“Ten years from now, Christmas Eve, Times Square. I promise I’ll be there,” Peter vowed to Sally on prom night. A decade later, he arrived, searching for her yellow umbrella. Instead, a young girl approached, holding his past in her hands.

At prom, Sally’s mascara streaked her cheeks. “I don’t want to go,” she whispered. Peter held her close. “You have to. Your dreams matter.”

Through letters, they stayed connected—until one day, she stopped writing.

Now, Times Square glittered with Christmas lights. Peter waited, his breath visible in the winter air. Hours passed. Then, a small voice behind him:

“Are you Peter?”

A little girl clutched a yellow umbrella. “She’s not coming,” she said.

Confused, Peter knelt. “Who are you?”

Her green eyes shimmered. “I’m Betty… your daughter.”

Sally had passed away two years ago. Tears welled as Peter clutched Sally’s diary, her words bridging the gap of lost time.

Betty sniffled. “Mom said I look like you.”

Peter embraced her, whispering, “You look like your mom, too. And I’ll never let you go.”

alo read…