My daughter calls it “productive denial.” My son just watches, quiet. I volunteer to keep busy, to keep my heart somewhere safe.
Valentine’s Day cards for Cedar Grove residents seemed harmless enough—until I saw a name: Richard. Same surname, same middle initial. My first love, who vanished 46 years ago, no goodbye.
I wrote a safe, generic Valentine but decided to deliver it. In the common area, our eyes met. Gray hair, steady blue eyes—him. He explained his absence, and I finally shared my truth: I had a child—Jordan, now 39.
Richard was stunned. Jordan and I stood together, strong. I invited him for dinner, not as a romance, just truth and reconnection. He agreed, promising no more disappearing. For once, the next step was mine.