentine a few days ago. I know this is a strange request, but that card is important to me. I’d like it back.”
The voice was too familiar.
I stood too fast, hitting my head against a shelf. “Ouch!”
“Oh, are you okay?” the man asked, stepping closer.
“I’m fine,” I said, rubbing my head—then froze.
“Jason…” I whispered.
His eyes widened. “Annie…”
For a moment, we just stared.
“Katherine said you weren’t home,” I finally blurted out.
Jason sighed. “She’s my ex. We divorced years ago. She probably wanted to scare you away.”
I let out a small, surprised laugh.
“So,” he said, his eyes warm, “am I still the funniest guy you know?”
I swallowed. “Why did you keep the Valentine?”
Jason stepped closer. “Because of you.”
I barely breathed. “You came back for me?”
Jason nodded. “I was scared to look for you. I thought you might have forgotten me.”
“I never forgot you,” I whispered.
And when Jason smiled, I felt something I hadn’t in years—hope.
Maybe, after all this time, we could have a happy ending.
