High School Sweethearts Planned to Meet in Times Square 10 Years Later — Instead, a 10-Year-Old Girl Approached Him There

“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

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

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

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

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 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 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

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

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

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

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 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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

A boy mows lawns to earn money and help the school janitor pay off his mortgage and retire

A rowdy teenager caused trouble for the school janitor and felt guilty. He learned about the man’s life and decided to do something remarkable for him, and only then did he realize something essential.

“Jeez!” Holden spat when he saw the mess he made on the floor. He and his friend were only going to play a prank on another student and paint his locker. However, he dropped the paint can in the middle of the basketball court, which would certainly be noticeable.

“Come on, Holden! Let’s go! Let’s go!” his friend, Andrew, yelled, and they both dropped everything and ran away.

They weren’t bad kids, but they were undoubtedly rowdy and rebellious, skipping classes all the time and trying to prank others. However, they weren’t bullies and didn’t have any malicious intent. Holden just hated school and wanted anarchy like many teenagers did at that age.

“Wow. That’s terrible,” the teenager commented before widening his eyes. “Sorry. That was rude.”

Fortunately, no one discovered what they had done, but Holden passed by the basketball court later and saw the old school janitor cleaning things up and heard the screams of the principal, Mr. Figgins.

“We have the prep rally tomorrow, and scouts from all over the country are coming! This needs to come out immediately!” the principal yelled at the poor old man, who hung his head and tried to clean the mess. However, the paint was oil-based, and it was an arduous task.

“Yes, Mr. Figgins. I’ll make sure it’s ready for tomorrow,” the janitor said and kept scrubbing. The principal threw his arms around some more, yelled some demands, and walked off in a huff.

Holden felt terrible, watching the old man on his knees trying to fix his mistake, so he did something completely uncharacteristic. He walked into the court, grabbed a rag, kneeled, and started cleaning with the janitor.

The old man looked at him for a second. “I guess you did this, right?” he commented and kept scrubbing.

“Sir, please. I’m so sorry. It was a mistake. I didn’t know you would get in trouble for it,” Holden apologized sincerely and continued moving the rag up and down. “Please don’t tell the principal. My mom would kill me.”

The old man sighed and shrugged. “I won’t tell anyone, but you have to help me until this floor is back to normal,” he negotiated, and Holden nodded rapidly.

While they worked, they talked. The janitor’s name was Fred. At first, their conversation was about basketball and football, as the school has some of the best teams in the state. But then, Holden asked the old man why he was working at his age. Based on the wrinkles on his face and his frail arms, he had to be way over 60.

“Well, I need to pay a mortgage, kid,” Fred responded with pursed lips. “And I’m 76.”

“You haven’t paid your mortgage still. Wow. That means I can never dream of having a house of my own,” Holden commented.

“Well, things are hard now, kid. But actually, I never wanted to own a house. I rented most of my life. I bought that house for my daughter. She needed her own place, and I wanted to give her something,” Fred revealed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I put a down payment for her and helped her with the mortgage for years. But then, she died in a car accident, and it was all on me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Holden muttered, and they stayed quiet for a while. “Why don’t you sell the house now?”

“Where would I live, kid? With rent these days, I would be homeless. And I have to keep working to eat,” the janitor continued. He wasn’t bitter or sad. He was just realistic.

“But you might not ever retire!” the teenager added.

“That’s true. I just hope I can pay the mortgage before I die,” he continued.

“How much is it?” Holden asked boldly.

“Well, I believe it’s a little under $30,000.”

“Wow. That’s terrible,” the teenager commented before widening his eyes. “Sorry. That was rude.”

But Fred laughed. “Let’s just work, kid.”

They finally removed all traces of the paint, but they both went home late that night… and Holden couldn’t sleep. He wanted to do something nice for the old man who hadn’t gotten him in trouble.

A few days later, he confessed what he had done to his mother and told her everything; then, he asked her how they could raise money for the old janitor. Maybe, if they paid his mortgage, Fred could retire.

His mother said that he could mow lawns around the neighborhood. It was mowing season, and tons of people were looking for help. So, Holden did so and surprisingly got a ton of clients. He grabbed his dad’s lawnmower and worked hard.

But after a few days, he realized the task was almost impossible. He would have to work for years, just like Fred, to raise the money, so he talked to his neighbors whose kids also went to the school. He took a picture of Fred from the school’s website and posted it online, telling his story, and finally decided to open a crowdfunding link for the janitor.

To his shock, the money started coming in, and $30,000 were raised in just a week.

After that, Holden and his mother talked to the school principal about having a special ceremony to honor Fred and surprise him. The teenager also had to come clean to the principal about the paint on the basketball court. Finally, Mr. Figgins agreed.

The whole school heard the story, and they all gathered at the basketball court and cheered when Fred came in. The old janitor had no idea what was going on as he didn’t have social media. But Holden presented him with the money, and many in the crowd cried as the two of them hugged. Fred officially retired that week.

Holden later learned that Fred had a granddaughter, Erin, who was only a few years younger than him, and the janitor wanted to pay off the house so she could have it when he was gone. She and Holden became great friends as he started visiting the old man after school and helping out.

He stopped hanging out with Andrew and started taking his classes seriously. The entire experience taught him that you had to work hard for everything.

His rebellious ways wholly disappeared, and he actually graduated at the top of his class a few years later. The entire school staff was shocked and pleased by his 180º turn, as it was something teachers rarely ever saw. And it was all due to Fred and that afternoon spent cleaning some paint off the floor.

What can we learn from this story?

You must apologize and do your best to atone for your errors. Holden got the old janitor in trouble, but he readily apologized and tried to make things better.

It only takes one experience or person to change someone’s perspective on life. After meeting Fred, Holden changed for good, as he learned that life was hard and only those who worked hard and honestly could live happily.

Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.

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