“Ten years from now, Christmas Eve, Times Square. I promise I’ll be there,” Peter vowed to his high school sweetheart Sally on prom night. A decade later, he showed up with hope in his heart. But instead of Sally, a young girl approached, bearing a crushing truth that would change his life forever.
The music was soft, a gentle hum of violins blending with the muffled laughter of their classmates. Peter tightened his grip on Sally’s hands, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles like he could memorize her touch. Her mascara had smudged from crying, black streaks lining her flushed cheeks.
“I don’t want to go,” she said, her voice breaking.
A romantic couple at a prom | Source: Midjourney
Peter’s eyes glistened, fighting back tears he refused to shed. “I know,” he breathed, pulling her closer. “God, Sally, I don’t want you to go either. But some dreams are bigger than us.”
“Are they?” Sally challenged, her green eyes fierce with emotion. “What about our dream? What about everything we planned?” Her fingers intertwined with his.
“You must go,” Peter whispered. “Your family, your dreams… You’ve always wanted to study in Europe. I can’t hold you back. I won’t be the reason you shrink your world.”
A tear escaped, trailing down Sally’s cheek. “But what about us?” Her voice cracked, those three words carrying the weight of every shared moment, every stolen kiss, and every promise they’d ever made.
An emotional, teary-eyed young woman | Source: Midjourney
He pulled her closer, the space between them shrinking to nothing. “We’ll meet again,” he said, his voice steady despite the chaos inside.
“If we ever lose touch, promise me we’ll meet on Christmas Eve, ten years from now… at Times Square,” Sally whispered, a trembling smile breaking through her tears. “I’ll be holding a yellow umbrella. That’s how you’ll find me.”
“Ten years from now, Christmas Eve, Times Square. Even if life takes us separate ways, I promise I’ll be there, looking for the most beautiful lady with a yellow umbrella, no matter what,” Peter vowed.
Sally’s laugh was bitter, tinged with heartbreak. “Even if we’re married or have kids? You must come… just to talk. And to tell me that you’re happy and successful.”
“Especially then,” Peter responded, his fingers gently wiping away her tears. “Because some connections transcend time and circumstances.”
A sad young man with his eyes downcast | Source: Midjourney
They held each other in the middle of the dance floor, the world moving around them… two hearts beating in perfect, painful synchronization, knowing that some goodbyes are really just elaborate see-you-laters.
Time passed like leaves on a breeze. Peter and Sally remained in touch, mainly through letters. Then one day, she stopped writing. Peter was crushed, but the hope of meeting her kept him going.
Ten years later, Times Square sparkled with Christmas lights and the buzz of holiday cheer.
Peter stood near the towering Christmas tree, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. Snowflakes danced in the air, melting as they landed on his dark hair. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a flash of yellow.
A man standing on the street | Source: Midjourney
He hadn’t seen her in years, but he knew he’d recognize her anywhere. Sally was unforgettable. The way her laughter bubbled up when she teased him, the way her nose scrunched when she read something too serious… he remembered it all.
Each passing moment was a thread of memory, pulling tight around his heart.
The crowds shifted and swirled, tourists and locals mixing in a kaleidoscope of holiday excitement. Peter’s watch ticked away. First minutes, then an hour. The yellow umbrella remained a phantom, always just out of sight. Then suddenly, someone called out from behind.
The voice was small and hesitant. So small it could have been carried away by the winter wind. He turned sharply, his heart pounding so hard he could hear its rhythm in his ears.
A man looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
A little girl stood behind him, a yellow umbrella clutched in her hands. Her brown curls framed her pale face, her eyes wide and impossibly familiar as they met his.
“Are you Peter?” she asked, softer this time, as if afraid of breaking some delicate spell.
Peter crouched to her level, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. His hands, usually steady, trembled slightly as he met her gaze. “Yes, I’m Peter. Who are you?”
The girl bit her lip, a gesture so achingly reminiscent of someone he once knew that it made his breath catch. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, the yellow umbrella wobbling slightly in her small hands.
“My name’s Betty,” she whispered. “She… she’s not coming.”
