Valentine for an Old Love
Fiction - Short Story
Katie Winslow had a secret. Once every year, she climbed the creaky wooden stairs to the attic as she had every Valentine’s Day for the past thirty years.
One more time, she blew the dust off the old camelback steamer trunk and lifted its lid. There among nameless relatives in musty photo albums, recipe books from grandmas she never knew, and three pairs of bronzed baby shoes was a yellowed size-six shoebox tied with ivory ribbon. It patiently rested there, waiting for each Valentine's Day.
Inside the shoebox was her secret. She always saved that for last, because it made her cry. First, a valentine she never sent. The love it represented ran its course a whole lifetime ago, Katie thought sadly.
It was strange. The memory is still as fresh today as the scent of the blood red roses he brought her every Wednesday. It had been so romantic, learning he chose this way to remind her they first met on a Wednesday.
A deep sigh escaped her, as she allowed herself this time to remember. They had been so much in love. But miles and years stood between them now and the youthful he and she long since moved on, each taking a different path with their life.
Too many times, Katie felt regret for what might have been, had she been free. It was like the words to an old song she used to hear on the radio. God knows, ‘it’s sad to belong to someone else when the right one comes along’. She knew the pain of their breakup would always stay an open wound.
From the shoe box Katie took out her cherished secret. It was a beautiful card he sent her just after their last weekend together. She traced the embossed flowers on the card with her finger, then the delicate ecru ribbon where the diamond ring had been looped, hanging, along with this tiny handwritten note: “Will You?”
I will always love you. I will always care. Rarely does love like that come along —if you ever get to experience it. I'm eternally grateful I did.
“I will always regret my decision.” (There, I’ve said it again).
He will always be in my heart and one more time, I wonder what might have been, had I put a stamp on this valentine and dropped it in the mailbox.
Katie brushed another tear away, kissed the valentine, and sent out the familiar wish from her heart to his:
“For what we had, I wish you love.”
This reminds me of an 82 yr. old woman I befriended many years ago in Chicago. She had abandoned the love of her life because her parents forbade her to continue seeing the man because he was a Free Mason. She met him at a funeral many years later after she'd had her first child and they had a precious few moments together in an empty quiet room to talk. Her marriage was not a happy one but she never allowed herself to feel her deep regret until she found in me a true friend in which she could confide.