I got my husband his dream watch for our 10th anniversary. All he got me was cheap perfume in a plastic bottle. I was so angry, I tossed it aside and never used it.
This was our last celebration because he died unexpectedly three weeks later. The pain of losing him was unbearable—I replayed that night over and over, angry not at the gift anymore, but at myself for letting disappointment overshadow love. I missed his voice, his laugh, even the way he reminded me to drink water when I got too busy.
Today, I was cleaning and the bottle fell.
When it hit the floor, the cap popped off and a small folded paper slipped out. My hands trembled as I picked it up. Inside was a handwritten note that said, “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.”
I sat there on the floor, holding the bottle and the note against my heart, tears pouring freely. The perfume wasn’t cheap—he had simply wrapped his love in a humble container while saving for something bigger.
But the real gift wasn’t the necklace. It was his thoughtfulness, his effort, his quiet love that I had failed to see.
Now, I keep the bottle on my bedside table—not as a reminder of what I lost, but of the love that was always there. Sometimes, the value of a gift isn’t in the price, but in the heart behind it.
And sometimes, we only understand its worth when it’s too late.
After a long hospital shift, I stopped by my neighborhood grocery store still wearing my scrubs. I was exhausted and just wanted something quick for dinner when I heard someone laugh mockingly. Around the corner, I saw a sharply dressed woman berating Ruth, an elderly janitor I’d seen working there for years.
The woman had kicked over Ruth’s mop bucket, splashing dirty water on the floor, and was blaming her harshly. Ruth trembled, apologizing repeatedly. I couldn’t stay silent—I stepped in and calmly confronted the woman, telling her that humiliating someone working hard was uncalled for.
After a tense moment, the woman stormed off.
Ruth was emotional and thanked me quietly. As we cleaned the mess together, she let slip that it was her 71st birthday and she had hoped to get through it without crying. That touched me deeply.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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