On prom night, under the dim glow of fairy lights and the hum of violins, Peter and Sally made a promise. “Ten years from now, Christmas Eve, Times Square. I promise I’ll be there,” Peter said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. That night, they held each other close, knowing their love was about to face the test of time and distance. A decade later, Peter stood in Times Square, brimming with hope and anticipation. But instead of Sally, he was greeted by a young girl holding a yellow umbrella, carrying a truth that would change his life forever.

The night of their farewell was a mix of heartbreak and hope. Peter gripped Sally’s hands tightly, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles as if trying to imprint the memory of her touch. Her mascara had run, leaving streaks on her cheeks as tears fell freely. “I don’t want to go,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I don’t want you to go either,” Peter admitted, his voice breaking. “But your dreams, Sally—they’re bigger than us. You’ve always wanted to study in Europe. I can’t be the reason you hold yourself back.”

“But what about our dreams?” she asked, her green eyes searching his face. “What about everything we planned?”

Peter pulled her closer. “We’ll meet again,” he said, his voice resolute despite the chaos in his heart. “Promise me this: if life separates us, we’ll meet on Christmas Eve, ten years from now, at Times Square. You’ll be holding a yellow umbrella.”

Sally’s tears turned into a bittersweet smile. “Even if we’re married or have kids?” she asked.

“Especially then,” Peter replied, his voice soft but firm. “Because some connections are timeless.”

The two parted ways, holding on to the hope of their promised reunion. For years, they exchanged letters filled with love and dreams. But one day, Sally’s letters stopped. Peter’s heart sank, but he clung to the thought of seeing her again, their promise unbroken.

On Christmas Eve, Times Square was alive with festive energy. The towering Christmas tree sparkled, and snowflakes drifted gently through the air. Peter stood beneath the tree, his hands buried in his coat pockets, scanning the bustling crowd for a glimpse of the yellow umbrella. Memories of Sally flooded his mind—her laughter, the way her nose crinkled when she was deep in thought. Each moment of waiting tightened the knot in his chest.

Minutes turned into an hour, but the yellow umbrella never appeared. Just as Peter’s hope began to waver, a soft, hesitant voice called out, “Are you Peter?”

He turned to see a young girl standing behind him, clutching a yellow umbrella. Her brown curls framed her face, and her wide green eyes—eerily familiar—met his. “Yes, I’m Peter,” he said, his voice shaky. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Betty,” she whispered. “She… she’s not coming.”

A chill swept over Peter as her words sank in. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“She passed away two years ago,” Betty said, her voice cracking. Tears welled in her green eyes, the same eyes Peter had loved a decade ago.

Peter’s legs nearly gave way. “No… no, that can’t be true,” he stammered.

Betty’s small hand reached for his, grounding him in the midst of his turmoil. “Before she died, Mom told me you loved her more than anything,” she said softly.

Before Peter could respond, an older couple approached. “Hello, Peter,” the man said gently. “I’m Felix, and this is my wife. We’re Sally’s parents. She spoke about you often.”

Peter’s voice shook. “Why didn’t she tell me? About… you? About her illness?”

Felix explained softly. “She found out she was pregnant with Betty after moving to Paris. She didn’t want to burden you, knowing your mother was ill. She thought you’d moved on.”

Peter knelt before Betty, his hands trembling as he cupped her face. “You’re my daughter,” he whispered, the words both a revelation and a promise.

Betty nodded, her eyes filled with both pride and vulnerability. “Mom said I look like you,” she said.

Peter pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “And you look just like your mom, too,” he murmured.

Sally’s mother handed Peter a worn diary. “She wanted you to have this,” she said softly.

Peter opened it, finding pages filled with Sally’s thoughts—her dreams, her fears, her unwavering love for him. A photo of their prom night slipped out, a snapshot of two young souls who believed love could conquer anything.

Over the next few months, Peter worked tirelessly to bring Betty into his life. She moved in with him, her laughter filling the quiet spaces of his home. Together, they visited Sally’s grave, laying yellow roses—Sally’s favorite color, a symbol of new beginnings.

“Your mom would be proud of you,” Peter told Betty one snowy afternoon.

“And she’d be happy we found each other,” Betty replied, her voice steady.

As they walked away from the grave, Peter wrapped his arm around his daughter, his heart filled with a mix of grief and gratitude. “I’ll never let you go,” he whispered, keeping a promise made to both Sally and himself.