Secret Valentine

Copyright © 2023 OmegaPet-58.

(Revised Third Edition, Feb. 17, 2023)

Chapter 1: King Day.

Melanie opened her car door and sat wearily behind her steering wheel. Reaching with her right hand, she pulled her safety belt across her body and latched it, as she had done thousands of times.

Then she closed her eyes, and sat. And sat. And sat.

It was Monday, January 16, 2023, the Martin Luther King federal holiday, unfortunately not observed by Melanie's employer. But, since many of her co-workers had decided to take a leave day nonetheless, Melanie had to shoulder a whole lot of additional work.

Mondays are hard enough already; this day was horrible! I'm just...exhausted. No, I need a stronger word. Semi-conscious? Incapacitated?

Finally, from the back seat, the small voice of Amy, her daughter. "Mama? You OK?"

"Sure, baby, alright, we're going home now."

Taking a deep breath to gather herself, Melanie started up her old Honda Civic. Fortunately, from Amy's daycare back to their apartment complex was only one mile on regular streets. Parking in their assigned space, she extracted Amy from her booster seat, and they walked hand-in-hand across the parking lot into the complex's lobby.

One whole wall of the lobby was taken up by an enormous array of mailboxes. Each apartment's box was big enough to hold a couple of running shoes, and had a flap-covered gap in the door. Additional small items or documents could be pushed past the flap to the inside of each box.

Melanie opened her apartment's box and found a surprise with her mail. There were two squares of Ghirardelli milk chocolate, and an elegant white card with a red rose printed on it.

Handwritten, the card read, "A treat for you and your child. — 29 —Thinking of You."

Cautiously, she inspected the foil wrapping on the two chocolates. Each one was 1-3/4" (45mm) square, and thin enough to fit through the narrow opening of her mailbox's door. She recognized the brand, from San Francisco. Ghirardelli had a great reputation for quality chocolate, considered to be far better than the common Hershey's.

Once again, she checked the airtight foil packaging on each square, very carefully. Since the wrappings were intact, she collected them with everything else in her mailbox and they took the elevator (not the stairs) up to their apartment.

I ought to throw this chocolate away. It's the very definition of "candy from strangers." There's absolutely nobody I can think of who would do this. But I am so incredibly exhausted tonight that I can only manage making a can of soup for our dinner.

I'm satisfied the chocolate is safe. I can't remember the last time my little girl had a chocolate treat like this. Months? Amy will love them.

Melanie had stopped moving again. Like she had earlier in the car. She was standing in her apartment's kitchen. Her head was down, looking at, but not seeing, her feet.

She is not getting the childhood she deserves. I am not the mother she deserves. Today was so hard at work, but all my effort isn't bringing us the security we should have.

My baby needs safety and stability. She needs a real family; she needs more than I can provide—"

"Mama?"

Once again on that miserable Monday her daughter had interrupted Melanie being stuck in her depressed and exhausted mood, before her issues overcame her self-control.

"Wash up, baby, we'll have dinner in a few minutes."

I am so tired, I can't even cry properly!

Melanie wiped her tears away with a paper towel and cranked open a can of condensed soup. While it was warming, she loosened her work clothes and pulled the clip from her hair.

"What happened today at daycare?"

A rhetorical question. I know it was fine there, it's a good facility for her. Right now, in my current state, better that she is talking, rather than me.

"Mm-hmm. And then what happened?"

Having soup is restoring me now, a little. It's not healthy that I never have lunch any more. Particularly on a day like today when the work, always bad on Mondays, is piled twice as high or more because of people who took the day off.

At least there is this unexpected surprise. I ought to just toss the chocolates, since I don't know their source. But I guess it's like on Halloween, where your kid brings home a bag of candy after trick-or-treating. If you check the wrappers carefully, toss even the slightly suspect treats, and let them have the rest in reasonable amounts, then you have done your due diligence as a parent. Whoever sent those squares, they are safe, I am sure.

"Amy, are you ready for dessert?"

"Mama!"

OK, I earned that sarcastic eye-roll. Of course she's ready. That foil wrapper lasted only 0.5 seconds in her hands. I need to divide the second square, or she'll be awake all night. I wish these was more for me. Now for my half. Delicious!