A sad girl holding an umbrella | Source: Midjourney
A chill that had nothing to do with the winter air crept up Peter’s spine. Something in her eyes, in the careful way she held herself, spoke of a story far more complicated than a chance encounter.
“Wh-what do you mean? Who are you?” he asked, the words coming out more like a plea than a question.
“I’M YOUR DAUGHTER,” she whispered. Tears welled in her eyes. They were green… startlingly, unmistakably green. The same shade he remembered from a dance floor a decade ago.
Peter’s chest tightened, a vise of emotion squeezing around his heart. “Mmm-My Daughter?” he managed, though some part of him already knew the answer would change everything.
A shocked man | Source: Midjourney
Before Betty could respond, an older couple approached. The man was tall, his hair silver, and the woman clutched his arm, her face kind but etched with a sorrow that seemed to have carved permanent lines around her eyes and mouth.
“We found him,” Betty said, her voice brimming with nervousness and expectation.
The man nodded and turned to Peter, his gaze steady and penetrating. “Hello, Peter,” he said, his voice deep and measured. “I’m Felix and this is my wife. We’re Sally’s parents. We’ve heard so much about you.”
Peter froze, confusion swirling in his mind like a storm threatening to break. His legs felt unsteady, and his heart raced with dread. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “Where’s Sally? And what does this girl mean by she’s ‘my daughter?’”
A sad older couple | Source: Midjourney
The older woman’s lip quivered, a fragile movement that spoke volumes. Her words fell like stones, each one shattering a piece of Peter’s world. “She passed away two years ago. Cancer.”
Peter staggered back as if the words had physically struck him. “No… No, that can’t be true,” he repeated, the denial a desperate prayer.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Felix said softly, his voice laden with a compassion that felt like a gentle, merciless embrace. “She… she didn’t want you to know.”
Betty’s small hand tugged on Peter’s sleeve, a lifeline in a moment of emotional destruction. “Before she died, Mom told me you loved her like she was the most precious thing in the world,” she whispered, her voice filled with childlike innocence.
An emotional girl looking up at someone | Source: Midjourney
Peter sank to his knees again, the world spinning around him. His voice trembled, each word a broken piece of a shattered dream. “Why didn’t she tell me? About you? About her illness? Why didn’t she let me help?”
Mrs. Felix stepped forward, her hands clasped. “She found out she was pregnant with your child after she moved to Paris,” she explained. “She didn’t want to burden you. She knew your mother was sick, and you had so much on your plate. She thought you’d moved on, that you were happy.”
“Happy?” Peter’s laugh was a raw, broken sound. “But I never stopped loving her,” he said, his voice breaking like glass, sharp and painful. “Never.”
An emotional man holding his head | Source: Midjourney
Mrs. Felix pulled a small, worn diary from her bag. “We found this after she passed,” she said softly, her fingers brushing the faded cover with a tenderness that spoke of countless moments of grief and remembrance.
“She wrote about you, about how excited she was to see you again today… at this particular spot. That is how we knew. She… she never stopped loving you, Peter.”
Peter took the diary with hands that trembled like autumn leaves, each movement careful, almost reverent. The pages were filled with Sally’s neat handwriting — a beautiful script that seemed to dance between lines of hope and heartbreak.
His fingers traced the words, each paragraph a window into a love that had never truly died.
A man holding an old brown diary | Source: Midjourney
A photograph from their prom night fell between the pages — young Sally and Peter, lost in each other’s eyes, the world around them nothing more than a soft, indistinct backdrop.
Pressed carefully between paragraphs describing Betty’s dreams and Sally’s deepest regrets, the picture was a silent token to a love that had endured despite impossible circumstances.
Tears blurred his vision, transforming the words into a watercolor of emotion. Sally’s hopes, her fears, her extraordinary love… all captured in these fragile pages. He looked up, meeting Betty’s wide, nervous eyes. Eyes that held Sally’s spirit and her courage.
“You’re my daughter!” Peter whispered, the words a revelation, a prayer, and a promise all at once.
