I bought my husband his dream watch for our 10th anniversary. I spent weeks choosing it, imagining the look on his face when he opened it. He smiled, genuinely touched, and hugged me. I felt proud, excited—thinking I’d finally matched the thoughtfulness he always showed me.
Then I opened his gift. A small bottle of perfume in a cheap plastic container. My first instinct was irritation. This is all he got me? I tossed it aside, muttering under my breath. I didn’t use it, didn’t smell it, didn’t give it a second thought. That night, I let disappointment overshadow the love we had shared for a decade.
Three weeks later, he was gone. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. Life collapsed in ways words cannot capture. The pain was crushing. Every laugh, every small kindness, every quiet reminder—like him telling me to drink water or check my health—came back in a tidal wave of memory. And I remembered that perfume. That moment of frustration. That small, thoughtless dismissal.
For months, the bottle sat in a drawer, untouched, unnoticed. Until the day it fell. The cap popped off, and a tiny folded piece of paper slipped out. My hands shook as I picked it up, and I froze. My breath caught. It was a note, written in his familiar, careful handwriting.
“I know this perfume is temporary, but next month I’ll surprise you with the necklace you’ve been dreaming about. Thank you for believing in me even when I don’t say it enough. You are my forever gift.”
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