Howard lived a quiet, solitary life, finding unexpected joy in the neighborhood children who visited him. But one afternoon, a knock at the door changed everything.

Standing before him was Kira, his first love, holding a small red box. “I finally found you,” she said, revealing that she had searched for two years. Trembling, Howard opened the box—inside was a yellowed letter and a pregnancy test, positive.

Decades earlier, on prom night, Kira had tearfully told Howard she was moving to Germany. She had promised to write but never did. Now, she explained—her mother had hidden the box, and she had believed Howard abandoned her.

“I never got it,” he whispered. “I waited.”

“You have a son, Howard,” she revealed, glancing toward a parked car. A man in his forties stepped out, his familiar eyes locking onto Howard’s.

“Hi, Dad,” he said.

Overwhelmed, Howard embraced his son, Michael, who introduced himself as a high school teacher, a new father—making Howard a grandfather.

Kira extended an invitation to Portland, to be part of their lives. Looking at his long-time home, then at his newfound family, Howard didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like that very much.”

After years of solitude, love had returned, and this time, he wouldn’t let it go.