A little girl standing on the street | Source: Midjourney
Betty nodded, her small chin lifting with a courage that reminded him so much of her mother. “Mom said I look like you,” she responded, a hint of both vulnerability and pride in her voice.
Peter pulled her into a hug, holding her as tightly as he dared, as if he could protect her from every pain, every loss, and every moment of uncertainty she might ever face.
“You look like your mom too, sweetheart,” he murmured, a small smile flickering on his face. “You’re just as beautiful as she was.”
Betty nestled into his embrace, finding a home she didn’t know she’d been searching for.
A man smiling | Source: Midjourney
They talked for hours. Betty told him stories her mom had shared, each line a precious thread weaving together the mosaic of a life he’d missed.
Her animated gestures, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about Sally, reminded Peter of everything he’d lost and found in a single moment.
“Mom used to tell me how you’d dance in the rain,” Betty said, her fingers tracing an invisible pattern. “She said you were the only person who could make her laugh during the hardest times.”
Mrs. Felix stepped closer, her hand resting gently on Peter’s shoulder. “Sally was protecting you,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of untold sacrifices. “She didn’t want you to feel trapped. She did what she did for you, dear.”
A cheerful girl laughing | Source: Midjourney
Peter wiped his face, his tears freezing on his cheeks like crystallized memories. “I would’ve dropped everything for her,” he whispered.
Mr. Felix’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “We know that now,” he said. “And we’re sorry for not finding you sooner.”
Peter looked at Betty, her face a beautiful blend of wonder and sadness, a living reminder of the love he’d lost and found. “I’m never letting you go,” he said, the promise a sacred vow. “Not until I die.”
She smiled, shy but hopeful, her green eyes — Sally’s eyes — meeting his. “Promise?”
“I promise,” Peter said.
A man holding a little girl’s hand | Source: Midjourney
Over the following months, Peter worked tirelessly to bring Betty to the U.S. The process was complicated, filled with paperwork and emotional hurdles, but his determination never wavered. She moved into his apartment, her laughter (so reminiscent of Sally’s) filling the once-quiet spaces.
“This was Mom’s favorite color,” Betty would say, pointing to a painting or a throw pillow. “She always said it reminded her of something special.”
Peter would smile, understanding now that ‘something special’ had always been him.
He flew to Europe often, spending time with Mr. and Mrs. Felix and visiting Sally’s grave. Each trip was a bittersweet pilgrimage… joy and sorrow intertwined like delicate threads. During these moments, Betty would hold his hand, a silent support, and a living connection to the woman they both loved.
A grieving man in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
“Tell me about how you met,” Betty would ask, and Peter would share stories of young love, promises made beneath school dance lights, and a connection that transcended time and distance.
On the anniversary of their first Christmas together, Peter and Betty stood by Sally’s grave. A bouquet of yellow roses lay on the stone, the petals bright against the pristine snow… a splash of color, hope, and remembered love.
“She used to say yellow is the color of new beginnings,” Betty whispered, her breath creating small clouds in the winter air.
A bouquet of yellow roses on a gravestone | Source: Midjourney
“Your mother was right. She’d be so proud of you,” Peter said, his protective arm around his daughter.
Betty nodded, leaning into his embrace. “And she’d be happy we found each other.”
Peter pressed a kiss to her temple, his heart heavy with loss and love. “I’ll never let you go,” he said again, the promise a covenant between a father, a daughter, and the memory of a love that had waited ten years to be reunited.
An emotional little girl smiling in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
I Asked Homeless Man to Be My Pretend Fiancé Only to Discover He Was Part of My Mother’s Secret Past — Story of the Day
I was tired of my family’s endless questions about my love life, so I had a wild plan. I found and brought a homeless man as my pretend fiancé to the holiday dinner. Everything seemed perfect until my mother’s reaction revealed a shocking connection between them.
I sat in my car, staring at the park entrance, dreading the upcoming weekend with my family. Every holiday visit was the same: my mom’s subtle looks, my dad’s hopeful smiles, and the never-ending barrage of questions.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
When are you getting married? Have you met someone?
It was exhausting, and the thought of another round of it was more than I could handle.
