On Valentine's Day: Lasting Love

Lily Goedeke

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” The young woman asked, an arm on her mother’s shoulder.  

Estella nodded. “I’ll be fine, deary. Thank you for helping me pack up these old things.” 

She carefully stepped away, heading out the door. “The kids and I will come back tomorrow to help you with the rest of it. See you soon, mom.”  

With that, Estella’s daughter and three grandchildren left the quiet home. The elder woman leaned back in her rocking chair, boxes tucked away in corners of the living room. Her husband had passed away not too long ago, leaving all his old trash in the house. Estella had always told Edgar to go through his things. Yet now, she couldn’t seem to get herself to throw away any of it.  

She sat with the ticking clock for too long. One box was overflowing with mail and old letters, most of which were probably advertisements or old bank statements. She decided to go through some of them, brewing herself a cup of hot tea to set beside her rocking chair as she piled the letters on her lap.  

She chuckled as the first thing she picked up was an old Valentine’s Day magazine, with deals expired decades ago. Ironic... considering Valentine’s Day was in just a week. The first one Estella would have without her husband since they met. The thought made her frown return. 

She continued through the pile of old papers, sorting them into what she could discard and what she might want to keep. Then came the first letter. A store-bought piece of cardstock paper that was yellowing at the edges. The bright pinks and reds had gone pale with time, much like Estella herself. Yet the words still shone brightly.  

You have a really cute smile, and I think it’s cool how you always make your own lunches. I really hope we can get to know each other better. —Your secret admirer 

  Estella smiled, remembering when she first found that card stuffed in her locker back in middle school. The folds from where it had gotten caught against the metal door were still there, prominent as the wrinkles on her face. She had spent weeks trying to discern who had written the card, until she and Edgar had been paired together for a science project, and she recognized the handwriting of his name. 

She placed the letter in the keep pile and kept going through. Then, more letters kept popping up, each one bringing both smiles and tears. There was the time in high school the two had argued, and Edgar had begged for forgiveness with the dumbest drawings of wilting flowers. She found the exchange back and forth when he went away for a work trip. Each one held his voice in her ears.  

Her daughter walked in the following morning, seeing the old woman asleep on the chair surrounded by letters of love.