Tuesday, January 17, 2023.

At least Tuesday was a more routine, less exhausting, day at work.

Her employer, Abner, both ancient and tyrannical, was mentally and emotionally stuck in an era where labor was cheap, and the solution to all business requirements. Melanie was one of several "clerks," as he called them. Their jobs were to collate and aggregate to ledgers paper sales records mailed daily from all over the state.

It was difficult, mind-numbing, repetitive work, obviously long overdue for automation. In fact, long ago the paperwork coming into the office had shifted from hand-written to being computer-printed. But Abner didn't care to change. He had no stockholders to answer to. He didn't trust records that he couldn't hold in his hands.

In the past, the company tried using fax machines instead of the postal system. But Abner, being tightfisted as always, purchased cheap machines that couldn't handle the load of material, and the project was quickly abandoned.

At another point, he considered using the internet and computer technology. But then he found out what programmers expected for wages and benefits, and he dropped the idea immediately. As far as Abner was concerned, the minimum wage was an abomination, and he required clerks (like Melanie) to be independent contractors, responsible for their own taxes and benefits. He paid only for production, not wages or salaries, so there were no paid holidays for the staff.

Tuesday ended with another white card bearing a rose in her mailbox. Handwritten on the back, "Next time you go marketing, get something special. On the front: — 28 — Thinking of You."

The card was clipped to two $50 gift cards from Safeway.

I am not so tired tonight, but I'm going to put off worrying until later in the evening. I should be nervous about this guy. But, whoever he is, so far he's not really stalking me, or he's just really BAD at it. Because I usually get my groceries at Walmart. But, hey, for $100 I can go to Safeway instead and get better food for us. Later, I will fret about Mystery Man.

"Baby, change of plans. We are going over to the other supermarket, and I'm going get us a big sandwich to share. OK? Yeah, we're going back to the car."

It turned out to be a fun evening for them. This upscale Safeway store had a little deli counter that made fresh sandwiches to order. Amy had fresh-squeezed orange juice, always a treat.

She lingered in the candy section just long enough to determine the squares (in a bag of 12) cost at least a dollar each. Melanie did buy a small box of red licorice and a bag of peppermints for them to share.

And in the meat section, Melanie found a petit filet for a surprisingly good price. Wednesday was going to be a big protein day for them.

Back home, with her daughter safely put to bed, Melanie had time to rest and reflect.

I know I am taking a risk with Mystery Man. I know better. It would be safer to toss away the cards and gifts. But he's hitting me at my weakest spot, by leaving me something special for my baby. Amy doesn't know, thank God, how stretched thin I am lately. It's getting bad enough that I'm skipping lunches to save money, to make sure she isn't deprived. But I come home with her so tired, and hungry, and frustrated.

And, if I'm being really honest, I'm lonely, too.

I feel absolutely trapped. Bad as my job is, I need every hour of work, just to keep us afloat. Which means I can't take any time for job hunting or for interviewing to get something better. Also, when I went job hunting before, some of these potential employers were charging application fees! Which ought to be illegal, but..."

It's so hard to be strong for Amy. I snapped at her last week. For her, it's forgiven and forgotten. But I'm still beating myself up for it.

Without seeing a particular threat from this secretive guy, I guess I have to go along with these little surprises.

Wednesday, January 18, 2023.

Melanie was not surprised to see another little white card with her mail.

"I'm guessing you bought some beef at Safeway. Try this seasoning, I think you will love it like I do. — 27 — Thinking of You." With the card was another chocolate square for Amy, and a packet of Montreal Steak Seasoning.

After dinner, she thought, Oh, wow. He's right, this flavor is perfect on my steak. But with the pepper mixed inside, it's too strong for Amy, so I just put a little salt on her piece.

"Mom, I like this meat. Can we get more tomorrow?"

"Sorry, the steak was a present from the chocolate guy."

"We should tell him 'thank you,' right, Mama?"

"You're right. But he's very shy. I don't know who he is."

"That's crazy! He has to come see you. You could have a play date."

A play date! Heh. Oh, she has NO idea how I would 'play,' thank God. At her age, there's no sex drive, like I have to deal with. All the God damned time.

