Then, today, while cleaning, the perfume bottle fell. The cap popped off, and a small folded note slipped out. My hands trembled as I picked it up.
It was in his handwriting:
I sank to the floor, holding the bottle and note to my chest, tears streaming down my face. The perfume wasn’t thoughtless—it was filled with love, effort, and quiet intention. He had been saving for something bigger, but the real gift had already been given.
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