Suddenly, my eyes fell on a man sitting alone on a bench, huddled in a tattered coat. He looked worn out like life had handed him more than his share of troubles. His sad eyes and the deep lines on his face still made him look like a handsome man. That’s when it hit me. Crazy idea!
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Could he be my fiancé for the weekend?” I muttered to myself.
It was insane, but it could work. Anything to keep my family off my back. I got out of the car and walked over to him. He looked up, and we stared at each other.
“Hey,” I started, feeling awkward. “I know this is going to sound strange, but… would you be willing to pretend to be my fiancé? Just for a weekend. In return, I can offer you a warm place to stay, new clothes, and a nice meal.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze lingered on mine as if he were trying to understand why someone like me would make such an offer. Then, to my surprise, he nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
I was shocked at how easily he agreed. No questions. No hesitation. That made me a little nervous. But at that point, I didn’t care.
“Great,” I said. “Let’s get you ready for the weekend.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
***
After we got back home, I handed the stranger some clothes that belonged to my ex. His things were still in my closet, and honestly, I couldn’t think of a better use for them.
“Here, these should fit you,” I said, offering a clean shirt and jeans. “You can take a shower if you’d like. I’ll make us some dinner.”
“Well, thanks,” he said with a small smile. “A shower sounds amazing.”
As he headed into the bathroom, I kept myself busy chopping vegetables and trying to ignore the nervousness building up inside me.
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Sharing my home with a stranger… Mia, what are you doing? You still don’t know his name!
When the stranger emerged from the bathroom, I heard the door creak and turned around. He stood there, a towel slung over his shoulder, his hair still damp, and to my surprise, he looked completely different.
“Well, that’s the best shower I’ve had in years,” he joked.
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The awkwardness I’d felt earlier seemed to vanish in an instant.
“Glad to hear it. I hope the dinner will be just as good.”
He glanced at the table, eyeing the plates I’d set out. “Smells incredible. I am Christopher, by the way.” He smiled at me, sitting down at the table.
Feeling a bit shy, I only replied, “Mia.”
As we sat down to eat, he took the first bite and nodded. “It’s perfect. Haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
We ate in comfortable silence for a bit, and then the conversation started flowing naturally.
“So,” I said, breaking the quiet. “Any favorite movies or books?”
He thought for a moment before answering. “I always loved old westerns. And books? Probably The Old Man and the Sea. Simple, but there’s something about it.”
“Really? Hemingway? I wouldn’t have guessed,” I said, a little surprised. “I thought you’d go for something darker.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
He chuckled. “You’re not wrong, but sometimes, simple stories hit the hardest.”
“I get that.”
We spent the rest of the evening talking about random topics that made us laugh. He had a dry sense of humor that caught me off guard, and by the end of dinner, I felt surprisingly comfortable around him.
Late in the evening, I went back into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before bed. I noticed the dishes had already been washed and stacked neatly by the sink.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Did you… do the dishes?” I asked Christopher, peeking around the corner.
“Seemed like the least I could do.”
I smiled, genuinely touched by the gesture. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
“Good night, Christopher.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
***
The next day, everything moved quickly. We had one day left before the weekend with my family, and there was still so much to do.
First, we went to the hair salon. As the stylist worked, Christopher sat quietly, letting the transformation happen. I watched in amazement as his shaggy hair was trimmed into something neat and polished.
“This feels weird,” he muttered, looking at himself in the mirror.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Good weird or bad weird?” I teased.
“Definitely good,” he said with a smirk.
By the time we hit the shops to pick out new clothes, he was starting to look like a completely different person.
***
The holiday dinner started well enough. My parents were delighted to see Christopher, and I could almost feel my mother’s pride as she glanced at me, finally quieting her usual questions about my personal life.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Christopher played his part perfectly—polite, attentive, and even charming when he spoke. I began to relax, thinking that maybe my crazy plan had worked.
“Christopher, right?” my mother asked, smiling brightly. “You look so familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before? On TV, maybe?”
She laughed lightly as if she had just made a harmless joke.