"Yeah, that would be fun. Are you ready for dessert?"

"Really? YES!"

A play date! Actually, ANY date would be nice. The last couple of times I was anywhere with any adult was having lunch with some other young mothers when Amy was a toddler. And as for men? Nope. I'm the invisible woman. The only guy I see around work is Abner. Yeeuck.

The last naked man I saw was Amy's sperm donor, that pig, well before she was born—and she's almost five years old now.

Thursday, January 19, 2023.

Another routine day. Melanie's work backlog from the Monday holiday was gone now, and she had more time to think. At her desk, she put aside her pile of work and sipped at the turpentine-like, but free, office coffee.

Who IS this mysterious admirer? To be at my mailbox every day, he must also live in the complex, right? He knows about my child; he knows that I'm a single parent. Who is he? Well, I assume he's a guy. I don't think a woman wouldn't approach me this way. Why is he so interested?

It's not like I'm all that attractive. Well, all right, I'm not horrible. I'm happy with my face, I'm a good weight for my height, and men have always stared at the girls since my teens. But after carrying Amy, my body is not so great anymore. But he couldn't know that, he hasn't seen my poochy abdomen, or the lowered level of my breasts.

He knows all about me, and I know nothing about him. He could be tall, short, young, old, hot, ugly, anything. I only know two things, no, three things. (1) He's got enough money to drop $100 on me for no obvious reason, (2) he knows how to make steak, and (3) he can count backwards.

What's the deal with those numbers, anyway?

At the mailboxes in the lobby, Amy watched with interest as the fourth card appeared in her mother's hand.

"When your daughter finds out about these, you're going to be 'Mother of the Year.' — 26 —Thinking of You."

Clipped to the white card were two advance reserved seat tickets at the 4:00 Sunday showing of the new animated Puss in Boots movie (part of the Shrek franchise). Melanie just stood there, shocked. She squeezed shut her eyelids and held the tickets tightly against her chest.

I'm already "Mother of the Year," jerk. But it's been so long since I've been to a movie. And Amy will go nuts, they run all those TV commercials for this. And she saw 'Shrek' on the TV last month, she will remember that cat.

I need to find this guy. And THANK HIM. Thoroughly. On our "play date." If I get the chance. That character in the movie has more animation than MY puss gets, for sure.

Amy was tugging at her jacket. "Mama, mama, what is it?"

"Oh, it's a treat for me this time. But I have something for you tonight in the kitchen cabinets, don't worry."

Chapter 2: T.G.I.F.

Friday, January 20, 2023, 8:30 a.m.

Melanie had just settled into her office chair. Fifty yards (46 meters) away from Melanie's desk, a man in his late twenties was walking through the company parking lot near her Honda. There was nothing unusual about his appearance, his size, his dress, or his movements. Until he stopped abruptly, stared at the car for a moment, and then hurriedly wrote a note and left it tucked under her windshield wiper blade.

Much later, at the end of her workday, she put away her work, shut off the big mechanical calculator on her desk, and headed out to the parking lot. Melanie was surprised by the piece of notepaper on her windshield.

"Your tires are DANGEROUSLY bald. The cords are showing on your left front, which means the tread is entirely GONE. It could blow at any time! Unsafe for your child (I saw the car seat in the back). Sorry for the bad news."

She was shocked! Numb, she put the note into her old shoulder bag.

I can't deal with this now, I have to pick up Amy, then I will look into this fresh hell after we get home. At least it's a very short distance from daycare to the complex.

I guess I'm getting tires tomorrow. Shit! Every time I pull that credit card out of my wallet, there's more smoke coming off of it.

Her aged Honda wasn't much to look at, but at least it always started right up for her. Ten minutes later, she pulled up at Amy's daycare center and (since it was Friday) walked into the office with her checkbook.

"Hi, I'm Melanie Geary, I need to pay the fees for Amy."

The manager paged through the computer until she found Amy's record.

"No, Amy is paid up through the next four weeks. We're good."

"Wait, what?"

"I've got her fee payment recorded here on Wednesday, and, let me check."

She opened another window on the screen.

"Yeah, we have the payment recorded in our journal. So it's confirmed."

"But, but, do you have a copy of the check?"

