The One I Saved
Jack revealed his heroin addiction in a heartfelt, handwritten 12-step apology letter. The truth was agonizing, and I tossed it away, having only known his cocaine use devastated our life together. For years, I dreaded finding him, fearing the worst — homelessness, or something even grimmer. Three decades passed. Camping solo in Florida, a memory surfaced: Jack teaching me how to pitch a tent and cook over an open fire. I sent an old email address a thank you note, and to my surprise, he replied! Jack was sober, at peace. His closing words: “Fondly, and always with love.” That, I kept. — Diane Daniel
(Image description: An old color photograph shows Diane Daniel and her ex-boyfriend, Jack, standing together on a mountain summit, hiking Maine’s Mount Katahdin. Jack gave his blessing to publish this story and photo.)
An Image of Everything
Preparing a social media tribute for your fifth birthday, a whirlwind of memories fills my mind: your chubby legs wiggling on the changing table, your first laugh — so pure, so precious. In this very moment, you’re a tiny Owlette in Home Depot, fiery red mask and wings in full glory. I struggle with my phone, trying to capture what five years with you truly means (everything), to describe a half-decade of moments that slipped away like fine sand. I finally look up, only to see you, wings outstretched, confidently ‘flying’ down Aisle 9, your red wings disappearing into the distance. — Abigail Wasserman
(Image description: A young boy, Sammy, dressed in a red Owlette costume with spread wings, during a visit to Home Depot.)
Getting on the Moving Train
Staring from my drab Bronx window at a passing train, I finally knew: I was ready to leave my fractured relationship behind. For years, my partner and I had both longed for connections with others of our own genders. That evening, at a friend’s gathering, my eyes found him – a beautiful man, his dancing a magnet for everyone in the room. As dawn broke, we were among the last few remaining. Robert and I danced, a magnificent, seamless pair. When he leaned against me, I understood instantly: I couldn’t lose him. He moved into my apartment the very next week. Just last month, we celebrated 34 wonderful years together. — John Perez
(Image description: Robert, with a mustache, resting his head on John Perez’s shoulder. They are wearing matching dark suits with purple shirts and have a flower in each of their breast pockets, pictured on their wedding day at The Brooklyn Botanic Garden in 2012.)
Dad’s Future Funeral Mass
“Dad, when your time comes, who will conduct your funeral mass? You haven’t found a church or a priest you connect with lately. Is there anything I can do?” My father, Harry, at 96, had just laid to rest his 97-year-old brother, Bill. The Catholic priest who delivered the eulogy hadn’t even known Bill, and his words felt lifeless, failing to capture my uncle’s vibrant spirit. Dad’s reply was blunt: “Sal, it doesn’t matter; I’m dead.” Surprisingly, his honesty liberated us both. For Dad, it genuinely won’t make a difference. And for me, I know our family will honor his life, his warmth, his kindness, and his enduring legacy in our own heartfelt way. — Sally Santen
(Image description: Harry, wearing a black T-shirt, sits on his deck in Cincinnati overlooking greenery at sunset, holding a mug. A wine glass is visible on the table beside him.)
These stories are part of the cherished Tiny Love Stories series. You can explore more reader-submitted narratives or share your own personal tale.
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