Second Chances on the Potomac: A Valentine’s Day Reunion in Washington, D.C.

On Valentine’s Day in Washington, D.C., a divorced couple reunites at a Potomac River restaurant after breast cancer and betrayal lead them back to love.

A short story in time for Valentine’s Day tomorrow!

On February 14th, the lights along the Potomac River shimmered like a string of patient stars, reflected in the dark winter water beneath the Key Bridge. Inside a warm waterfront restaurant in Washington, D.C., white linen tables faced the glass, and couples leaned in close over candlelight and soft jazz.

Joe arrived early.

He adjusted his tie for the third time and glanced at the river. Ten years ago, he and Gloria had celebrated anniversaries in places like this. Ten years ago, he had been certain love was permanent. Then came pride, long work hours, sharp words neither could take back—and a divorce that left their three children grown but shaken.

He hadn’t expected to see her again like this.

When Gloria stepped through the door, the room seemed to still. She wore a deep burgundy dress, her hair shorter now, framing a face that had weathered more than time. Breast cancer had taken its toll—chemotherapy, surgeries, fatigue—but it hadn’t taken her presence. She carried herself with quiet resilience.

Joe stood immediately. For a moment, neither spoke.

“Hi, Joe,” she said softly.

“Hi, Glory,” he replied, using the nickname he’d sworn he’d never say again.

They sat by the window overlooking the Potomac. Outside, a riverboat drifted past, its lights flickering like memories neither could quite outrun.

The last year had unraveled them both in different ways. Gloria’s diagnosis had come suddenly. The treatments were harder than she admitted, especially alone. Their children rotated visits, but there were nights she stared at the ceiling wishing for the steady rhythm of Joe’s terrible jokes.

Joe, meanwhile, had been distracted by a younger girlfriend who made him feel needed—until he discovered her betrayal through a careless text message. The humiliation stung, but what hurt more was the realization that he had mistaken distraction for companionship.

Over dinner, they spoke cautiously at first—about the children, about doctor visits, about work. But then something shifted. Joe made a comment about the waiter’s exaggerated French accent, and Gloria laughed—really laughed—for the first time in weeks.

“You’re still ridiculous,” she said, dabbing her eyes.

“Consistency is my best trait,” he replied.

He reached into a small cooler beside his chair and pulled out a chilled bottle. “I wasn’t sure if this was too much,” he said. “But we used to celebrate surviving hard weeks.”

“Joe…” she began.

He popped the champagne. The sound startled nearby tables, and a few people clapped lightly. He poured two glasses, his hands steadier than he felt.

“I can’t undo the past,” he said, his voice low. “But I know this—when I heard about your diagnosis, I realized something. I never stopped loving you. I just stopped trying.”

Gloria looked out at the river, remembering the nights he made her laugh when money was tight, when the kids were sick, when life felt impossible. Even in her toughest moments, his humor had been her anchor.

She lifted her glass. “To second chances,” she said.

“To us,” he answered.

Outside, the Potomac flowed on—steady, forgiving, always moving forward. And for the first time in years, so did they.

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