Christopher politely shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe I just have one of those faces.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
My father chuckled, clearly amused by my mother’s playful banter. “Well, if you’re on TV, I’ll have to start watching more closely.”
“So, Christopher,” Mom continued, “what did you do before you met Mia? Business, right?”
Christopher paused, glancing at my mother a bit too long before answering.
“Yes, business,” he said quietly, but there was something in his tone that felt different. “But everything changed for me about five years ago.”
My heart skipped a beat.
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Wait… This isn’t part of the plan.
I shot him a quick look, hoping he’d catch on, but he continued. “There was an accident. A car accident. It… changed my life completely.”
This definitely isn’t something we talked about.
My mother’s face went pale, her fingers clenched the tablecloth, knuckles turning white. Her expression darkened as if she had just pieced something together.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“A car accident?” she echoed. Her words had sucked the warmth out of the room. “That’s… unfortunate.”
My father glanced at her. “Olivia, are you okay?”
But she wasn’t listening to him. “Not everyone walks away from accidents unscathed, do they?”
Christopher didn’t flinch, quietly sipping his wine.
“He’s not the kind of man you need,” Mom said bluntly, her voice trembling with anger.
I was taken aback. My father’s eyes widened in shock, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Christopher calmly set his glass down. “Excuse me. I’ll step outside for a moment.”
As he left, I turned to my mother. “What was that about? He didn’t do anything wrong!”
“There’s something you need to know, Mia. Five years ago, I was in a car accident,” she began, her voice lowering as though she were afraid someone else might hear.
“It was late at night, outside the city. There were no witnesses. The man I hit… was Christopher.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
My heart dropped. “What?”
“Your Christopher,” she said bitterly, “was under the influence that night. I demanded he get tested, but he refused. No one saw what happened, so I chose not to take him to court. But Mia, you need to understand… He’s dangerous. You can’t trust him.”
Christopher? Under the influence?
Finally, I broke the silence. “I need to talk to him.”
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***
Christopher was leaning against the fence, staring off into the night. His expression was calm, but I could see the sadness in his eyes.
“Christopher,” I called softly.
He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “My last name is Hartman. Yes, I was in that accident. I was on sedatives that night—prescribed for my anxiety after my wife died. I was driving carefully.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, simple ring.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“You’re the first woman I’ve met since my wife’s death that I’ve wanted to leave something with. This was hers. Thank you for dinner, Mia. It was… more than I deserved.”
He handed me the ring, then nodded slightly before walking away.
“Wait,” I whispered, but the words got lost in the cold night air.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the ring in my hand. When I walked back inside, my mother was waiting.
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“You didn’t tell me the whole truth, did you?” I demanded.
She sighed. “No. I didn’t. I was driving too fast that night. I… I was scared, Mia.”
“Is he worth chasing?”
The look in her eyes said it all. Yes. But it was already too late.
***
I couldn’t stop thinking about Christopher. His story, the accident, the weight he carried. It haunted me.
I placed an ad in the local paper, something simple but direct:
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“Christopher Hartman, if you see this, please meet me at the restaurant where we last had dinner. I eat there every evening. Mia.”
I felt a little foolish, not knowing if he’d ever read it or if he even wanted to see me again. But I had to try. There was too much left unsaid.
***
The day after placing the ad, I arrived at the restaurant early. As the minutes ticked by, doubt started creeping in.
Maybe he didn’t see it. Maybe he didn’t want to.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
But then, just as I was about to give up, the door opened. Christopher stepped in, scanning the room until they landed on me. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he walked over.
“I saw your ad,” he said, sitting down across from me.
We locked eyes for a moment before I spoke. “There’s so much I need to tell you. I found out about your past… about the accident… My mother finally admitted she was at fault, too. And…. she took your money!”
“I didn’t want to blame anyone. After my wife died… nothing mattered.”
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We sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between us.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You don’t have to be,” he said, his voice soft. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but still… I want to help. My mother wants to make things right. She’s returning what she took from you.”
We spent the rest of the evening talking. It wasn’t about pretending anymore. It was real. By the end of the night, I realized something. I had fallen in love with Christopher. And the best part? He felt the same.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
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