As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet 
 someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked 
 inside to find some identification so I could call the 
 owner. But the wallet contained only three dollars and 
 a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there 
 for years. 

 The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible 
 on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, 
 hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline--1924. 
 The letter had been written almost sixty years ago. 

 It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on 
 powder blue stationery with a little flower in the left- 
 hand corner. It was a "Dear John" letter that told the 
 recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the 
 writer could not see him any more because her mother 
 forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would always 
 love him. 

 It was signed, Hannah. 

 It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for 
 the name Michael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe 
 if I called information, the operator could find a phone 
 listing for the address on the envelope. 

 "Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request. I'm trying 
 to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway 
 you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address 
 that was on an envelope in the wallet?" 

 She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated 
 for a moment then said, "Well, there is a phone listing 
 at that address, but I can't give you the number." She 
 said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain 
 my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect 
 me. I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the 
 line. "I have a party who will speak with you." 

 I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she 
 knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped, "Oh! We 
 bought this house from a family who had a daughter named 
 Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!" 

 "Would you know where that family could be located now?" 
 I asked. 

 "I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a 
 nursing home some years ago," the woman said. "Maybe if 
 you got in touch with them they might be able to track 
 down the daughter." 

 She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called 
 the number. They told me the old lady had passed away 
 some years ago but they did have a phone number for 
 where they thought the daughter might be living. 

 I thanked them and phoned. The woman who answered 
 explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing 
 home. 

 This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why 
 was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of 
 a wallet that had only three dollars and a letter that 
 was almost 60 years old? 

 Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which Hannah 
 was supposed to be living and the man who answered the 
 phone told me, "Yes, Hannah is staying with us." 

 Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could 
 come by to see her. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "if 
 you want to take a chance, she might be in the day room 
 watching television." 

 I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home. The 
 night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We went 
 up to the third floor of the large building. In the day 
 room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah. 

 She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm 
 smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about finding 
 the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw 
 the powder blue envelope with that little flower on the 
 left, she took a deep breath and said, "Young man, this 
 letter was the last contact I ever had with Michael." 

 She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then 
 said softly, "I loved him very much. But I was only 16 
 at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he 
 was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the actor." 

 "Yes," she continued, "Michael Goldstein was a wonderful 
 person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him 
 often. And," she hesitated for a moment, almost biting 
 her lip, "tell him I still love him. You know," she said 
 smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, "I never 
 did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Michael..." 

 I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the elevator 
 to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard 
 there asked, "Was the old lady able to help you?" 

 I told him she had given me a lead. "At least I have a 
 last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I 
 spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of 
 this wallet." 

 I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown 
 leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard 
 saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute! That's Mr. Goldstein's 
 wallet. I'd know it anywhere with that right red lacing. 
 He's always losing that wallet must have found it in the 
 halls at least three times." 

 "Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked as my hand began to shake. 

 "He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor. That's 
 Mike Goldstein's wallet for sure. He must have lost it 
 on one of his walks." I thanked the guard and quickly 
 ran back to the nurse's office. I told her what the 
 guard had said. We went back to the elevator and got 
 on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up. 

 On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, "I think he's 
 still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He's a 
 darling old man." 

 We went to the only room that had any lights on and there 
 was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and 
 asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up 
 with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, 
 "Oh, it is missing!" 

 "This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if 
 it could be yours?" 

 I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw 
 it, he smiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It 
 must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want 
 to give you a reward." 

 "No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you something. 
 I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned 
 the wallet." 

 The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. "You read 
 that letter?" 

 "Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is." 

 He suddenly grew pale. "Hannah? You know where she is? 
 How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please, 
 please tell me," he begged. 

 "She's fine...just as pretty as when you knew her." I 
 said softly. 

 The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, "Could 
 you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow." 
 He grabbed my hand and said, "You know something, mister, 
 I was so in love with that girl that when that letter 
 came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guess 
 I've always loved her." 

 "Mr. Goldstein," I said, "Come with me." 

 We took the elevator down to the third floor. The hallways 
 were darkened and only one or two little night-lights lit 
 our way to the day room where Hannah was sitting alone 
 watching the television. The nurse walked over to her. 

 "Hannah," she said softly, pointing to Michael, who was 
 waiting with me in the doorway. "Do you know this man?" 

 She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn't 
 say a word. Michael said softly, almost in a whisper, 
 "Hannah, it's Michael. Do you remember me?" 

 She gasped, "Michael! I don't believe it! Michael! It's 
 you! My Michael!" He walked slowly towards her and they 
 embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming down 
 our faces. 

 "See," I said. "See how the Good Lord works! If it's 
 meant to be, it will be." 

 About three weeks later I got a call at my office from 
 the nursing home. "Can you break away on Sunday to attend 
 a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!" 

 It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the 
 nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration. 
 Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful. 
 Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. They made 
 me their best man. 

 The hospital gave them their own room and if you ever 
 wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old 
 groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this 
 couple. 

 A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 
 60 years. 

 - Source Unknown