"No, it shows here as a money order. Like they sell at the Post Office. So, good news, you're all set. Thanks for being all caught up."

Melanie was truly stunned. Distractedly, she brought Amy out to the Honda and strapped her in to her car seat. Then she was back to sitting behind the wheel, unmoving, like she was back on Monday. But this time, instead of exhaustion, her mind was racing.

How could I have paid Amy's fees, and not remembered doing it? And with a money order? It's all just unbelievable!"

"Mama? Mama? What's wrong?"

"Sorry, baby, I'm just really confused."

"Mama let's go home and have dinner. Then you will feel better. I will get you your blanket and you can rest on the couch, and I will take care of you. You can have one of my juice boxes. That will help."

God! She's so sweet. I do not deserve to have her.

"You are the best daughter in the world, Amy. I love you. You're right, let's go home."

As they approached the lobby of her apartment complex, Melanie suddenly conceived the reason her daughter's fees had been mysteriously paid.

Oh, no. He couldn't. He shouldn't. I can't.

I. don't. even. know. his. name!

Tentatively, she lowered the door of her mailbox. Inside with the usual mail were two of the white cards, a gray business-sized envelope, and a large permanent marker with red ink.

"Card #1: By now, you know what I did at Northeast Daycare. I beg you, don't be frightened. It was for Amy. I MEAN YOU NO HARM.

"Card #2: While I'm away this weekend, please read my letter in the gray envelope. Afterwards, if you mark your mailbox door with an 'X' using the red Sharpie pen, then I promise you won't ever hear from me again. — 25 — Thinking of You."

Up in their apartment: "I want to spoil you tonight. Let's make some French Toast!" Amy's all-time favorite—she was actually hopping with happiness.

So what if it's a breakfast food. She loves it, it tastes good, and it's something she can help me prepare. For her, that might be the best part. And it gets my mind off of everything that is happening. Off of the mystery man.

An hour later, Amy was torpid and drowsy after wolfing down their special dinner.

"Time for bed, baby. Thank you for helping in the kitchen."

"Do you feel better, Mama?"

"I do, yes. Let's go tuck you in and have a story."

Chapter 3: The First Letter.

Melanie fortified herself with a small glass of white wine, and sat with her legs crossed at the ankles to read his letter.

Friday, January 20, 2023

Dear Melanie Geary,

Before anything else, I want to apologize for being secretive and contacting you in writing, instead of in person. I know that there are evil men in the world who are stalkers and dangerous, and a young single mother like yourself must be extra-cautious.

I hope I can reassure you that I am the opposite of a threat. *I mean you no harm.*

Disbelieve me? Then you can strike me down with that red marker. I will explain.

By way of introduction, this is what you should know about me.

You must already realize that I live very close to you, because of the mailbox access.

I am 28 years old, a college graduate (Bachelor's), and I have some wealth and a good income. Actually, I have enough income from investments that I don't need to work a regular job. Instead, I only have a volunteer commitment that runs about 16 hours per week.

I could pay the daycare fees for that entire class and not even notice it. Come to think of it, I could buy that entire daycare business for cash, without a second thought. This not to brag, simply to explain why, I hope, you should not be bothered over my paying Amy's fees.

Wait a minute. I think he has misunderstood me completely. Am I supposed to think that I MUST be attracted to him, because he has lots of money?

I am renting here because this complex offers high-speed fiber connections to the internet. This access is important for my work.

"Average" describes me pretty well. Average height, weight, looks, etc. So far, nobody has shrieked and run away screaming when they see my face.

But here is my problem. I am catastrophically shy. It's so bad, I consider it a disability. According to Doctor Internet, I have "SAD"—Social Anxiety Disorder. It has affected my life greatly.

I'm nervous about writing to you, but for me writing is *miles* easier than talking face-to-face.

I first noticed you and your daughter about a year ago, perhaps. You were out in the lobby, waiting for a delivery, maybe?

Amy has got to be the cutest and sweetest little girls I've ever seen. And her mother is exceptionally beautiful. More important, I can tell what a wonderful person you are, simply by seeing your daughter, and how she behaves.

The little playground area of the complex can be seen from my window, and I see you both out there on nice days.